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The words hit me like a blow, soft and devastating all at once. “Arlo—”

“I’ve loved you from the first time I ever saw you.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “And I’ll keep loving you,” he murmurs. “Even if you never say it back. Even if it costs me everything.”

He must see the panic in my expression as my mouth opens and closes.

“Don’t say it back unless you mean it. Because the moment you say those words, I swear to the gods, Alessia . . . I’m all in.”

It doesn’t matter how I feel. Telling him how much he means to me would make him reckless. Arlo’s restraint is tied directly to mine, and if I let go, he’s going to get himself killed.

I see the fire smoldering in his eyes every time Crawly or Claudia steps between us, and if I’m not careful, those embers are going to ignite.

He watches a beat longer for me to respond, and when my eyes hit the ground, he leans in, letting his lips brush my forehead.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s work on getting Sable home. Everything else can wait.”

Tears burn my eyes as he tugs me along.

“One day we’ll be free,” he whispers. “Then everything can change.”

I want to tell him that I love him, that he’s one of the only good things in my life, but loving Arlo openly in this broken world feels selfish. His mother and sister could lose him. I could lose him.

And if I fell pregnant with his child? I can picture a young boy with his warm hazel eyes and messy blond hair, looking up at me with blistered bare feet and an empty stomach, a belt cracking across his tiny body for disobeying.

I can see him crying silently, the way children learn to cry when noise brings punishment. See him flinching when a door slams. See him growing hard and hollow, the way Arlo is hard and hollow, the way all beautiful things in this world are ground down until they stop shining. Arlo would be such an amazing father—patient and kind and full of love but he can’t protect a child from this world. No one can. And I would watch another person I love be broken, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the light they were born with.

This world isn’t built to grow beautiful things; it’s built to grind soft hearts like his into dust, and anything with a trace of magic or light will burn.

CHAPTER 11

• Alessia •

IT’S LATE BY the time we return to the farm.

Mr. Crawly is waiting outside with arms crossed. The moment the truck pulls in, two of the bigger servant men step out of the darkness, Gerald and Hugo. They’ve worked alongside Arlo since he was a little boy, and neither of them looks happy to see us.

Crawly rips the driver’s door open before Arlo can kill the engine. “String him up,” he orders, and Hugo pulls Arlo out of his seat without meeting his eyes.

“What the hell!” I snap, but Mr. Crawly turns his glare on me.

“You I will deal with later.” He points a crooked finger in my direction.

The servants reluctantly tie Arlo’s wrists, then they march him toward a tree, toss the rope over a low-hanging branch, and yank it.

The front door to the main house bangs against the brickwork as it opens, and Angie darts out onto the porch. Marian and Claudia are right behind her.

“Arlo!” Angie screams, stumbling down the porch stairs. Her mother catches her before she lands, and they both hit the ground together.

“Arlo!” Angie screams, moving to get up, but her mother hauls her back.

Mr. Crawly undoes his belt. “You want to tell me how Angie is back here, Arlo?”

“Fuck you!” Arlo spits, and Mr. Crawly nods to Gerald.

“Whip him!” Mr. Crawly extends one hand to Gerald, offering him his belt.

Gerald hesitates and shakes his head. “No!”

“What did you say?” Mr. Crawly turns his anger toward Gerald.