Rosaline’s dream did not end peacefully. Even as the forest dissolved into silver mist and the image of the carved wooden box faded into darkness, her sleeping body began to react.

At first, it was subtle enough that Xandros might have missed it had he not remained beside her. A faint crease formed between her brows. Her fingers, which had been loosely curled around his sleeve, tightened suddenly as if grasping for something slipping away. Then came the restless movement of her head against the pillow and a quiet sound....half whimper, half protest...that immediately pulled him from the shallow sleep he had unwillingly fallen into.

His eyes opened at once.

The first thing he felt was heat.

Not from the room.

From her.

He turned sharply and found Rosaline flushed with an unnatural color, her pale skin damp with sweat, her breathing uneven and shallow. Her enormous white wings, which had been resting quietly around the bed like a fallen blanket of feathers, had begun trembling. Not lightly. Violently.

Xandros sat upright immediately, every trace of fatigue disappearing. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, and his expression hardened.

"You’re burning."

The words came out low, almost to himself, before he was already moving. He reached for the basin beside the bed, dipped a cloth into the cool water, and placed it against her forehead. Rosaline whimpered instantly, turning her face weakly away.

"No..." she whispered, her voice small and broken. " The box..."

His hand paused.

"The box?" he repeated softly, though he knew she could not hear him.

She was too deep in whatever memory or nightmare held her captive.

"Mother..." she murmured next, and somehow that single word unsettled him more than anything else.

He had never heard her say it.

Not once.

Her fingers clenched harder into the sheets, her body arching slightly as if fighting something invisible.

"Don’t leave me again..."

Something in his chest tightened painfully.

Without allowing himself time to examine why, Xandros shifted closer and carefully lifted her upper body against him, supporting her with one arm while he pressed the cool cloth to her neck, then her wrists, then carefully to the sensitive place where her wings met her back.

The reaction was immediate.

Rosaline gasped and turned instinctively into him, burying her face against his chest as though seeking shelter there. Her hand grabbed his shirt and held on.

Xandros froze.

Then slowly exhaled.

He did not push her away.

Instead, he adjusted her so she rested more securely against him, his arm around her shoulders while his other hand continued cooling her skin.

"You’re not alone," he murmured quietly, his voice steadier than he felt.

It was a strange thing to say. Stranger still that he meant it.

She trembled again, but less this time.

So he kept speaking.

"Whatever this is," he said, dipping the cloth again, "you will survive it."

Minutes blurred into an hour. At some point the fever began to break. The angry flush in her cheeks softened. The trembling in her wings stopped. Her breathing finally deepened into something peaceful.

Only then did Xandros allow himself to relax.

His fingers brushed damp strands of white hair away from her forehead, his gaze lingering longer than it should have.

"You are exhausting," he muttered.

But there was no irritation in his voice.

Only relief.

When he eased her back onto the pillows, Rosaline immediately searched for him even in sleep. Her hand found his sleeve again and refused to let go.

He stared at that small hand for a long moment before climbing back onto the bed beside her...not because he intended to sleep, only because apparently she required his presence to remain calm.

That was the excuse he told himself.

Morning arrived slowly, sunlight spilling through the curtains in warm golden streams that painted the room in soft light.

Rosaline stirred beneath the blankets.

At first, she did not open her eyes. She simply lay there, warm and strangely comfortable, and that alone was enough to make suspicion rise in her.

Then memory returned.

The cell.

The pain.

The wings.

Her eyes flew open.

She sat upright so suddenly that she immediately regretted it. Something large and unfamiliar shifted behind her, throwing off her balance.

"Ah—!"

She pitched forward, barely catching herself with both hands before toppling off the bed.

Breathing hard, she twisted her head and stared.

The wings were still there.

Massive.

White.

Real.

"This cannot be happening," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Then she sensed someone beside her.

Rosaline turned...and froze.

Xandros was asleep.

Not pretending.

Actually asleep.

It startled her more than the wings had.

She had never seen him like this. Without the constant tension in his jaw. Without the cool calculation in his eyes. His dark hair had fallen untidily over his forehead, softening the severe edges of his face. His breathing was slow and even. His lips, usually set in some frustrating line of amusement or disapproval, were relaxed.

He looked boyish.

Less dangerous.

And somehow more beautiful.

Rosaline stared shamelessly.

Her eyes traced the sharp line of his jaw, the dark lashes resting against his cheeks, the faint crease that remained between his brows even in sleep. It felt almost intimate, seeing him this way...unguarded.

Her hand lifted before she could stop herself, hovering just above his face.

Then, without opening his eyes, he said, "If you continue staring at me like that, I may begin to think you enjoy my face than you let on."

Rosaline gasped and jerked backward so violently that her wings reacted with her panic. They flared, tangled, and promptly knocked her straight off the bed.

AGAIN!

She landed on the carpet in an undignified heap of limbs and feathers.

Xandros sat up immediately...and then laughed.

It was a real laugh.

Deep.

Warm.

Entirely unfair.

Rosaline glared up at him from the floor.

"You did that on purpose."

"I absolutely did," he replied, far too pleased with himself.

Her face burned as she scrambled upright, though doing so with wings attached proved deeply humiliating. One of them hit the bedpost. The other nearly took out a lamp.

"This is absurd," she muttered.

Ignoring his obvious amusement, she turned sharply and searched the room.

There was no mirror.

Not on the wall.

Not anywhere.

Her confusion deepened.

"Where am I?"

Xandros leaned back against the headboard with maddening calm.

"My chamber."

She stared at him.

"Why?"

"You collapsed."

"That does not explain why I am here."

His mouth twitched. "You wrapped your wings around me and refused to let me leave."

Rosaline blinked.

"I did what?"

"You were surprisingly possessive."

"I was unconscious!"

"And yet," he replied, his tone infuriatingly dry, "your wings seemed quite decisive."

Her mouth opened, then closed again.

That did sound alarmingly possible.

With a defeated sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed. The wings shifted awkwardly behind her, making even that simple act uncomfortable.

Her shoulders sagged.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" she asked quietly.

The humor left Xandros’s face.

He had moved from the bed without her noticing and now stood beside her.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She startled.

"Nothing."

His brow lifted.

"You are terrible at lying."

"I am not lying."

"You are very clearly distressed."

"I am not distressed." She said .... trying to assure herself.

At that exact moment, one of the wings flapped and knocked a cushion off a chair.

Xandros looked at the cushion.

Then at her.

Rosaline sighed.

"Fine. I am distressed."

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.

Rosaline froze.

Then came Lily’s cheerful voice.

"Your Grace?"

Her eyes widened in panic.

"No."

She lunged forward and grabbed Xandros’s sleeve.

"Do not open that door."

He looked down at her hand.

Then back at her.

"Why?"

She gestured wildly toward the wings.

"Because she cannot see this!"

Understanding flickered across his face.

Then another knock came.

"My lady? Are you awake?"

Rosaline’s voice dropped to a desperate whisper.

"Tell her I’m dead." She said using her hands to indicate she was dead as she swayed it in front of her neck.

Xandros’s mouth twitched.

Then, deliberately, he walked toward the door.

"Xandros!" She shouted quietly so Lily wouldn’t hear.

He ignored her and opened it.

Lily stood outside smiling brightly.

The moment she saw him, her smile shifted into polite surprise.

"Your Grace," she said, bowing neatly. "I came to see if my lady was awake."

"She is still sleeping," Xandros replied smoothly.

Lily’s eyes widened.

Then widened further.

Then a slow, knowing grin spread across her face.

Hidden behind the curtains, Rosaline recognized that smile instantly.

Danger.

"Oh," Lily said sweetly. "I understand."

"No, you do not," Rosaline muttered under her breath...as she sighed.

Lily’s grin only deepened.

"I shall return later to prepare Her Grace."

She bowed again, though now she looked as though she was barely containing her excitement.

When the door finally closed and Xandros turned back, he found Rosaline standing in the middle of the room, tears in her eyes.

His amusement vanished instantly.

She rushed toward him.

Not gracefully.

Not carefully.

Desperately cause he didn’t understand her rollercoaster of emotions this past few days.

"How do I make them disappear?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Please. I don’t want Lily to see them. I don’t want anyone to see them. I don’t know what’s happening to me."

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"I don’t know what I am."

Without thinking, Xandros lifted his hand and wiped the tears away with his thumb.

The gesture startled both of them.

Neither moved.

Xandros broke the awkwardness first.

"It’s alright," he said quietly.

"It is not alright."

"It will be."

"How do you know?" She asked him wearily.

His thumb lingered against her cheek.

"Because I’ve seen this before."

Her brows furrowed.

"You have?"

"Not exactly this," he admitted. "But enough to know the wings will disappear once you learn to control them."

She stared at him.

Then whispered, "Does that mean I’m a monster?"

Something in him hardened immediately.

"No."

"But..."

"You are not a monster."

His voice deepened, firm and certain.

She looked unconvinced.

"Then what am I?"

He held her gaze for a long moment before answering softly.

"Beautiful."

The word stunned her into silence.

Rosaline stepped back immediately, her face flushing crimson. She took a shaky breath, then another, forcing herself to regain composure.

Finally she cleared her throat.

"I need to freshen up."

Xandros crossed his arms.

"Do you require assistance?"

She stared at him.

"Why would I want assistance from you?"

His eyebrow rose.

"That was not your opinion last night."

She frowned.

Then froze.

Her hands flew to the clean chemise she wore.

Her eyes widened.

This was not what she had gone to sleep in.

Very slowly, she turned back toward him.

Walked closer.

Stopped directly in front of him.

And narrowed her eyes.

"Who," she asked carefully, "changed my clothes?"

Xandros looked down at her, entirely too calm and entirely too pleased.

Then he smiled.

"I believe," he said, enjoying every second of her growing horror, "that is a conversation worth having after breakfast."

But she was having none of it this morning.