Page 123 of Tale of the Heart Queen

“It was just nice to feel something.” He pauses and then adds, “It’s been a long time.”

Willow and I exchange a look. While fewer female prisoners lived inside Nostraza, Tristan also had his fair share of flings.

“Remember Seraphina?” I ask, and Tristan snorts.

“How could I forget?” He shakes his head at the memory of the mortal woman who swept into Nostraza when Tristan was nineteen. She was almost twice his age, and she had been stunning before Nostraza did what it does to everyone.

She oozed charisma, and Tristan spent the better part of six months following her around like a lovesick puppy. Eventually, like all prisoners in Nostraza, she succumbed to the cumulative weight of its environment, and Tristan moped around the prison for another good six months.

“She practically made me a man,” he sighs wistfully. “The things she taught me . . .”

“Gross,” Willow and I both chorus, and he grins as we continue walking.

What Tristan had with Seraphina or anyone who came before or after was never love. It was lust and release. Something to cling to in the bleakness of our days. I remember that feeling all too well.

“You will feel that again,” I say to Tristan. “If it’s not Nerissa, then it will be someone else. Gods help me, I will make sure you do.”

He presses his mouth together. “I’m not sure I’m ready anyway. I need time to sort out everything up here.” He points to his forehead, and I nod, understanding exactly what he means.

“This way,” I say, turning left, preparing to save the throne room as our last stop. I lead them through the charred hallways as crumbled brick and mortar crunch beneath our boots.

“I’ll be honest, there isn’t much to see,” I say. “Most of it looks like this. Nadir and I explored nearly every inch when we were looking for the Crown, but there is something I think you’ll both like.”

Willow is rubbing her chest, making a strange face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I feel weird.”

“Weird how?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have skipped lunch—I’m a bit lightheaded.”

“Are you okay?” Tristan asks. “We can always come back later.”

“Absolutely not. I’m fine.” She gestures to me. “Lead the way.”

I give her one more skeptical look.

“Come on. Seriously, it’s nothing,” she says.

“Okay.” I take them to the library, where the portraits of our grandparents hang.

“Here,” I say, leading them into the room. “Turn around.”

We all do at the same time, and once again, the sight takes my breath away.

Our grandparents stand on either side of the door, larger than life, rendered in paint by a carefully skilled hand.

Neither of my siblings says anything as they stare at the portraits.

“They’re incredible,” Willow eventually breathes. “She was so beautiful.”

“She looks just like you,” I say, and Willow smiles.

“And our grandfather,” she says. “He looks . . . kind.”

“He does,” I agree, remembering I thought the same thing.