“You cannot think that I want this,” she snapped. “I should hope you know me better than that.”
He hesitated. The flood of anger gave way to hurt. But then, finally—horror.
Understanding.
“He’s already trapped you. Hasn’t he?”
Biting the inside of her cheek, Serilda pulled away from him so she could lift the sleeve of the dressing gown, showing him the hole where the arrow had pierced her.
His expression crumbled. “Part of me feels like this should make me happy, but I don’t … I don’t want this for you. I would never want this for you.”
She swallowed. She’d hardly had time to think of what it would mean. To be the queen, locked always behind the veil in this soulless castle, her only company the undead, the dark ones … and Gild.
He was right. A part of her might have found some comfort in that, but it was buried so deep it was hard to know for sure. This would not be a life, not one she would ever have chosen for herself.
And she had to assume it would be short-lived. Once the baby was born, and the king saw that Serilda still had no magic, he would rid himself of her without hesitation. He would take her newborn, and if he was successful in capturing a god and wishing Perchta back to this world, he would give that innocent little life to her. The mistress of cruelty and violence and death.
Except?…
Strangely, unfathomably, this child was already spoken for. She had already promised her firstborn to another.
What did that mean for her bargain with the king?
What did her bargain with the king mean for Gild?
“Gild, there’s something else I have to tell you.”
His eyebrows lifted. “There’s more?”
“There’s more.” She took his face into her hands. Studying him.
He tensed. “What is it?”
She took a breath. “I know how the story ends. Or … how it ended.”
“The story?” He looked baffled. “About the prince? And the kidnapped princess?”
She nodded, and wished so desperately that she could tell him it had a happy ending. The prince killed the villain and rescued his sister after all. The words would have been so easy to say. They were on the tip of her tongue.
“Serilda, this hardly seems the time for fairy tales.”
“You’re right, but you must hear it,” she said, her hands falling to his shoulders, fidgeting with the wide linen collar of his shirt. “The prince came back to his castle, but the Erlking had arrived before him, and he … he killed everyone. Slaughtered the king and queen, all the servants …”
Gild shivered, but Serilda gripped the fabric, keeping him close. “When the prince returned, the king tethered his spirit to the castle, so he might be trapped in that miserable place forever. And for his final revenge, he put a curse on the prince, that no one—not even the prince himself—would ever remember him or his family. Their names, their history—it was all ripped away, so that he would be forever alone. So that he would never again know the feeling of love.”
Gild stared at her. “That’s it? That’s how the story ends? Serilda, that is—”
“The truth, Gild.”
He hesitated, frowning.
“It’s the truth. It all happened, right here in this castle.”
He watched her, and she could tell the moment when the pieces began to fit together.
The things that made sense.
The questions that still lingered.
“What are you saying?” he whispered.
“It isn’t just a story. It’s real. And the prince … Gild, it’s you.”
This time, when he pulled away, she let him.
“The girl in the portrait was your little sister. The Erlking killed her. I don’t know if he kept her ghost. She might still be in Gravenstone.”
He ran a hand through his hair, staring into nothing. She could tell he wanted to argue, to deny it. But—how could he? He had no memories of his life before.
“What’s my real name, then?” he asked, looking up at her. “If I’m a prince, I’d be famous, wouldn’t I?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know your name. It was erased, as part of the spell. I’m not even sure if the Erlking himself knows what it is. But I do know that you aren’t a ghost. You aren’t dead. You’re just cursed.”
“Cursed,” he said, laughing without humor. “I’m well aware of that.”
“But don’t you see?” She took his hands. “This is a good thing.”
“How is being cursed a good thing?”
It was the question Serilda had been trying to answer her whole life.
She lifted his hand and placed a kiss against the pale scar on his freckled wrist, where a gold-tipped arrow had tethered his spirit to this castle, trapping him forever.
“Because curses can be broken.”
Acknowledgments
My heart is so full of gratitude that I wish there were more words to describe it in the English language.
Countless thanks are owed to my publishing family at Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group: Liz Szabla, Johanna Allen, Robert Brown, Caitlin Crocker, Mariel Dawson, Rich Deas, Jean Feiwel, Katie Quinn, Morgan Rath, Jordin Streeter, Mary Van Akin, Kathy Wielgosz, and everyone who I never actually get to talk to, but I know is working tirelessly to bring these books into the world. I am likewise so grateful to the team at Jill Grinberg Literary Management: Jill Grinberg, Katelyn Detweiler, Sam Farkas, Denise Page, and Sophia Seidner. I am so lucky to get to work with you all.
I am much obliged to my copyeditor, Anne Heausler, for her thoughtful edits and suggestions. To my incredibly talented audiobook narrator, Rebecca Soler, for her brilliant interpretations of the characters. And to Regina Louis for her invaluable input on German customs, traditions, and cultural details (as well as her work on the Supernova German translation). Thank you all for helping to make the world of Adalheid glow a little brighter.
I am forever indebted to my longtime friend and critique partner, Tamara Moss. Not only does your feedback always lead to a stronger book, but you also somehow know just the right things to say to help me keep calm and carry on.
I cannot say thank you enough times to Joanne Levy—assistant, podcast organizer and social media manager, Excel expert, and awesome middle grade author. I know I’ve said this a hundred times, but truly, you are the best.