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The truth seared through me, white and merciless, as the vision finally began to dissolve, the darkness rushing back in to claim me. And as it took me, I became aware of one last thing, the only thing left in all that black.

My own heart, slamming against my ribs.

Pounding, frantic and afraid, in perfect time with another.

As I felt what was coming before I could stop it.

Before I could stop the darkness from consuming my life and before I could stop my own heart from being the very last thing of me…

…Left beating.

Atlas

There was something wrong.

I couldn’t have said what. Only that my whole body seemed to be clawing its way up out of sleep, dragging me with it. My heart already hammering against my ribs before my eyes had so much as opened. Cold sweat sat slick on my skin. My gut had drawn itself into a hard, sick knot, twisting tighter with every breath. And somewhere beneath all of it, beneath thought, beneath reason, an old instinct I had long ago learned never to ignore was screaming a single word.

Wrong.

I reached for her before I was even truly awake.

And my hand closed on cold silk.

My eyes shot open. I lifted my head, scanning the bed, the chamber, the grey half-light of dawn pooling across the floor. The space beside me was empty, the sheets long cooled, no warmth, and a stubborn weight curled into my side where it belonged.

No Alexandra.

I made myself breathe. Slow in, slower out, the way I’d taught a thousand soldiers to do before a battle. A way to calm so that I could reach for the simplest explanation, because the simplest explanation was almost always the true one.

She had done it again.

The thought arrived edged with something I was not proud of. Irritation. Because she’d promised me. Only a day ago, in the practice yard, with my brother’s bow in her hands and that defiant little tilt to her chin, she had looked me in the eye and promised.

Next time, I’ll wake you.

And I had let myself believe it. I had told her plainly how I hated waking to find her gone, had swallowed the part of me that wanted to make it an order, and trusted her instead.

And here I was. Reaching across a cold bed in the dark.

Again.

So, with a growl of annoyance, I whipped the covers back and started getting dressed to go in search of her. She was with Lazaros, no doubt. Slipped off at first light to torment my brother into teaching her one more useless trick with a bow. Most likely too caught up in it to think of waking me, or too certain I would not mind. And the maddening thing was that I didn’t mind, not truly.

This castle, this whole kingdom, was as much hers as it was mine now, or would be soon enough. She was to be my queen. If she wished to roam every corridor, climb every tower, and learn every blade in my armory, she had every right.

Preferably with a guard at her side.

Or with me.

But the irritation was easy. The irritation was comfortable. It was the thing my mind reached for so that it would not have to reach for the other thing. The cold, formless dread sitting beneath it, and it held for exactly as long as it took me to reach for the pull.

That golden thread strung between her heart and mine, the one that had only grown since I claimed her. Until I could close my eyes anywhere in either world and feel the exact direction of her. And during the long battle, I did. And I felt her close. Yet I didn’t trust it, blaming the growing intensity on my aching heart and longing for her. But I understood it better now. As there she had been the whole time, battling through a labyrinth and bargaining with the Gorgon King in order to get to me. So, trusting the pull this time, I reached for it.

And nearly went to my knees.

Because it was faint.

Barely there.