LATE THAT night, I sat on the edge of the bed, the minutes passing slowly. The moonlight cast strange shapes on the floor, menacing black shadows that hovered around me, my only company. There was no more pretending. A soldier stood outside my door now. Caleb was somewhere beyond the City center, sitting in some cell, both of us waiting, each hour bringing us closer to the end. Footsteps echoed in the hall. The knock on the door raised the fine hairs on my arms. The King came in, flicking the lights on, the brightness stinging my eyes. “They said you wanted to talk, Genevieve.” He sat down in the armchair in the corner, his hands folded together, his chin resting on his knuckles as he watched me. “Did you think about what I said? It’s a matter of safety—yours and mine.” “I did,” I replied. Outside, the sky was flecked with stars. The sun had disappeared hours before, slipping behind the mountains. I picked at the thin skin around my fingernails, wondering if I could actually say it out loud.
