by Laura Kenyon
Now, Dawn perched at the edge of Morning’s bed and pressed her face into the child’s curls. They smelled of shampoo and cinnamon toothpaste. “You’ll never be without me,” she said, caressing her cheeks. “Do you believe me?” Morning squished her nose and mouth together in thought, and then nodded emphatically. “Good. Now get some rest. You don’t want to look tired for class pictures tomorrow.”
Morning’s eyes shut immediately but popped open as soon as Dawn’s hand touched the light switch. “Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Where are you going now?”
Dawn pressed her lips together before answering. “I’ll be exploring the kingdom, looking for fun treasures to bring back to you, and making sure that everyone else is safe in their beds.”
“And all the other mommies will do that too?”
She smiled and swirled her fingers around her earring. “In their own ways, yes. But as Queen, think of me as mommy to all of the mommies. And the daddies.”
“And I’ll do that someday too, right?”
Dawn’s lips curled up at the edges. “Go to sleep, Morning. You’ve asked me this a hundred times so I know you’re just trying to stay up.”
“Okay,” she sighed and reluctantly closed her eyes again. “But Mom.” Dawn flicked the light off and stood with her fingers clasping the door handle. “Tell me why that fairy made you fall asleep for all those years again?”
Dawn gathered her sweater around her shoulders and relished the warmth. “Because I was born during the wrong time, sweetheart.” It was the same answer she’d given a dozen times before, but now, it seemed like less of a lie. “Sometimes people have to go all around the world just to end up where they’re supposed to be. I had to go through a few centuries. Now close those gorgeous green eyes of yours. I’ll be right here when you open them back up.”
* * *
Liam was waiting for her at the start of the river, even though she’d assured him she could find her own way by now.
“Don’t wait for me tomorrow,” she insisted each time they parted. “I never know when I’ll be able to get out.”
But each time, he simply smiled, handed her a clump of roses, and said waiting for her was the best part of his day. Then he gave her a benign peck on the cheek that Dawn’s insides made less benign every night. She’d hidden the glowing flowers in an ordinary rose bush on the far edge of the castle garden, fearing that if Hunter saw them in the castle he might wonder where they came from.
Tonight, Liam was dressed in a loose linen shirt that practically glowed against his sun-kissed skin. A black leather cord ran around the back of his neck and down beneath the cloth. It was the first time that Maisie wasn’t there, snorting and kicking at the dirt by his side. Something immediately felt different.
“You look nice,” he said as they exchanged an awkward hug and continued on side-by-side. After a few steps, their forearms brushed. A thrill zapped through Dawn’s chest and straight into her gut.
“Sorry,” she blurted, and then bit her tongue in reproach.
Liam smirked and flicked a dark curl from his eye. “It’s fine, really. My arm can take it.”
A choir of frogs filled the silence. Dawn felt tense and fizzy at the same time. Outside, her limbs seemed almost robotic, terrified of doing anything inappropriate for a married woman. But inside, she was—to borrow a phrase from her daughter—freaking out. Was she walking too closely? Was her hair a mess? Why did he have to look like a bronze mythological hero? What if he thought this was more than a friendship? What if he didn’t? What in the world would her parents think of her right now?
“Is everything all right? You seem distant.”
His question pulled her off-balance as they passed beneath the tunnel of diamond-studded trees. Dawn reeled in her thoughts and planted her feet. Then she continued walking. “Oh, couldn’t be better,” she said, not daring to stay in one spot with him for too long. She had to keep moving. “I’m just admiring the lights. You have such a gorgeous place here. I suppose I should have realized from the beginning you were a big deal. I mean, who else could afford all this?”
Liam swallowed a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. A queen, perhaps?”
Dawn thought about this but said nothing. If she specifically told Hunter that she wanted a life-size fiber optic garden behind Regian Castle, he’d have someone breaking ground the next day. That was one thing she had to admit about him: after losing Selladóre, he never denied her anything she asked for. But she rarely asked and he needed everything spelled out like one of his acquisition contracts. Besides, what she wanted more than anything was something he couldn’t possibly give.
“My father would have absolutely loved this place.” She spread her eyes wide to keep any tears from spilling past her lids. “He wasn’t like kings today, you know. He was all about family and natural beauty. He wasn’t obsessed with being flashy or changing the world or gobbling up as much land as he possibly could.”
“I know,” Liam said. “I mean, I’ve heard that about him. That he’d do anything for his family.” Dawn nodded. “But to be fair, Selladóre didn’t really have much land for him to gobble up to begin with. It is an island, after all.”
“Correction: Was an island.” The bitterness still sat on her tongue a decade later. “Now it’s an amusement park. It’s a caricature with giant neon orange glasses. Selladóre doesn’t exist anymore. Angus Kane should be prosecuted for what he did to it. And my husband too, for letting it happen.”
Dawn immediately bit her tongue and sped up. She knew better than to let her feelings out like that—even if they were true. Her home had been pillaged and its empty carcass stuffed with souvenir shops, and she’d had no choice but to stand by and smile at the cameras while it happened.
But Liam Devereaux was a business tycoon just like Hunter. He was probably in bed with the politicians too—and possibly their nieces.
“Sorry,” she murmured when he caught up. “This whole thing with Snow must be getting to me. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Probably because you’ve been holding it in for years.”
“What?” Dawn’s foot scuffed the ground. “No, I—I haven’t. I just—”
Liam stopped and steadied her. “It’s all right,” he said. “We all have secrets and faces that we can only hide for so long.”
It wasn’t until she went to jerk away that she realized her fingers were entwined with his. The clouds had opened and the moonlight rained down on them like a spotlight. Her heart lashed against her lungs with such force, she couldn’t imagine he didn’t hear it.
“What secrets do you have?” The words came out involuntarily. She wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t just in her head.
Liam parted his lips for a moment but said nothing. Then, finally, he smiled, squeezed her hand for half a second longer, and let go.
“Come on,” he said. “I still have something to show you.”
In silence, they continued out from the diamond tree tunnel, through the psychedelic courtyard, and up the wide front staircase. By now, Dawn knew exactly what waited behind the front door. Over the course of a few nights, Liam had given her the grand tour. He’d waltzed her through the grand ballroom, with its opulent chandeliers and a marble floor that squeaked against her sneakers. She’d perused the gallery, which held a hundred different paintings of the night sky—an unusual choice but far more appealing than the usual rows of posed patriarchs. She’d beaten him in both chess and billiards in the parlor, and wondered why he’d arranged the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves by color rather than subject or name. She’d even looped the estate’s perimeter in a horse-drawn carriage. What else could there possibly be to see? His bedroom?
Halfway through the kitchen—which, as expected, was massive—Liam ducked to the side and pressed his palm against her back.
Dawn instantly went rigid and stopped.
“Watch the step,” he said.
She panned down. His free hand poin
ted towards a three-inch drop that led to a crude, windowless corridor. “Oh,” she said, turning back to the lavish kitchen. This was unlike everything else he’d shown her. “Where are we going?”
He returned her question with an all-tooth smile, and she realized the very thought that he had ill intentions was ridiculous—as ridiculous as fearing Morning would put rat poison in her tea. She trusted this man, for a reason she couldn’t explain and thankfully didn’t have to. So she continued forward, feeling the rest of the mansion’s opulence fade away. The marble floor became gray stone. The air turned cold. The hallway narrowed. And at the end, a set of corkscrew stairs stretched far out of sight—just like the kind she used to race up and down as a child.
She climbed them one at a time, sliding her hands over the iron rail though she knew Liam was at the ready should she trip. It took forever for them to reach the top. But when they did, she found herself caught between Liam, two stone walls, and a locked door.
From some far off place in her mind, she heard him tell her to slide the latch to the right. She laced her fingers through the metal but paused as he came one stair closer. She could feel his warmth just inches behind her. In her peripheral vision, she saw his knuckles, white against the railing, waiting just beside her waist.
For less than a second, she thought about Hunter and what he would do if he could see her right now … enclosed on three sides by stone and wood … blocked in by the man for whom she already felt more passion than she’d ever even imagined with him.
Her heartbeat seemed to echo off the walls. She didn’t know how much longer her knees would hold. In slow motion, she watched Liam’s fingers quiver but remain on the rail. Then she felt his breath against the back of her hair. It was tense and thick, as if each exhale contained a thousand words he couldn’t release.
She had to get out. Gathering up every ounce of discipline she had, Dawn tugged violently at the latch and fell through the door. She stumbled blindly forward, regained her footing, and counted to five as a sweet breeze swept across her cheeks.
When she let things return to focus, she was on the roof, level with the moon and a craggy line of turrets bearing the flags from every realm in the world: Marestam, Pastora, Stularia, Ellada—
Then her heart clenched. Smack in the center and actually elevated above the rest, the colors of Dawn’s childhood kingdom fluttered in the wind. Selladóre. She floated towards it. A bright yellow sun rose up on the fabric, spreading blue and maroon rays into a canvas sky. Why would Liam have a Selladórean flag? And—she squinted as it came closer—a real one? Not one of the knock-offs peddled in the gift shops, with the Marestam seal pasted, so possessively, across the sun.
Dawn stared at it, barely noticing the table in the corner, or the lit candelabra, or the glistening gold tray by its side. She even lost sight of Liam, who’d picked a spot against the far wall and was leaning against the stone.
Then, as she grabbed the side of the roof and looked out over the luminescent valley below, she even forgot about the flag.
She’d seen Regian at sunrise and sunset, from deep in the valley and on top of the highest hill. It was beautiful, to be sure, with twinkling lights and a lanky shoreline stuffed with tiny bungalows. But from here, Liam’s gardens shimmered out with tangerine and fuchsia and wisps of deep red. Pockets of silver trees shone like white-hot edges of clouds blocking the sun. And far in the distance … before the looming skyline of Carpale … smack in the center of the East River … a once beautiful island lay in its afterglow.
A hot tear carved its way down her right cheek, and then her left. She tried to breathe quietly. She didn’t want Liam to think he’d hurt her by bringing her here. Everything was stunning. He was stunning. But this was too much. Her unsteady breath snagged in her throat and made a sharp cracking sound.
Liam bounced off the wall and rushed beside her, swooping a sturdy arm beneath her shoulder and struggling to catch her eye.
“I can’t— This is— Who—” Her voice came out in shreds. Before she could think, Dawn was rushing back down the stairs, praying she’d escape without tumbling to her death.
“Dawn!” Liam’s voice echoed all around her, followed by a clattering of boots. “Let me explain! Dawn!”
Part of her wanted to spend the rest of her life right here, in this house, on that roof, with Liam Devereaux. But she couldn’t. She was a mother, and a wife, and a queen. She had responsibilities. Like it or not, that was her life. She knew that.
Her chest heaved when she dumped herself off the last step and flew down the corridor. She heard him, not far behind, as she raced across the kitchen. She flew through the first door she saw. It was a bedroom with no other exit. Crap. But if she turned back now, he would certainly be there. So she latched the door, flipped off the light, and muffled her sobs with a mountain of pillows. She heard him rush past a moment later, shouting her name.
After a few minutes, when she was still experiencing post-cry tremors but felt generally stable, Dawn lifted her head to look around. The mansion was silent and moonlight stretched in lines across the room she’d claimed as refuge. With a trembling hand, she reached for the lamp and flooded the space with a harsh fluorescent light. She grimaced as it bounced off the bright white walls, assaulting her eyes as if they’d been in darkness for days. Then she looked around.
It was an extremely odd location for a bedroom—on the ground floor, shoved right off the kitchen—but everything about it was adorable. Each bit of furniture was white to match the walls. Hand painted flowers covered the ceiling—as if the outside garden was creeping inside and spreading. The linens were green, with lavender pillows and a vase of fresh hydrangeas on the bedside table. There were lilac curtains with fern-colored bows, a hand-carved rustic bed, and a scarred upright piano. A white chandelier hung in the center of the room with faded purple glitter on the bowl.
It was a child’s room. Or, at the very least, a room for a teenage girl.
Her heart forgot to beat a few times.
Propelled by memory, Dawn jumped to her feet, checked the door lock three times, and yanked the table away from the bed. With shaking hands, she ran her nails beneath a fake plywood back and peeled it away. Then she collapsed to the floor. Hidden inside, a bright green box stared back at her like a ghost. It was her keepsake box, where she’d once hidden her most closely-guarded possessions: her old birthday cards, lists of cutest boys in the castle, and a plethora of everyday knick-knacks whose meanings she’d long forgotten. But there was one thing she hadn’t forgotten.
She held her breath and fished through the contents until she found, at the very bottom, a slab of polished turquoise with D1 engraved on the back. D1 for Dawn, she recalled, sinking against the wall.
There was something going on here, something she was supposed to understand but couldn’t yet make out. The furniture looked smaller than she remembered, but this was her room. Her room. Liam had recreated her childhood bedroom in his house. But why?
It was creepy. And invasive. Even if a teensy bit flattering.
Her mind spun from all the turns this night had taken. The flag. The view. This room. Liam.
Liam.
The truth cracked her over the head like a rogue tree limb.
Stunned, she fell onto her old bed and kneaded the turquoise stone in her fist. It had once been part of a pair, the other half belonging to Davin—her Davin lost during her slumber centuries ago. Davin Lima.
She sprung up in the bed, the last name splitting apart and reassembling in her head.
He was lanky back then. A slovenly boy in his pubescent stage. With shaggy brown hair, dark skin, a smile that sent shivers down her spine, and the good humor and patience of a saint. Could it possibly be?
As if thrust by some otherworldly force, Dawn leapt from the bed and burst across the room. She paused just before her fingers touched the door and then, for some reason she didn’t quite understand, closed her eyes. She pulled it back slowly. With her world still in d
arkness, she whispered one word. “Davin?”
She heard him sigh, expelling all the air in the world. “Dawn.”
She opened her eyes as he stumbled forward and cradled her face in his hands. “Please forgive me,” he said, running his fingers manically over her cheeks, down her arms, and back again. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“I thought you were dead.” She shook her head, still unsure this was real. “Where were you when everyone woke up? We all looked for you. Why did you disappear?”
Davin’s eyes burned red as he struggled to explain—with some degree of composure—that he’d spent the last decade trying to make himself worthy of her. He’d been plotting to get her back into his life.
“The day you pricked your finger was the worst day of my life,” he said. “Everything changed in an instant. It may have been three centuries to everyone else, but to us it was mere seconds.” Dawn felt a spark in her throat. Finally, someone who understood. “One minute we were running through the castle and the next … I lost you, I lost my father, and I lost my home.” He paused to swallow and clasped her hands in his.
“You father?” She didn’t understand. “What happened to your father?”
Davin bit his lip. “He was outside the kingdom walls when it happened.” A pile of bricks tumbled in her stomach. “Dawn, he didn’t fall asleep like the rest of us. He lived … and died … when we all should have.”
She shook her head but didn’t have the words. She knew people had died during the Great Sleep—victims of frostbite or the erosion of the castle, who’d never felt any pain. That had sickened her enough. But she’d never even imagined anyone could have been left behind. Left behind to live, technically, but really to die alone. It was the worst thing she could imagine. How many others were there?
“I’m sorry for not telling you before,” he said. “I hoped you’d recognize me, but I know that was another lifetime. I know we’re both different now. But I need you to know I didn’t leave you. When I woke, everything was a blur. There was a man there who told me about my father immediately—about how he’d died, and how he’d created an empire that was handed down for centuries waiting for me.”