Page 203 of Carousel

“Me?” I ask.

No. Your mother. Women were brought to the Palace to be assessed from around the globe for their suitability to be the mother of the female in question. Their traits were looked at. Their education. Their looks. Your mother was found in Hevalla and impressed the Queen the most. Your father had already been chosen to be your father, being my great grandson, to imbue you with at least some minor magic – which it did, in your natural knack for languages – and strengthen the magic any heirs would have. The Prince was three by the time you were born. Even the name you were given was chosen to compliment his, for good luck. And so, my sweet child, you see why the fortune gave you your life. Not ruined it.

The Queen of Hubris.

Who not only thinks she can rebel against the stars, but that she can engineer love in order to do that.

“For this fortune to happen, so many things would have to fall into place. What if we didn’t even like each other? Because we don’t, Old Mother.”

I find that unlikely.

“Unlikely?”

You were trained much of your lives in each other’s likes and dislikes. Values. Views of the world. More than that – the way you were raised was influenced by how the future versions of you would perceive them.

“I don’t understand that. At all.”

The Prince was raised in a challenging environment. It was believed knowing he had suffered – in part, for your union – would appeal to you. Likewise, it was believed the Prince would value your education and natural ability to think strategically, and that was encouraged in you. The outbreak of war did not halt their efforts – only offered more opportunities. The Prince was enlisted as a soldier, to build in him the noble character that again it was believed you would find worthy in a partner when you were grown. And you were exiled to Hevalla⁠—

“Do not tell me that was part of this, too.”

I don’t think I can take any more.

Of course it was, child. The strength you developed while looking after myself and Eric – who himself was conceived to help you develop empathy – would also appeal to him⁠—

“Stop,” I say, cracked. “Just stop. I can’t do this. I can’t have my whole life rewritten like this.”

It is not being rewritten. This is the way it was written. And in the future I saw the Queen’s meticulous planning bore fruit. You and the Prince ruled happily, side by side. His darkness was kept at bay. Magic, and the country, thrived.

“But futures can change,” I say. “Tell me you also saw another future. Please. One where I can choose someone else – choose my own fate – and Rhavna, and magic, can still be saved.”

I have not yet seen a future where that was possible.

“What futures did you see?”

There have only been three. The Tyrant. The Soulmates… And The Tyrant, again.

“The Tyrant again? Why twice?”

In that future, the tyrant was you, my dear. The darkness that was his had spilled into you, and you were more monstrous, even, than he. The result for Rhavna was rather the same as in the first future.

I’m suffocating.

“That can’t be. That won’t be.”

It was the weakest of the futures, yes, at the time I saw it. But it was possible.

I claw at her, desperate. “Well, which is it? Which will come true?”

The Queen hopes – as we all do – that it will be the second. It always seems to be the clearest. But the future is the future. None can know it, that haven’t lived it.

Ara and Drake.

Fate or chance? Drake had asked me, amused, when we met and discovered our complimenting names.

I hadn’t realised the answer to that would be neither.

It was design.