Page 244 of Carousel

But these are powerful. Twisting. Raging. Rising. I choke under them like the smoke that kills you before the fire.

“You loathe me,” I state, disbelieving. Then, “You loathe me?”

His jaw ticks. “My magic – prophesised to be world-shattering – was split without my consent. And now the inane girl it was put into is holding me – us – back from achieving what people only dream of⁠—”

“Inane girl?”

“What else would you be?” he growls. “You are attracted to me. Yet you fight me at every opportunity. Reject me, often humiliatingly. Expect me to do things I would never do for anyone else. And, sometimes, I am happy to do them. Sometimes, I do them of my own accord.” He exhales, as though I am in his lungs, and he is trying to expel me. “But I am not a machine.”

“Let’s take this conversation inside.”

I push past him, into his cabin.

He follows. The door shuts, but he comes no closer.

“You don’t want me, Drake,” I say, feeling the way his emotions are knotting around me, as if his magic is trying to enter mine. “You want my power.”

His black eyes devour me. “How would you know, Ara? You have never, not once, asked me what I want.”

The force goes out of me. My body loosens, as if he’s untied me like a ribbon.

Is that true?

Have I really been that selfish?

“Show me,” I croak.

He clears the gap between us. Clamps his hands around my wrists.

And we’re falling.

We land in the courtyard in the Palace gardens. They don’t look right – I suppose this must be how he thinks they will look, having never seen them.

It’s our wedding day. There’s a version of me in white, and a version of Drake opposite her, in black. He looks handsome in his fitted jacket, tailored trousers, silk shirt and scarf knotted around his neck.

And I look spectacular. My hair is braided elaborately. My sleeves fall down to the floor. The train of my dress, which has a tight bodice but plumes around my legs, is yards and yards long. Ten court ladies in Rhavnan blue help to carry it. In tradition, the longer the train, the longer the happiness in a marriage will be.

Hundreds of guests are watching from chairs covered in white feathers. But the Queen is nowhere to be seen.

Drake’s mind tells me we poisoned her. It was fitting. She poisoned our country, with her greed. Could have poisoned us, with her hubris.

The swans are flying behind us, as if just for us. The sun is emerging over the glittering dome.

We are happy.

The image changes. We’re in a breathtaking bedroom. The versions of us are naked. He has me bent over a four-poster bed bigger and more ornately carved than anything I’ve seen.

I’m beautiful. I look different to how I see myself. My hair is thicker, shinier. My skin is smoother. My body looks healthy, more womanly.

And we’re in the throes of pleasure. I’m grasping the silk sheets. Crying out or whimpering with every thrust. His face is twisted. His mouth is open. Panting, he pulls my hair, and it only makes me louder.

I realise we’re increasing each other’s pleasure. Our skins are teeming with tiny white lights. Mine are over him, his are over me. We could be two stars being made.

The image changes. We’re beside each other on our thrones in the Throne Room. There’s a queue of people waiting to come in to speak to us. They’ve travelled from all over Rhavna, because we have been opening the dome, and allowing it.

And we will help them, as best we can.

The final image.