When they were finished, they treaded farther into the flower garden, reveling in the hazy air and feeling of safety, as if they were in a bigger, better version of the Blue Forest.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” said Agatha, sucking the honey out of a honeysuckle. “When we came back to the Woods, Tedros and I found a portal through your mother’s grave on Graves Hill. But there was no body in it. And when we came out the other side—”
“My mother had a villain’s grave on Necro Ridge.”
Agatha looked at Sophie, thrown.
“The things you learn when you’re camping with someone,” Sophie smiled. “Tedros told me everything that happened before you both rescued me. But it doesn’t make sense to me either, Aggie. It has to be the Crypt Keeper’s mistake. I know your mother didn’t tell you she’d been at school, but my mother would have told me. She never went to the School for Good and Evil. She never went into the Woods. I’m sure of it. So the Storian couldn’t have written her fairy tale. Because my mother died right in front of me . . .” Sophie stopped, voice faltering. “Like yours died in front of you.”
Agatha’s throat dried out.
“I’m so sorry, Aggie,” Sophie rasped.
Agatha felt old emotions rise as Sophie wrapped her in a smothering hug. For the first time since she left Gavaldon, Agatha wept for her mother.
“Callis loved you so much,” Sophie whispered, rubbing her friend’s back. “Even if she hated me.”
“She didn’t hate you. She just assumed we wouldn’t stay friends once we got to our schools,” Agatha said, wiping her eyes.
“She also assumed you’d be in Evil and me in Good,” said Sophie.
“Would have solved everything, wouldn’t it?” said Agatha.
The two girls laughed.
“Everyone thinks we’re so different, Aggie,” said Sophie. “But we both know what it’s like to lose someone who truly understands us.”
Agatha lay her head on Sophie’s shoulder. “And to find someone too.”
Now it was Sophie’s turn to cry.
“We should get back,” sighed Agatha finally. “Think Guinevere and Lancelot have enough headaches without us disappearing too.”
As they walked home, Agatha took Sophie’s arm.
“What do you think of those two, by the way? For two lovers who changed the course of a kingdom, they’re quite . . . domestic.”
“That’s sugarcoating it,” Sophie said, grimacing. “If she’d stayed with Arthur, imagine the things Guinevere would be doing with him right now: planning the Easter Ball or welcoming neighboring kings for dinner or managing the royal court. And here she is, folding a man’s shirts and taking pleasure in it. Arthur would have been better off with someone like my mother, who knew she was meant for a grander life.”
“I only saw your mother once or twice in town when I was really young,” said Agatha. “But I remember she was beautiful, like a gold-haired nymph.”
“It’s been seven years, so I can’t even picture her face anymore,” said Sophie. “The more I try to remember it, the more it shape-shifts, like I’m trying to recapture a dream. But she didn’t leave the house much. Didn’t have any friends either except Honora, until . . . well, you know. That’s how I know she never went to the school or into the Woods at all. Because she never would have gone back to Gavaldon. She despised that place.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Agatha quipped.
“The difference between me and her is that I got out,” said Sophie, her tone steeling. “I’ll have the grand life she always wanted. I’ll have an Ever After big enough for the both of us.”
Agatha smiled tightly and they lapsed into silence.
As the two girls neared the farmhouse, they glimpsed Gavaldon lit up far away like the northern lights, the protective shield around it pocked with holes of various sizes, none bigger than the size of a melon. Through the holes, they could see the green turrets of the cottages rich and textured, the clock on the crooked tower sharp and clear, and groups of children in the square, noses buried in storybooks. They could even see some of the shop windows, including Mr. Deauville’s Storybook Shop, now reopened and teeming with kids.
“They’re reading the rewritten storybooks,” Agatha realized, remembering Merlin’s warning. “Every time Evil wins, a fairy tale rewrites itself. That’s why Gavaldon’s opening to the School Master and his Dark Army. Readers are believing in the power of Evil.”
Sophie swallowed. “Uh . . . how long did Merlin say we had before the Woods went dark?”
“No more than a week now,” Agatha warned, eyeing the ring on Sophie’s finger. The End was right there . . . and yet so far away. “Meant to ask you. The other night, I saw you and Lancelot talking in the dining room. What did he say to you?”
Her friend stopped walking, but said nothing.
“Sophie?”
Sophie’s eyes were still on Gavaldon. “It’s coming, isn’t it?” she said softly.
“What is?”
Sophie turned. “Each of us thinks we know who’s Good and who’s Evil. You, me, Tedros, Rafal . . . even Lancelot. But all of us can’t be right, Aggie. Someone has to be wrong.”
Agatha shook her head. “I don’t underst—”
“What if we could go back to the beginning? When it was just me and you.” There were hot spots on Sophie’s cheeks, desperation in her voice. “It was our first Ever After, Aggie. Can’t it be the last?”
Agatha gazed at her starlit, hopeful friend, framed by the vision of their old home.
Gently Agatha took Sophie’s hand and looked into her eyes. “But it wasn’t, was it? Our Ever After didn’t last.”
Sophie let go of her, sadness weakening her smile. “You still think I’m that same girl. You think I’m the one meant to be alone.”
“No—that’s not what I meant—” Agatha countered.
“Say it, Aggie,” Sophie asked, lips quivering. “Tell me you and Tedros deserve the Ever After. More than Tedros and me. More than me and you.”
Agatha broke into a sweat.
“Tell me you want to be Camelot’s queen. That only you can make Tedros happy forever,” said Sophie, eyes welling. “Tell me and I’ll destroy the ring tonight. I promise.”
Agatha flushed in surprise. She searched Sophie’s face and saw she was speaking the truth.
This was The End.
This was the way out of the fairy tale.
All she had to do was say the words.
“Say you’re a fairy-tale queen, Agatha,” Sophie coaxed.
Agatha opened her mouth—
And yet no words came . . . only the image of her in a Wish Fish painting, wearing Tedros’ crown . . .
“Say it, Aggie,” Sophie pressed her.
Agatha imagined herself as that classic, regal leader . . . worthy of standing beside King Arthur’s son.
“Say it and mean it,” Sophie demanded.
Agatha struggled for air. “I . . . I . . . I’m . . .”
Shallow gasps faded into the wind.
“But you can’t say it, can you?” Sophie whispered, touching Agatha’s cheek. “Because you’ll never really believe it.”
Agatha felt hot tears blind her, her voice padlocked inside—
But now there was someone else coming towards her across the moors.
A blond, broad-shouldered boy, holding a single pink rose.
Freshly bathed and shaven, Tedros glided towards Agatha in a loose, milk-colored shirt and black breeches, Excalibur sheathed on his belt.
Only he wasn’t looking at Agatha.
His eyes pinned on Sophie as he stopped in front of them, his mouth a sensual grin.
“Can we go somewhere, Sophie? You and me?”
Sophie smiled and glanced at Agatha plaintively, as if asking her permission . . . but she’d already let Tedros take her hand.
As he led Sophie away from the house, Agatha waited for her prince to look back at her.
He
never did.
Standing there, alone on the moors, Agatha watched the two shadows nestle closer, before Tedros slipped his rose into Sophie’s palm. Gazing at her prince, Sophie clasped it to her chest and whispered something to him. The future king smiled and guided her ahead, their silhouettes melting into the moonglow, as if a door to Ever After had opened . . .
Then they were gone, like the last beat of light in Agatha’s heart.
“Here I was expecting you to swing in on a vine, bearded, dirt-smeared, and thumping your chest like Tedros of the jungle,” Sophie ribbed as they treaded through darkness hand in hand. “A bit disappointed, actually.”
“Stopped at the house and cleaned up,” the prince said tersely.
“You’ve been gone more than a week. What have you been doing all this time?”
“Thinking.”
Sophie waited for him to elaborate, but they walked more than an hour before he said another word. His clean-smelling hair tickled against her neck and the prince led her so firmly that a hot flash rippled up her spine. Sophie’s other hand cupped the soft pink rose, making sure it was still there. Once upon a time, at a Welcoming, Tedros had thrown his rose to see who would be his true love, and she’d failed to catch it.
But Sophie had the rose now.
A muffled roar echoed ahead and she looked up to see the moon reflect off a broad river bounded by walls of dark rock. The river slipped ahead calmly before it plunged down a cavernous waterfall, too deep to see the bottom. Beyond the waterfall, there was nothing but the moon’s white glare.
“Leave it to you to find the ends of the earth,” said Sophie.
“In here,” said Tedros, pulling her towards an opening in the river rock.
Sophie crammed into the hole, trying to find her grip without crushing her prince’s rose. As she came through, Tedros clutched her waist and helped her stand to full height. For a moment, she couldn’t see anything. Then she heard the scrape of a matchstick and watched Tedros light a tall candle he must have taken from the house—
Sophie gasped.
They were in a shimmering sapphire cave, the walls made entirely out of the rich blue gem. Bands of flawless sapphires distorted her face back at her like a hall of mirrors. A blanket and pillow lay in the corner and crumbs of food littered the ground, along with a few discarded baskets. Clearly this had been Tedros’ camp for the past week.
He spread the blanket and helped Sophie sit down before he cozied in beside her, his leg touching hers, and placed the candle in front of them.
“Noticed you and Agatha spending a lot of time together,” he said.
Sophie peeked at his arched brow and knew better than to ask how much he’d been spying on them from afar. “Well, you had your time with Agatha and you had your time with me. Isn’t it fair that she and I had our turn? Especially if it’s the last time before things . . . change.” She gave him a coy look.
Tedros nodded, picking at the candle wax. “Of course.”
“We were worried about you, Teddy. Out there on your own. It must have been overwhelming to be thrown in that house with—”
“I don’t want to talk about an old story, Sophie. It’s the new story I care about.”
He turned, his stare piercing. “When we were on the trail, you said there were two types of queens. The one who wants to be a queen and the one who doesn’t. I asked what you would do as my future queen—”
“Before we were rudely interrupted by zombie pirates,” Sophie simpered.
Tedros didn’t smile. “It was the wrong question. I should have asked you why you want to be my queen.”
Sophie’s shoulders relaxed. Finally, they’d finish what they started in the Woods. No nerves, no setbacks this time. . . . Everything was in her hands now. All Tedros wanted was the truth.
She looked up at the jagged sapphires over their heads, reflecting the two of them like a thousand crowns. Then Sophie took a deep breath and began to speak.
“I used to dream of princes. Magnificent balls filled with hundreds of beautiful boys and me the only girl. I’d walk the line examining them, trying to pick which one would be my Ever After. Every night I’d get closer and closer, only to wake up before I found him. How I dreaded that moment when my eyes opened. To be in a world of magic and romance and Goodness and then robbed back into a drab, pointless life seemed so . . . wrong. I didn’t belong in a cottage lane with fifteen houses exactly like mine. I couldn’t marry some shopkeeper or cobbler’s boy and slog at the bakery each day just to feed our children. I wanted to find real happiness, where The End didn’t mean getting old and useless and being crammed in a graveyard with everyone else. Agatha thinks all this sounds like heaven, of course, but she wants to hide in an ordinary life. I’m special. I’m different. I’m meant to have my name remembered more than Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and girls who were just pretty and passive and waited like dolls for their princes to arrive. I’m meant to live in people’s hearts for Ever After, no matter how old my story gets. Because unlike all those other Good girls, I found a happy ending for myself. I made it happen, no matter how many people tried to take it away from me. That’s why I want to be a queen, Tedros. Because no matter what anyone said, I always knew I was one. Searching for her king.”
Sophie stroked his cheek. “And here you are.”
Tears sprang to Tedros’ eyes.
“I told you,” Sophie smiled. “I told you we belonged together from that very first day.”
Her prince took her by the waist. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Sophie.”
“And was the truth . . . enough?” she asked, red-hot.
Tedros nodded, his fingers moving up her back. “You only left out one thing . . .”
She inhaled his sweet breath. “What’s that?” she whispered, leaning in.
Tedros held her neck and slowly pressed his lips to hers, soft as a cloud. With a gasp, Sophie fell into his kiss, heart pumping against his chest.
At last.
At last!
She tasted every morsel of his perfect mouth, waiting for the rapturous swell between them that would seal their end . . . for a spark as electric and strong as love could bear . . .
But all Sophie tasted was dead hollowness, as if kissing a stone.
Shaken, she seized Tedros tighter, kissed him harder, but she felt nothing from his side, nothing from her side, absolutely nothing at all, as their lips grew lifeless, repelling each other, until finally she pulled away.
Tedros glowered at her, ice-cold. “You left the part out about being my queen because you love me.”
Sophie’s heart was a black hole.
“I’m not your true love, Sophie. I never was,” said the prince. “We don’t belong together.”
Sophie sputtered for breath. “But . . . but—the ring—” She glanced down at her hand urgently, only to see the stain of Tedros’ name vanish beneath the gold, as if it had never been there at all.
A loud clink jolted her and she turned to find Excalibur on the ground next to her.
Sophie looked up at Tedros, tramping out of the cave.
“By the time I come back, I want it destroyed,” he commanded.
Then he forged into the night air and veered out of sight.
Slowly Sophie looked down at the ring, flickering beneath the candle.
Rage ripped through her blood . . . rage so thick and primal it made her whole body rattle—
She tore the ring off her finger and hurled it at the sapphire wall, before it crashed into dirt across from her.
Lancelot was right.
The ring had lied to her. It had carved the name of a prince who she never belonged to. It had knowingly led her down the wrong path. It had made an utter fool of her.
And so had the boy who’d given it to her.
Teeth gnashed, she grabbed Excalibur with both hands, picturing Rafal’s twisted grin. Evil’s Master would learn his lesson for betraying her.
Sophie raised Good’s sword high over the
ring and brought it down with a scream—
The blade stopped a sliver short.
But had he betrayed her?
Why would Evil’s ring lead her to Good’s prince in the first place?
And why would Rafal let her go off with that prince without chasing her?
She thought of Captain Hook, who had orders not to return her to the young School Master. She thought of the beautiful frost-haired boy at the window, watching her leave. She thought of his omniscient blue eyes and serene face, his last words floating as she fell away . . .
“You’ll come back to me.”
Eyes widening, Sophie slowly put the sword down.
Rafal hadn’t betrayed her.
He’d set her free, just like Agatha had set her and Tedros free . . . so that all of them could find the truth for themselves.
A truth Sophie had been running from for a very long time.
The gold ring was warm to the touch when she picked it up from the dirt and slid it onto her finger. For a moment it glowed red, as if sealing a new bond between them, and she glared down at her reflection in its surface.
There would be no destroying the ring tonight.
Or ever.
For the reason she’d known what was missing in Tedros’ kiss is because she’d already felt it once with someone else.
Someone who loved her for what she truly was.
Someone she’d been too scared to love back.
Because if she did, it meant she and Agatha were both queens—each afraid to accept their fate.
But unlike her best friend, Sophie was ready now.
Alone in candlelight, she closed her eyes and made a wish . . .
For a prince . . . a castle . . . a crown . . .
Evil this time, instead of Good.
A chill swept through the cave and blew the candle out.
Agatha lay in infinite darkness, praying for sleep. She lasted only a few minutes before she sat up and lit the candle on the bed table.
Her eyes caught the small mirror on the wall and she saw her tired face, raccoon circles around her eyes, and the slouch in her shoulders.
How long ago it seemed she was a princess.
She was about to ball up under the covers and try to sleep with the candle burning, when she heard faint music and giggles from behind the house.