She shouldn't be here.

Not now, not during the rain, and by the gods, not when I'm pledged to a man I don't even know. And yet—there she is. Outside the garden gate. Drenched in rain, cloak clasped around her arms, hair dripping and unbound, streaming down her cheeks like the storm had trailed behind her here just to weep for her instead.

Gods.

I step out onto the balcony, the hem of my nightdress already whipping in the wind. I do not care. I do not even think—I just dash down the marble stairs, fast enough that the guards do not catch my leaving.

She does not move when I reach her. Her fists are clenched around the iron gate, knuckles white. Her eyes are fixed on me like I am the final light she can still see.

“Cassandra,” I gasp, my voice nearly gone in the storm. “What do you do?”

“Stand,” she states flatly. "Think. Regret.”

“You could have written. Or sent a spellnote.”

“You would've incinerated it.”

"I wince. “I wouldn't have.”

“You did, Aelia. Three times.”

I struggle to talk. Nothing will pass my lips. Because she is right, and I did.

“I thought if I caught sight of you… perhaps I'd lose hope,” she continues, her voice softer now. “But look at me—soaked like some pitiful noble lady out of a fairy tale. Pitied, am I?”

“No,” I cut in roughly, too roughly. “Don't.”

She laughs once more, bitter and lovely. “Why not? It's the truth. You're betrothed. To the Prince Auchrebret of Guiniures. And I'm just…the mistake. The secret.”

My chest aches as if someone's stabbed me with a knife—not a clean cut, but a twist of one. “You are not a mistake.”

“Then what am I, Aelia?” Her eyes lock with mine. “Say it. Please. Gods, just tell me what I am to you.”

I step closer, barely breathing. I want to touch her—her hand, her cheek, anything—but I don't. Because if I do, I won't stop.

“You're why I still feel anything at all,” I gasp. “And why I cannot sleep. You're in every breath I breathe and every corner of this cursed palace and I hate how much I find myself looking for you in rooms you're not even allowed to be in.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, quaveringly, “Then why did you leave me?”

“I didn't,” I choke. “I let them win. I let fear win.”

Cassandra looks away, blinking rain—or tears—away. I don't know anymore. “You glared at me when they announced it, and you didn't say anything. Not even goodbye.”

“I know,” I whisper. “And I swear, I've regretted it every hour since.”

She gasps, long and shuddering. “Do not look at me so.”

“How?”

“Like I'm still yours.”

The silence between us is heavy, like thunder poised to fall. I look at her the way I've always looked at her—as if she's starlight in flesh, as if she's the only thing that's ever brought me alive.

“I never lost being yours,” I say to her.

And then I step back. Because if I don't do it now, I never will.