“Rose.” Sebastien said her name more sternly and she returned her gaze to him. “What’s wrong? How are you here? You’re so cold. I’m an idiot.” Yanking open the clasp of his cloak, he wrapped it around her, snugging it up tight around her throat and pulling the hood to drape around her face. She wore no makeup, not even the lip color she almost always put on, to keep her lips from chapping in the winter weather, and no jewelry, not even the rose pendant she never took off. And she must smell wrong for the dogs not to know her.
“Did something happen to you?” he demanded in sudden, stomach-dropping fear.
Had she been attacked? Perhaps something magical in origin had done this to her. He’d thought nothing could harm the invincible Rose.
She caressed the fur of the cloak with gloveless fingers, blue from the cold, and gazed at him with wide eyes. “It’s you,” she said, her voice tentative, lacking her usual teasing confidence. “Isit really you? After all this time, you’re here.”
“Yes, it’s me. Of course I’m right here.”
“You’re my prince.”
“Always,” he replied, even more confused. Not since their first conversation in the library had she referred to him that way.
She smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Have you?” How odd. “I don’t understand howyouare here, in the middle of the Aswad Woods.”
“Is that where I am?” She breathed a laugh. “How funny that I didn’t know the name.”
“Rose. My queen. Tell me what’s wrong.” Following his instincts, and if only to warm her, he pulled her into an embrace. After a moment’s hesitation, she melted into him. Still, though she felt familiar, she also seemed so strange. He was at a loss as to what to do.
“I thought you’d never come for me,” she said against his chest.
“I would have, much sooner, but I didn’t know you were here.”
“Of course you didn’t. I had no way to tell you.” She sounded so forlorn that he cuddled her closer, unaccustomed to the feeling of Rose depending on him.
“You’re safe now,” he told her, and she leaned back to look up at him.
“Are you a dream?” She frowned past him at the trees as if seeing something that wasn’t there. “This could be the Dream.”
“No, my queen,” he answered, chafing her arms over the cloak. She was shivering. If she’d been robbed, attacked by another sorcerer, this confusion could be a reaction to the trauma. “I’m real. I’m right here.”
“I walked the Dream,” she said, as if confiding a secret. “I had to get out.”
His heart caught with terror for her. “That’s how you got here—you physically walked through the Dream?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip, gazing up at him. “The Dream. I got lost for a while. It was terrible.”
Just as he’d always feared. Rose had explained at length the dangers of the Dream, mostly warning him against any mistakes she might make, but also with gleeful fascination. Walking the Dream must explain why she seemed and smelled so different.
“You took a grave risk.”
“Worth it.” She smiled, laying bone-cold fingers against his cheek. “You’re real,” she breathed. “My prince.”
“I’m real. So are you,” he told her, thinking that might penetrate her strange confusion. He kissed her fingertips and she made a sound of pure delight. Pulling her closer, he kissed herchilled lips. She tensed, seeming shocked, but then Rose often did, always needing to reaccustom herself to being touched. Indeed, after that brief hesitation, she clung to him, kissing him back as if for the first time. That first kiss had been awkward, Rose uncertain and unpracticed but determined to meet him halfway, laughingly agreeing to learn the technique from him. This Rose, this lost and confused, waifish version of herself, kissed him back with unreserved innocence, boundless enthusiasm, and artless passion.
“I’m so glad we’re both real,” she answered with a sweet smile and none of her usual edge.
The Dream had clearly addled her mind in some way. Sebastien didn’t know how to best help her, but standing here in this cold forest wasn’t it. She needed food and rest and to warm up. He glanced at the cottage, partially obscured by the woven lace of black rose canes and wicked thorns. The garden looked tended and the cottage well-cared for. Though no smoke rose from the chimney, surely there would be firewood to build a fire, to cook food. And if the residents returned, well, he had coin and the gratitude of the throne to offer in recompense for invading their home.
“Let’s go inside,” he suggested, “and I can—What?”
Her face a rictus of horror, she began thrashing against him. “No! No, I can’t. Don’t make me. You can’t go in either. None of us can and even if we can we’ll be trapped forever. Andshemight return and then… and then… and—” She ran out of breath, choking on her wild panic.
Alarmed, Nina and Nonna sent up ear-piercing baying and Kismet whinnied.
What’s wrong what’s wrong what’s wrong?Nina bayed.
