My breath caught as I stared at the portrait that now hung there. Unlike the rest of the castle, it appeared immaculate,without a single speckle of dust or sign of neglect tainting its gilded frame.
“It’s you.” At least a version of him, adorned in silvery midnight regalia that was quite different from his current simple attire.
“It appears to be,” he said. “But it’s strange…I have no memory of standing to have my portrait painted.” He met my gaze straightforwardly, with no shift of his shoulders or hesitance in his tone, which meant that if hehadgotten his portrait painted, he must have forgotten…just like he’d forgotten his name.
I studied the painting. Something about it stirred my remembrance, evidence of a secret blended with the oils and brushstrokes. I reached out with my magic and grazed the surface of the signet ring. All at once a memory flared to life—not one belonging to this stranger, but my own.
While being led through my gilded cage in chains of my new royal title, my guards’ escort paused in front of this very portrait, whose subject triggered a conversation about the past.
“Prince Evander, Crown Prince of Aeloria,” one guard informed me. “The kingdom's golden son. Missing for five years now, to the day. He vanished without a trace or any sign of a struggle. One day he was here, the next…he was simply gone, without even witnesses to verify what might have transpired.”
Their words washed over me as I studied the prince’s profile more closely—the same one blurred by the strange visions that filled my previous night…a man I’d met only in my dreams.
Back in the present, I gasped and yanked my hand away. “What is it?” my companion asked. “Are you alright?”
He hovered over me almost protectively, brow furrowed in worry. I was almost tempted to ask him to steady me again ashe’d done in front of that strange door, but fought against the ridiculous impulse.
Overcome, I couldn’t respond, my mind whirling with the realization I’d discovered within the recollection…one I myself had somehow forgotten, as if whatever curse had befallen me had robbed me not only of my hours awake, but parts of my memory.
Now I understood why I felt I knew this dream man—it was Evander. Somehow the memory of him had slipped away amid the transition of wakefulness and slumber. How could I have forgotten the same man I’d been interacting with moments before falling asleep?
I studied him and his mannerisms obsessively, comparing them to the memory of the Evander outside the dream. Though the version from the real world had teased me about being the man from my dreams, they were truly identical in appearance, a familiarity that felt like a resonance, déjà vu brushing against my skin.
However, there was something slightly off about the man before me, as if this version were a mere shadow of the man I’d engaged in a battle of wits. Gone was the snark that seemed to have filled his entire manner and every spoken word, replaced with an almost foreign gentleness, such a contrast to the man who’d been tormenting me from the moment we’d met. He also lacked Evander’s confidence, his posture curled in slightly, as if he carried an invisible weight upon his shoulders.
“Evander?” I said tentatively.
His eyes slowly widened with a flicker of sudden recognition. “Is that my name?”
“It’s the name of the man in this portrait.” I gestured towards it. For now I kept quiet that the subject of this painting was supposedly a prince.
A long silence stretched between us as he stared up at the painting, as if searching for the connection. “Evander…I believe that’s my name. It feels a part of me, as if it’s always been there, hiding just beneath the surface. I don’t understand how I could have forgotten.”
Just as I still couldn’t figure out how I’d forgotten not only him, but his true identity, making me wonder what other crucial details might have vanished each time I slept. Despite years of being careful not to keep objects that would hold my own memories, I felt an unexpected flare of panic that I had no way to keep them from slipping away.
“We’ve met before,” I said. “But not just within this dream—you’ve appeared in the real world.”
The revelation tugged him from his reacquaintance with his lost name. I expected him not to believe me, but recognition lit his eyes, as if my words had returned some of his lost reminiscences. Even so, he shook his head. “How can that be? Surely I would have remembered…”
It was as if a candle had suddenly lit inside his mind, illuminating his understanding. In an instant his calm demeanor transformed, twisting into something wild and frantic.
“Did you speak to this version of me?” At my hesitant nod, his eyes bulged. “What did he tell you? Did he ask you to do anything?”
I frowned. “How do you know that?” Especially since until moments ago, he hadn’t even known who he was…or so he’d claimed. Had his true name awakened memories in him that had previously slumbered, or had it been the portrait?
He waved aside my question. “That’s not important. Listen: no matter what that other Evander asked you, you can’t listen to him. He’s not to be trusted.”
A rather unusual request coming from someone within a dream, especially one supposedly speaking of himself. Whetheror not this man was a figment of my imagination or an alternate version of the Evander I met in the real world, it seemed strange to issue me such a warning.
I lifted my chin defiantly. “Are you questioning the instincts of a thief? I’m wise enough not to yield my trust so easily, especially to someone as conceited as the Evander I met outside the dream.”
He stepped forward, awashing me in his presence, standing so close that his forehead almost touched mine. For a moment he leaned in before he stopped himself. I instinctively stepped away until my back pressed against the wall; the cold stone seeping through my gown far less chilling than the fierce look he suddenly gave me.
“Even the most accomplished thief can be swayed by charm,” he said, voice strained. “Please, you cannot listen to that man.” He spoke as if he and the other version of him weren’t the same.
“For all your insistences, you have yet to give me a convincing reason why,” I said. “A thief gathers intel before choosing the best path forward. What reason do you have that the other Evander can’t be trusted when you claim to be confined to this garden? Perhaps it’s actuallyyouwho’s unworthy of my trust.”
I was a master at detecting deceit, and he didn’t appear to be lying…but that didn’t discount the possibility that he was hiding something.
