Aleiya mimicked Magnus' earlier motion without thinking, mirroring his search for his “lost invitation”—until realization unfolded before her, delicate as a spider’s web catching the light.

  ‘Oh! Of course.’

  Aleiya reached up to her crown of flowers, touching one, then another.

  Without thinking, she passed over the white asters to quickly pluck a white lily from her hair. It was instinctual really. Most people believed lilies to be the most beautiful anyway. So this had to be the right answer.

  It had to be correct.

  She placed it into his palm—gently, reverently, mindful not to touch. But a finger twitched to slide against her retreating hand.

  It was revolting.

  It was a jolt of lightning through her arm. She brought her hands back to her chest—one clasping, rubbing at the one he had just defiled.

  Like oil spilled on water.

  She could only bite her tongue to alleviate her silent scream.

  Disgust aside, she was still quite satisfied with herself.

  She gave him something beautiful, something valuable. And to sell him on her sincerity, Aleiya gilded her offering with a soft and painted smile—one that did not reach her eyes.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Both men were genuinely taken aback by her gesture.

  Sullivan was left in silent horror. His fingers twitched against Aleiya’s back, resisting the urge to pull her away. To keep her from the whims of the madman she unwittingly played into.

  Magnus was hit by mirthful whiplash he never anticipated.

  A flower.

  She gave him a flower.

  A single flower plucked from her tiny little silver head.

  How did he both lose and win?

  Something so simple, so girlish, made his insides twist and his heart flutter. His pale-blue eyes lit with a ravenous hunger as they met pearl-pale orbs.

  He brought the gift to his lips.

  “A vision of beauty indeed,” he murmured with unexpected reverence, gingerly rolling the stem between his fingers. The soft and lingering scent of her hair bloomed before him—embracing, caressing.

  The slide of his finger was just a touch. A skim, not even a hair’s length, but it sang to him all the same. It happened in the sliver of a moment—just before the beat of his heart.

  He felt the unmistakable swell of the arcane.

  Almost imperceptible, almost nothing, one that should have glossed right over his skin. But it was there, and he could feel its transcendence, its divinity. He could feel the very universe opening its eyes just to witness them.

  And what it witnessed was time itself halting in their shared presence.

  Total stasis.

  He exhaled, just slightly, as if caught in an act too perverse. Magnus opened his mouth to speak, but found the breath of his lungs stolen from him. He felt naked, but so very much alive.

  “I don’t believe I caught your name,” he asked, soft as a priest at an altar.

  ‘Nor should you.’ Her eyes widened. Horrified. It did not feel like a question to Aleiya, but a collection. One he had no way of knowing the value.

  To give your name away, to have it stolen, to have it caught—captured—kept?

  Might as well beg the fey to take you.

  That is not something you should ask for—not ever—but he asked it all the same.

  Aleiya’s hairs stood on end, prickling with a static that was painful in its ferocity. A surge of fear that, unlike earlier, she could not ignore. The painted smile, the quiet satisfaction, faded with a slow deliberacy like pouring plastic over her own face.

  She couldn’t answer him.

  He had asked her for something else, something he wished to catch and keep. Something that should never have been asked to give, yet he asked as if it were a trifle thing .

  Her lips pursed into a tight thin line, knowing she could not ever give him what he wanted.

  So… what happens to her now?