Epilogue
PRINCE COLE
“I love her, and that’s the
beginning and end of everything.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
“ A re you just going to ignore me, Princess?” I tilt my head slightly before adding, “That’s quite rude, don’t you think?”
I recognized her instantly.
I know those eyes.
I’d know those eyes anywhere.
And I remember everything—every little detail.
“You two know each other?” Aurora whispers so only I can hear, her tone laced with confusion.
My heart pounds furiously in my chest, because all I can see is the confusion in Davina’s eyes and the way her gaze flits between me and Aurora.
My eyes catch the scar on her chest, exposed despite her robe. The sight leaves me breathless, sending a jolt of pain through me. It makes my wretched heart ache that she chose to end her life after I had ended mine.
Staring into her eyes, everything suddenly falls into place.
Together, we brought down Lorelda.
It’s hard to believe as I look at the girl I now realize is my soulmate. But I remember the strange, almost otherworldly feeling I had when we first met, the one I brushed off as improbable. The prickling along the path of my birthmark across my face.
At the time, I dismissed it as wishful thinking, but now it’s undeniable.
She’s as beautiful as ever, but something is off.
She is just as I remember, and yet so different.
The scar on her chest, the weariness in her eyes—these are new. And the woman I fell in love with had a vibrant spirit, a fire that burned brightly.
Now, that fire is dimmed, obscured by something I can’t quite place, and I feel a painful disconnect.
“Excuse me?” she finally says, breaking the silence. “Who… Who are you?”
My heart plummets as her words hit me like a punch, each syllable a crushing blow that reverberates through my soul.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Aurora’s hand on my shoulder feels like a lifeline, grounding me in the unsettling realization that something has gone terribly wrong.
The look in Davina’s eyes is one of genuine confusion, and it cuts deeper than any blade ever could.
“It’s me,” I manage to say, barely able to get the words out.
She only frowns, confusion still clouding her eyes.
“It’s me ,” I repeat, the words slipping out in a near whisper, as if saying them any louder would make the truth hurt more.
Aurora shifts beside me. “Maybe we should go,” she whispers. “She doesn’t seem to?—”
“No,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel.
I search Davina’s face, hoping for a glimmer of recognition, but her eyes remain distant, uncertain.
She doesn’t recognize me.
She doesn’t see me, not really. Not the way I see her.
My soulmate is looking at me as if I’m a stranger.
I want to drive a dagger straight into my heart once more and die all over again.
She blinks slowly, and her eyes soften for a moment, as if she’s trying to grasp at the threads of something familiar. But then the moment passes, and she shakes her head slightly, as if dismissing the thought. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recall meeting you before.”
My throat feels tight. I want to shout, to make her remember, but the words catch in my throat. I see the same confusion in her expression that I feel in my soul. It’s as if she’s searching for something she’s lost, and I’m right there, yet entirely out of reach.
I glance at her mother, standing a little to the side. She looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension.
With a heavy heart, I take a few tentative steps toward the Queen. “Your Majesty,” I whisper, turning to her. “Why doesn’t she remember me?”
The Queen looks at me with gentle eyes. “Sometimes, the heart remembers what the mind forgets. Give it time.”
Time .
It’s something I don’t have.
I’m losing her again, slipping through my fingers like water.
I manage a nod, though every fiber of my being wants to scream out in anguish.
My hands are shaking as I look back at Davina, whose gaze is now fixed on the butterfly resting on her hand.
The image is almost surreal.
And my heart sinks as the realization dawns on me: Lorelda’s blood magic must have done this to her.
This is her doing.
The weight of that realization presses down on me, threatening to crush every bit of hope I have left.
We’ve bled for each other, and yet, standing here now, it feels as though all of that has been erased, like a cruel joke played by the universe.
My eyes well up with tears I refuse to let fall, and I try to mask the pain that threatens to crush me, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I must have made a mistake.” The words taste bitter, but I swallow them down.
Aurora is watching me with a worried frown, but I can’t meet her gaze.
The pink butterfly flutters away from Davina’s hand, disappearing into the castle’s hall. It feels like a metaphor for something precious slipping out of my grasp.
“I apologize for any intrusion,” I say, my voice steady, even though my heart is anything but.
I turn to leave, every step heavier than the last. The scar on my chest throbs with each beat of my heart, and I have to remind myself to breathe. But it’s only Davina who holds the power to breathe air back into my lungs.
Just as I reach the door, her voice stops me.
“Wait.”
I freeze, a spark of hope flaring inside me before it’s smothered by the ache of reality.
I turn, and for a moment, our eyes meet again.
“What’s your name?” Her brow knit together in concentration. “She mentioned you’re the Prince?—”
“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m nobody.”
I am absolutely no one.