“Alistria Okuta?” He blinks. His grip on my hands loosens, and his small smile flattens out into tense, neutral expression. “Why do you want to know?”


    “I’ve been reading about her,” I babble. “Found an old book that mentions her. It said she might have been from Viridia.”


    I’m lying out of my ass so it’s extra surprising to me when he lets out a low sigh and drops my hands, turning away as he says, “It’s true that she resided in Viridia for a time. She worked with my father. I, however, have never met her.”


    She’s real. And someone’s met her.


    That means she can be found.


    I need to tell Martin. We need to talk to the king of Viridia. What’s his name again? Abe? I can’t remember. But Martin will know. Peter probably would too. As my brain whirs with new info, I don’t notice that he’s returned to looking at me, suspicion written across his face.


    “I was hoping to have a conversation with you that did not involve politics.”


    My eyes refocus, meeting his, and I shrink. Shit. “I’m sorry. It’s not about politics. I was just curious. I really do like you, Leon. I want to know more about you too. I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”


    I sound like a fucking middle schooler with a crush. Mentally, I smack myself in the head a few times. I’m a piece of shit. Just as I’m starting to pity every single person in politics—including the assholes—and including myself (another asshole), he brings me back to reality with another sigh. He runs his hand through his curls and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “No, no. I should really . . . temper my expectations.” He quirks a weak, guilty smile at me, his dimples flashing cutely. “I don’t have much experience with . . . Well, perhaps I should admit that I have never expressed interest in anyone before. I suppose I found myself dreaming of a much simpler outcome. Perhaps I have read too many stories and forgot how reality is quite different from fiction.” He takes my hands again, this time with a very serious look on his face as he leans in and says earnestly, “I have put pressure on you to do well in your role, and I should not judge you for wishing to know more about the political statuses of our nations. These things do have value, and you are wise to ask these questions before accepting my . . .” He pauses, taking a shaky breath. “. . . my attempt at courtship.”


    Oh, shit! He really is courting me! My self-pity transforms into an explosion of totally-not-overblown confidence. Fuck yeah! I’m amazing! I turned it around. I can do anything. This shit is easy. I—wait, why is he still talking about politics? I quickly realize that I’m smiling like an idiot and compose my face. Play hard to get, dummy. People love that. Oh, and also . . . “The political statuses of our nations?”


    Leon squeezes my hands gently. His hands are soft and warm, not calloused and scarred like stupid Peter’s. It feels so nice to hold hands with someone cute that I have to fight to keep my stupid grin from reappearing. His lips part in a warm smile as he whispers, “It seems we keep having discussions that are better done in private.”


    Internally, I am screaming. Externally, I am almost dizzy from staring up into his eyes and falling into their depths like the most cliche, simple-minded, lovestruck, idiotic, hopeless romantic on the planet. “Okay,” I squeak. “Where do you want to go?”


    His gaze moves to the room behind me—my bedroom—then sweeps away and down the hall. “I believe the library was a suitable meeting place last time. Do you agree?”


    Meeting with the prince who’s courting me in a library? Turn this man into a werewolf with a motorcycle, and this is a recipe for BookTok.


    God, am I always this embarrassing, or is this a new development?


    He’s looking at me. Because I haven’t said anything. I’m just staring at him.


    “Oh, yeah,” I sputter out. “That’s perfect. Let’s go.”


    The last thing I see is his happy expression fading into concern as I wake up with a start in the middle of the park at sunset. Someone is grabbing at my shoulder and shaking me kind of roughly.


    “Hey! Fuck off!” I bark, scrambling back a foot and tearing up the grass with my hands in the process.


    Looking down at me is some girl I’ve never seen before. She’s got short black hair, deadpan brown eyes framed by heavy eyeliner, and a comic book’s worth of tattoos painted up and down her arms. She steps back with her arms raised innocently. “Bro, chill. I thought you were dead. You’re all sunburned.” She motions to the right side of her face. I mirror her and flinch at the sting of my burnt skin under my fingertips.


    “Shit.”


    With a curious grin, she crosses her spindly legs and sits down on the ground next to me, her black platform boots flatting the grass with an audible thud. “Who the hell sleeps in a park?” Her studded tongue grabs my attention, the silver bead catching some of the gold of the setting sun as she talks.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Who let their goth gf out into my park? I think back sassily but aloud just say, “Me, I guess.” I’m still a bit too disoriented from my dream to feel embarrassed, but I do have enough awareness to realize she’s looking for an introduction. “Rose.”


    It feels weird, meeting someone new in real life. In a park. This feels more like a dream than my dreams do lately.


    “Trix,” she replies.


    “Like the cereal?”


    “Like short for Beatrix.” She laughs, a rough, friendly sound. She’s either a smoker or in a screamo band. Probably both. “Silly rabbit,” she teases for good measure, her low voice scratchy and sultry and her smile cutely crooked.


    Uh oh. That does it. The stupid fluttering feeling in my chest. Nah, not a crush right now, please. Come on. Leon’s courting me finally and . . .


    He’s not real. The thought is a gut punch. But he isn’t real, is he?


    “So, what’s your story, bunny rabbit? Why’re you sleeping alone in a park?”


    “Why are you waking up people sleeping in parks?” I shoot back, though I can’t help a small smile, which she returns with a sheepish chuckle.


    “I don’t know. I did kind of think you might be dead. Or need help or something. Do you?” She rests her arms on her knees, her cheek in her hand as she peers at me.


    Maybe it’s because she’s a stranger, or maybe it’s because I need someone to fucking talk to, but I reply, “Yeah, actually,” and just start telling her everything. It’s the first time I’ve told anyone from my world—the real world—about the dreams. About how the world is changing in small ways every time I wake. About how I don’t know what the hell is happening to me. I don’t care if she thinks I’m crazy, because she doesn’t know me—a stranger can think I’m crazy all they want! Who cares? It’s not like anyone will believe her either if she spreads it around. And she doesn’t seem like the type to do that anyway. By the time I breathlessly catch her up to my latest dream, the sun is long gone, and the pale light of the moon is all that’s left to guide us. Her face has been permanently stuck in a surprised look this whole time, her bleached eyebrows frozen high on her forehead and her mouth hanging open slightly, exposing the silver piercing. She gives her head a small, slow shake as I wrap up the story thus far.


    “Damn. You could write a book about this.” She lets out a startled laugh. “Or I guess you already have.”


    It’s my turn for my eyebrows to shoot up. “You believe me?”


    She shrugs. “I’m entertaining the idea. Why don’t you show me the book?”


    “And let you see how badly I’ve embarrassed myself already?!”


    At that, Trix cackles, her witchy laugh making me smile. “I think you’re beyond embarrassment at this point, bunny.”


    And that’s how Trix ends up at my place. How she ends up in my bed is a bit harder to explain. I guess, shit happens, might be the best way to describe it. But for the first time in a month, I’m not sleeping alone, and I’m just starting to wonder if that’ll affect my dreams at all when I find myself fading away in Trix’s embrace and coming to in Leon’s. He’s warm, more solid than Trix, and clinging to me with surprising tightness, his arms forming a soft shield around me and his hair tickling my cheek. I’ve traded my sunburn for the bruises along my arm and the bump on my head from the last time I fainted in Alvione. I don’t feel any new injuries, thankfully, so I’m guessing Leon caught me.


    “Eliana,” he breathes in relief as I find my footing. We’re both still standing; I guess he’s been holding me up this whole time—however long that’s been, anyway. Am I losing time in Alvione every time I faint? No time to think about that, though, because his hand is on my cheek, my forehead. With worried urgency, he pushes his dark hair out of his face and mine so he can take a better look at me. I stare back at him like a deer in headlights. “You just . . . fell. So suddenly,” he murmurs. I feel a heavy sigh rock through him as he holds me close.


    He seems . . . really freaked out about this. I mean, it was just a fainting spell.


    Then, from the recesses of my mind, I remember him mentioning in The Tales of Alvione that his younger sister had died of an illness. Is that why?


    As my mind returns to the present, I smile up at him softly, trying to soothe the concern that plagues him. “Yeah, that’s a thing I do sometimes. Don’t worry.” I reach up and touch his cheek softly, feeling emboldened, I guess, by the confidence boost that was Trix’s attentions. He freezes at my touch, but then a small, shy smile flickers across his face, and I can feel his muscles relaxing around me. He releases me from his hold, I guess deciding that I’m steady enough now, but when I start to draw my hand back, he captures it in his.


    “You are the strangest person . . . I have ever met,” he says, his hand trembling slightly as he intertwines his fingers with mine. My heart begins pounding in my chest. Is he . . . ? He’s leaning in. In the middle of the hallway? He’s getting so bold. Maybe I should faint more often. “You worried me. There’s still so much more I want to know about you,” he mutters quietly. His hand steadies in mine, and he pulls me close again—into a real hug this time.


    Oh, a hug. I mean, no, that’s fine.


    As if he’s read my mind, I feel him chuckling, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Disappointed?” he whispers by my ear.


    I suck in a breath to respond, but he interrupts me by turning his head toward me. He leans in slowly, and we’re already so close that it takes no time for his lips to meet mine in a brief, gentle kiss. My eyes flutter closed as I taste him, the softness, the warmth, the innocence. I almost can’t enjoy it as I realize he might be too good for me, but then it’s over as fast as it began, and he’s drawing back once more. I open my eyes to the bright look of happiness on his dimpled face, the giddiness of someone who just had their first kiss, mixed with the wry guiltiness of a prince who knows he shouldn’t have done that.


    It isn’t long before the ruffling of robes draws my attention to a figure down the hall from us. No, two figures. Watching. Martin is in the process of turning away, so I don’t catch his expression, but Peter is just grinning at me and Leon, his nose crinkled in a way that doesn’t seem all that friendly. He uncrosses his arms to give us a painfully loud slow clap.


    That little fucking—