The Queen's cabinet is a magnificent room — a circular study with walls of bookshelves draped in climbing ivy and capped with a domed glass roof. To my surprise, a tree with gypsum white flowers grows at the center of the room. The floors are buckled and uneven, creating a terraced effect to the room. A stream trickles from a fissure in the wall and winds through the tree's roots and around furniture before it disappears into a crack in the stone floor. Instead of woven carpets, the floor of the cabinet is covered with moss and creeping thyme that releases a herbaceous smell as we cross to where the Queen sits at a table with another Faerie.

"Your Majesty. Prince Oberon," Destan says with a charming grin.

Prince Oberon bears a passing resemblance to the Queen, but his skin is a pale green that would look sickly on anyone but a Fae. He has his mother's beautiful, angular features, dark eyes, and strong jaw, but his hair is a lighter shade of golden brown. When he turns his head to examine us, his hair catches the light and shines with brilliant auburn tones before the sun disappears behind heavy grey clouds and all the colors of the room grow dull.

His eyes fall on me, and it's hard not to blush with the way his eyes rake over me. "Destan Bordelon!" Oberon cries. "You're the last person I expected to walk through that door. Who is this lovely human you've brought with you?" He jumps from his chair and glides down uneven steps to meet us halfway.

"This is Mademoiselle Florette, a painter at French court," Destan answers. His grin falters when Oberon takes my hand to place a languishing kiss to my knuckles.

Oberon straightens and the mischievous look he throws Destan makes my stomach turn. I know they are acquainted with each other, but Destan has never seemed thrilled with the idea of involving him in the Order's plans. Now I know why when I get an immediate sense that he can't be trusted.

"Please, come join me," the Queen says as she gestures to the three open chairs around the table where a spread of food and a pot of tea wait for us. She wears a satin gown of emerald green that shifts to gold and black as she moves. Black stones stud the gold diadem on her brow, and her raven hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders.

We take our seats and Oberon pours each of us a cup of pleasingly fruity and floral tea.

"Help yourselves," the Queen says with a nod to the food and empty plates before us.

The sample of delicacies makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble. I select a golden tart piled with dark purple berries and a dusting of sugar crystals. Destan helps himself to slices of cold meat, a soft-boiled egg, and a hunk of bread. He must be just as hungry as I am. We left before our breakfast was delivered to our chambers so we both haven't eaten since well before last night's ball.

The Queen takes nothing for herself. Oberon pops bright red berries I don't recognize into his mouth one by one. He seems more focused on watching me than partaking in breakfast, but I keep my eyes on my plate.

"Now that we have food, we can talk business," the Queen says. "The situation in France must be quite grave for you to come all this way for help from my court."

"The situation is grave indeed," Destain replies. "We are looking down the barrel of revolution again, and the monarchy barely survived the last one."

"I see, but why should I be expected to help out my sister's court? She is a vile little traitor." She doesn't bother to hide the disgust from her voice. "You wouldn't have been alive, but many years ago, Henriette and her pack of vermin tried to mount a coup against me. She failed and the lot of them were banished to your realm."

"Yes, I wasn't alive, but my father was. You may remember Lord Gardet."

"Hard to forget a man who spent so much time kissing Henriette's boots."

"Not much has changed, but we aren't asking you to help your sister. Her power at court, her spending, her influence with the king's ministers is unchecked. We need to bring her and her court into line or she will risk exposing the presence of Fae within our realm. The National Assembly has the power to do that, but we need to make her believe that calling the Assembly together is in her best interest. That is why we would like a full-blooded Fae to lead the National Assembly. Lafayette has agreed to step aside to make way for Prince Oberon."

The Queen watches Destan thoughtfully while she spins a black gem ring around her finger. "Interesting. Your plans seem to be quite decided."

Destan chuckles. "We are open to suggestions."

"I'm not criticizing. Only making a comment, but I would like to know what my son thinks."

Oberon's warm eyes flick between Destan and me. "What I want to know is how a general and a painter's apprentice came to be the two people in the room making decisions for the future of France."

"I'm no longer an apprentice," I say plainly and help myself to a heaping bite of berry tart.

Oberon's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. "My apologies. I didn't realize you were a master." A hungry grin slides onto his lips.

My stomach sours and I have to choke down the food in my mouth with a gulp of tea,

"We came to be here by luck and necessity," Destan says, answering Oberon's original question. "Are you interested at all? You were once a friend to revolutionaries, and I wonder if you still share our republican sympathies."

"Perhaps. What would you have me do once I'm leading the National Assembly?"

"It is the hope of us and our allies to establish a constitutional monarchy."

Oberon shrugs and folds his hands behind his head. "I think I can be persuaded to join your cause — if my mother can spare me here at her court. It is still her decision."

"Of course." Destan nods reverently to the Queen.

The Queen takes a sip of her tea and purses her lips. "I don't know... I dread the thought of losing my youngest son to a years-long political squabble of mortal men."

My lungs seize up and I forget how to breathe. She's going to say no.

The Queen glances at Oberon who gives her a look that I can't begin to interpret the meaning of before it's gone. "I could use a project, Mother."

She looks back at us with a pleased smile. "Well, then, since my son is amenable to your quest, I am willing to part with him... at a price."

I look to Destan for his reaction, but his attention is focused on the Queen. He must hear how fast my pulse is racing — whatever her price, we have to pay it.

"Your price seems quite decided," Destan says to the Queen.

I clutch my cup of tea close to my lips so I can hide the reactions on my face.

She tilts her head to the side, examining Destan. "I have a fair trade in mind. You, for my son. I think one hundred years in my court is a fair trade for asking me to part with my son."

I put my teacup back on the saucer with a trembling hand and it clatters awkwardly. "How is that a fair trade?" I ask as my mouth goes dry with panic.

"Time moves differently in Alsaecia," Oberon says to comfort me. "A year in your realm is perhaps five years here." His eyes flick between Destan and me. "You are planning to stay here with Morel, aren't you, Mademoiselle?"

"N-no," I sputtered. "We can't stay. France needs people who will fight for her and I won't abandon her now. Our cause needs Destan and I — in France."

Oberan puts on a theatrical frown and pats my hand where it rests on my leg. "Do not fret — you would be reunited with Destan in say... twenty years. Give or take a few."

Twenty years!

"Then perhaps you could take his place?" the Queen says. Is that what she wanted all along? "You wouldn't age a hundred years in Alsaecia. You would age at the rate you would in the human realm and we treat our artists very well here. You would have a place of honor among my guests and the freedom to paint whatever you pleased so long as it captures the glory of my court faultlessly."

One hundred years in a realm of beauty and magic. Destan stares determinedly at his lap, but one glance at his elegant profile and I can't breathe when I think of one hundred years without him.

He suddenly looks up at the Queen. "No. I'll stay."

"No!" I cry. "I–We... The Order needs him."

Destan turns to meet my gaze and my throat closes up at the pain on his face. "I have done everything I can do for the Order in France. Let me do this."

I swallow a lump in my throat and it takes all my courage to nod my head. "Can't we discuss this? Alone?"

The Queen gives me a pitying look, but there's a hit of a smile on the corner of her lips. This is what she wants. She doesn't just want Destan. She wants to see us suffer. "This is my only offer. Take it or leave it."

Destan stands and extends a hand to her.

She rises and shakes his hand. "There. There. It's not so bad. I think you will find my court quite superior to my sister's. Now, if you will excuse us, we have to make preparations for tonight's ball. You arrived towards the end of our weeklong harvest celebration. I hope you will both enjoy tonight's festivities and we'll make arrangements tomorrow for your departure."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Destan says.

"Don't forget that I've requested your first dance, tonight." She winks at Destan without subtlety.

"I have not forgotten," Destan says with a lascivious smirk that turns my stomach turn.

The Queen heads for the door and Oberon rises to follow. He stops behind my chair and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad you'll be returning to France with me," he whispers, his lips close enough that I feel his breath on my ear. "I would very much like to spend more time getting acquainted."

When he removes his hand from my shoulder, a shiver runs down my spine. Prince Oberon exits through the same door as the Queen, leaving Destan and I alone in the cabinet. The clouds break above us and warm sunlight spills through the glass ceiling. The sun dancing across the room and the cheerful gurgle of the stream feel sharply at odds with the black feeling that creeps outward from the center of my chest.

Destan turns his back to me when I stand. "If you can spare any kindness for me... please... say nothing."

This can't be the end. The beginning of goodbye. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly selfless? Forever martyring himself and his dreams for his ideologies. For his cause. I know he wants the freedom to make the life for himself that he chooses, but he keeps throwing it away. I step closer to Destan, but I don't dare reach out to touch him.

I won't try and convince him to change his mind. Not yet. Instead, I utter the only words I can think that honor the weight of his decision. "Thank you."

Destan whirls around, and for a second, the darkness on his face scares me, but before I can say anything, he pulls me in tight against him.

A strong hand holds my head to his chest, my ear pressed to his heart. His fingers twine through my hair as his other arm wraps around my waist and holds my body flush against his. On instinct, I fold my arms around him, and a knot coils in my stomach as I feel the hard cords of muscle through the thick fabric of his shirt. We stand that way for a long time, his chin resting on my head, our breaths rising and falling faster and faster. The knot gets tighter as the heat of his splayed hand seeps through my dress and his heart hammers louder in my ear.

When he finally releases me, he says nothing. He doesn't even look at me as he leaves the cabinet. Caught off guard, I press a cool hand to my burning cheeks and attempt to slow my breathing. Blood rushes loud in my ears, loud enough that it almost drowns out my thoughts. When my pulse returns to normal, I gather my nerve for what I'm about to do. Destan will fight for everyone but himself, and I can respect his wishes. But if Destan won't fight for himself, I will.