Page 233 of Carousel

“In itself, a reason to mourn. Is it not?”

I suppose it would be.

“I have others I could add,” he says, softly. “But I rarely knew their names. Only the sounds of their voices.”

“Why?”

He stares at the ground. Speaks stiltedly. “I was not the only captive in the compound I grew up in. There were others – I believe, taken against their will – also being treated.”

It’s as if screws are driving into my chest.

His pain. I’m just feeling it.

It’s awful.

“I’m sorry.”

“I find it difficult to discuss.”

“Of course.”

“And there is something else more important right now.”

He stands still for a moment, the breeze catching the ends of his hair.

And then he does something that shocks me to my core.

He drops down onto one knee.

There is a box in his hand, open to the most ornate, beautiful ring I’ve ever seen of rubies and diamonds.

“It is probably not the right moment, or the right place,” he starts, voice low. “But time is running out. We will be in Rhavna soon⁠—”

I snap back into my senses. Jump to my feet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Asking you to be my queen,” he replies simply. With a slight shake of his head, he confirms, “Not my advisor. Not my friend. My queen.” He pauses. Nothing moves but the waves, the insects, the swans, and my beating heart. “This ring has been in my family for generations. It was always going to be yours.”

“No,” I say. And then I’m tearing at my hair with my hands. “You know it’s a no. Sisters,” I say, my voice high but clear. I’m surprised I’m not screaming at him. “How many times can I rebuff you? I’m going around and around in circles with you. Like…” I skim my gaze across the shoreline. Point at the carousel at the far end. “Like that carousel.”

The ring vanishes from his hand.

He stands.

“Your plan isn’t going to work,” he states. “We need to do this, the way the fortune foresaw.”

“It will work,” I stress, my whole body rocking. “It already is. Dezeeves will speak to the Queen. Our power can thrive regardless of any attachment⁠—”

He cuts through, edged. “I can feel you, when you are with him.” He adds, as an explanation, “Your rapture. Through the bond.”

I gawk at him. “You can feel me?” I physically recoil.

He nods. “I could not before. But now I can. And that is one of the reasons your plan won’t work. There are many. But that is one.”

Rage bursts through me. This sounds entirely like his problem, and not a reason my plan won’t work.

“Well, you’ll just have to get to used to feeling me,” I say, nauseous.

He exhales thickly through his nose, something flaring in his eyes. “And you. Would you be able to get used to feeling me? If I married someone else?”