It’s the middle of the night, and I’m feeling mortified. If everything I do really happens in the book now, then . . . Martin must think I’m an idiot! I pause in my pacing. I have a refilled glass of water in one hand, and I’m squeezing the life out of a bag of shredded mozzarella in my other hand. “Why do I care what fake people think of me?” Shit, I’m talking to myself out loud. My neighbors are going to think I’m nuts. I put the water down and start shoveling handfuls of cheese into my mouth. I hope I don’t puke again.


    For the last three hours, I’ve been too scared to go back to sleep. Which is stupid. But let me remind the universe for a minute—I am the biggest idiot in the world. “Shit.” I have to sleep. I have to sleep, and now I get to embarrass myself not only in real life but also in my favorite book. “Shit shit.” A swath of sunlight slides across my floor as I pace. It’s morning. Worse, it’s Monday morning. I have work today, and I only slept for a few hours. “Shit shit shit!”


    I need to make a plan—that much is clear. I can have fun with this. Yeah, I can enjoy this. If it happens again, I’ll do a better job. I already know what happens in the book and Eliana is not some kind of genius. I can outdo her. I can be a better queen. I can protect the elves from the impending attack, fix the bridge from breaking so people can flee the orc invasion, and . . . marry Peter Ward to protect the kingdom from an impending war? I groan. This is going to suck.


    As much as I love the Alvione series, I never wanted Eliana to end up with Peter. Sure, romance is a big part of the book, but I really had to forgive a lot to get over Eliana and Peter being end game. Still, in my silly mind, it did mean that Leon was up for grabs in my own private fantasies. So I didn’t mind too much. But now that I’m Eliana . . . I can do whatever I want. I shove another pile of cheese into my mouth. Yeah, yeah . . . I can pursue Leon. Problem is, the guy’s a prince from an already friendly nation. So I’ll still have to deal with the Ward invasion problem. The only reason King Paulo Ward doesn’t attack Alvione is because of Eliana’s marriage to Peter. He still really wants to but considers the kingdom basically his once the two of them tie the knot. Can I convince him to see a general alliance as good enough? I feel something touch my foot and nearly jump. It’s just some cheese I dropped. God damn it. I need to start eating healthier.


    I dust off my hands over the sink and toss the cheese back into the fridge where it belongs. Why am I even worried about this? Just because it’s a dream that’s magically writing itself into my book doesn’t mean it really matters what I do in it. What matters is that I have to leave for work in thirty minutes, tired or not.


    Muttering and cursing to myself, I hurry to my room and start getting ready for work. I’ll have to worry about this later.


    When I push through the doors of Big Beautiful Beanery, I’m immediately greeted by the tired waves of my coworkers.


    “You look like shit,” Daisuke says with a small grin.


    “So do you,” I say just as wryly.


    “I think my sister got a busted copy of that book you’re always talking about,” Jenna says as she absentmindedly cleans the milk frother. “Bro, who closed yesterday? If you aren’t going to soak the frother overnight . . . I don’t know. You’re fired.”


    “Overnight? I just clean it,” Daisuke starts to say right as I slam my hands on the counter and practically shout, “What book?”


    Jenna and Daisuke both jump. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Daisuke whines. “It’s too early for banging on stuff and yelling.”


    “You know,” Jenna says, “that Avalon book.”


    “Alvione? The Tales of Alvione?” I’m shaking. Why am I shaking? I mean, there’s no way, right? There’s no way other people’s books are changing with mine?


    Jenna shrugs. “I dunno. Is that the one you’re always talking about? Because if yes, then yes.”


    I tap my fingers on the counter nervously. Daisuke huffs at me and goes into the backroom. “What was wrong with it?”


    Jenna squints at me. “You’re acting weird.”


    “Just tell me! This is so frustrating! Spit it out!”


    “Jesus, okay, okay. She just started it and said that it, like, randomly introduced a new character out of nowhere and broke the fourth wall. And she skipped ahead and that character doesn’t seem to ever appear again.”


    I’m going to pass out. Every thought . . . I had . . . in my dream . . . is in the actual book? The book that millions of people have read? Does this mean people who read it before I had my dream will find their copies bizarrely changed? Or has everyone’s collective memory changed to think I was always randomly in the book? I fall into one of the stools.


    Jenna tuts. “No sitting. We’re about to open. Go wipe the tables or something. You know—work. And where the hell is Daisuke?”


    “I’m here,” Daisuke calls out as he returns from the backroom. “Yell at Rose, not me. I’m a good little barista.”


    Jenna rolls her eyes. “Sure you are.”


    I can barely focus on their pointless banter. I need to go to the library. Or a bookstore. I need to check. I need to be sure. But I can’t just leave either. When I turn to the door, I see some old lady peering through the glass and banging on it like a kid in an aquarium. I’d hate being a fish.


    “The zombies have arrived,” Daisuke mutters.


    “Let her in, will ya, Rose?”


    I look over at Jenna and nod numbly, then go to the door and unlock it for the old woman.


    I’ll have to find another time to check. And maybe search social media to see if anyone’s talking about it. My eyes travel warily to the clock. In eight hours.


    The second my shift ends, I’m running out the door. Truly a bat out of hell moment. I stumble down the street. I’d been thinking about it all day. There’s a big bookstore two blocks away. They’ll have The Tales of Alvione. There’s no doubt about it. I jaywalk recklessly—at this point, getting hit by a truck wouldn’t exactly change my situation all that much—and slip past a family struggling with their shopping bags to run straight into the center of the bookstore. I don’t have to search at all. The Tales of Alvione is on the main center table because of course it is. It’s a god damn New York Times bestseller. I grab a copy and flip through the first few pages and—there it is.


    Me.


    Me tormenting Martin. For seemingly no reason at all.


    My phone. Surely the internet thinks this book is weird, right? How could it still get so popular in a universe where I’m suddenly stomping the halls of Alvione Castle like a maniac?


    But no—no, the internet loves it. There are think pieces, dated from six years ago when the first book came out, discussing the “bold” and “atmospheric” choice to add a fourth-wall breaking character into the first chapter of the first book and then never bring her up again. Wait, “atmospheric”? Man, people will write anything these days. What a load of—


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    And then there is the discussion on social media. People begging for Rose to come back in a later book, only to be disappointed when she doesn’t in the last book of the series. And even more people begging for a spinoff series about Rose.


    Shit . . . I’m . . . popular? No, I can’t get a big head. The universe is trying to cope with the contradiction. The book is already popular. Me appearing in it suddenly can’t undo its popularity, because I never would have even gotten obsessed with the book in the first place if it wasn’t a smash hit.


    Martin was right. I’m crazy. But as I scour the internet, hovering over the table of books and blocking annoyed customers, one thing becomes incredibly clear to me. I need to go back to sleep. I need to see what happens. I need . . . to do something.


    Like clockwork, I see that I’m getting a call from Adam. My phone shakes in my hand. No, my hand’s the thing that’s shaking. I can’t talk to him, but now, more than ever, I really want to. Because if anyone would believe me about this . . . it’s him. He loves all that alternate universe shit. He would love to come up with theories about how this is all happening. My finger hovers over the answer button. Then I remember it all again. The sight of him . . . with her . . . in our bed. Fuck no. I won’t give him the satisfaction.


    Instead, I find myself wandering down the street like a ghost, headed in the direction of my apartment. I should sleep. Yes. That’s what I should do. Not call Adam back. Not drink wine. Not . . . eat cheese. Well, I guess I could eat cheese but—focus! I need to go to sleep and see what happens next.


    In the book, Eliana finishes the rites and is crowned as queen. In the new book, that still happens, but it’s me who does it for her. And then . . . and then what?


    My hands start trembling again, but this time with nervous excitement. She meets Leon for the first time. That’s right. Leon misses the coronation, so he comes to the castle the next day and requests to meet her in order to express his congratulations. Perfect. This is perfect. I’ve rewritten this story a million times before in my head. Leon’s going to love me! I know exactly what he likes, his tragic backstory, everything. There’s no way I’m fucking this up.


    Somehow, I’m fucking this up. I flipped through the book to make sure I was at the part where Eliana is about to meet Leon and then fell asleep—that much is for sure, because I’m back in Alvione. Because I’m paranoid, I made sure to place the book on my chest, in case that was the ticket last time. No reason to change up how we do things now.


    But instead of meeting with Leon, I’m hiding from him. Why am I hiding from him? Still . . . who can really blame me? I was walking down the hall, knowing full well that he would end up bumping into me in a classic meet cute, but the second I caught a glimpse of his signature gold robes rounding the corner, I peeled off into an empty room and have been standing there ever since.


    I can’t do this. Or maybe I can do this. No, wait. I can’t. Or can I? Stop being a fucking pussy and just—


    The door creaks open slowly. I straighten up, brushing my skirts into place and fixing the crown on my head.


    It’s . . . a maid.


    She looks up at me with big eyes. “Your Majesty!” She bows low. “What an honor that you have come to my room to visit with me.”


    I look around the room. “Oh, no. No, no. I’m not visiting you. I just . . .” Well, I can be honest with a maid, right? She’s like my real life equal. “Did you see Leon walk by?”


    “Prince Leon?” The maid looks up at me in surprise. “Yes, he just passed by. Should I fetch him for you?”


    “NO! No. No no. Please. Don’t fetch him. I’ll fetch him. I’m actually . . . great at fetching people. Never mind. Thank you.” She bows again and, because I don’t know what I’m doing, I bow back at her. Shit. I’m being weird again. Fortunately, the maid just giggles and does her best to stifle the sound. I scurry past her and see Leon’s back as he continues down the hall ahead of me.


    I stumble in his direction. I’ll make my own meet cute, god damn it. But right as I’m about to catch up with him, I step on the hem of my skirt and fall right into him, knocking us both to the floor. Because he’s a graceful, perfect prince, he lands well and manages to cushion my fall, his arms coming around me protectively. I bang my head against his ribcage and hear him let out a startled oof.


    My head shoots up to look at him, and my crown immediately crashes down onto my nose, blocking my vision. I let out a sigh. “Sorry.”


    I feel the crown growing lighter and realize he’s lifting it back onto my head. My eyes meet his. And god, he’s even more perfect than the book described. His hair is a flurry of dark curls, his eyes a warm, kind brown. His jaw is the definition of chiseled, offset by the cutest dimples that pop out as he smiles at me. Full lips, an adorable button nose, smooth dark skin—the man is a dream. And I’m staring at him, open-mouthed, totally starstruck.


    “Eliana,” he says softly. The tone of his voice is so warm and rich that I don’t even care that he’s calling me by her name. Because I’m technically her, right? “I did not expect us to meet like this.”


    “Really?” I breathe, climbing up off of him shakily so he can rise to his feet. He’s much taller than I’d expected. I don’t think the book ever specified his height, but I have a tendency to imagine all characters are only a few inches taller than me. And he’s definitely six foot. I smile up at him like a dummy in love. “Because I didn’t expect us to meet at all. Leon, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”


    Okay, girl, you got this. That was charming. Super old-timey and convincing. I can do this. He’s just a guy, after all. A fictional guy who is fucking perfect. No big deal. God, I need to stop being such a horny geek.


    Leon’s grin widens at my words, and I can feel my face getting hot. “You’re much more beautiful than King Roburn,” he says cheekily.


    “Yes, well . . . I’d hope that I’m more attractive than an eighty-year-old man.”


    He laughs. I’m killing this! “I actually came here to meet you and offer my deepest apologies for missing your coronation. I’d intended to be here as an ally to Alvione, but my carriage got stuck in the mud after the storm.”


    I’m so busy getting lost in his friendly gaze that I almost forget to respond. “Oh, no. It’s no trouble. I’m glad you’re here now. I’ve heard so much about you.”


    He tilts his head. “Have you? I didn’t think a week of political training would include discussions about me. I’m just a prince, you know. Hardly worth talking about at all.” A hint of playfulness flits across his face for a moment. I realize he’s right. Why would Eliana know anything about him?


    “Well, I . . . I am a quick study. So we ended up covering more topics than anticipated. Including family trees and”—time to be bold—“potential suitors, considering my inexperience.”


    His eyebrows shoot up ever so slightly. Shit, was I too bold? He lets out a surprised chuckle, then leans in and whispers in my ear, “I know you are new to all of this, but you should be aware that such discussions are not meant to be had between the likes of us. It’s inappropriate.” I can feel my face getting even redder than I’m sure it already was. This is not a sexy whisper, but thankfully, it’s not a threat either. Just a friendly warning. He leans back again and puts his fingers to his lips, giving me a small forgiving smile.


    “My apologies,” I gasp out. “I’m not used to so many rules.”


    He reaches out, and I still for a second, not sure what the hell is going to happen next. But he just straightens my crown and brushes a stray strand of hair back behind my ear. “I understand,” he says, looking seriously at me. “But as allies, it’s important to me and my people that you put your best foot forward in all of your affairs. Because mistakes you make will reflect on us as well. And the kingdom of Ward grows increasingly antsy to claim more land. Yours and mine.”


    I nod, feeling my heart sink in my chest. He thinks I’m a fool. Martin thinks I’m a fool too. So far everyone I’ve met who’s a named character in this fuckin’ book thinks I’m going to ruin everything. “I’ll do better,” I promise quietly.


    “No,” he says, leaning in and lifting my chin so I have no choice but to look directly into his eyes. They’re still warm, kind eyes, but his brows are knitted in obvious concern. “We must all do our very best.”


    The sound of my alarm jolts me awake. My bed is cold with sweat. “Ugh.” I climb out of bed and strip out of my sweat-soaked pajamas. I thought this would be fun. So why am I so stressed out?


    And why do none of these damn characters like me? I pick up the book, which once again, I’ve carelessly let fall to the floor, and check the pages. They’re slightly damp from all my stress sweating. I sigh and lay it faceup in the sun, turning my tabletop fan toward it to dry the pages while I’m at work.


    I don’t have it in me to check the internet for what people now think of the book. Who cares? If I keep dreaming in this world and keep making changes to my own, I might as well focus on seeing it through to the end. And doing a damn good job with it.


    Because I’m hopeless to figure out what the hell is even going on. If I’m in some kind of long extended dream, if I’m hopping universes, if my book is just magic—I don’t even know where to begin with all that shit.


    As the breeze from the fan flips through the book, I watch as the pages flutter by until they come to a stop on the last page.


    About the Author.


    I freeze.


    The author. That’s it.


    I need to talk to the author.