Chapter 16: Choice

I was standing in the center of the Fortundra solar, but the stone walls had melted into a translucent obsidian that reflected the swirling, violet nebulae of a sky that didn't exist. The air was thick, charged with the static hum of a coming storm, and there he was.

Zion.

He didn't look like a king in that moment; he looked like a force of nature. He was stripped of his heavy furs and leather gloves, wearing only a thin linen shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The magnetic pull I felt in the waking world was magnified a hundredfold here, a physical cord tied to my heart and being reeled in by his ink-dark eyes.

He stepped into my space, his large hands reaching out to cup my face. His palms were warm, the callouses of a swordsman grazing my skin with a tenderness that made my breath hitch.

"You’re always running and hiding, Diana," he whispered, his voice a low, rhythmic vibration that felt like it was originating inside my own chest. "Why do you run from the only person who truly sees you?"

"I'm not running," I lied, my voice breathy and fragile.

"Then stay," he murmured.

He leaned down, his face a landscape of shadows and moonlight. When his lips finally met mine, the world didn't just stop—it shattered. It was a kiss that tasted of wild honey and dark secrets, a collision of heat and hunger that made my knees buckle. I reached up, my fingers tangling in the thick waves of his light brown hair, pulling him closer, needing to drown in the certainty of him. For a fleeting, glorious second, there was no Silvermere, no mission, no lies. There was only the salt of his skin and the overwhelming power of his presence.

But as the kiss deepened, the heat began to shift. The scent of roses faded, replaced by the sharp, familiar tang of pine needles and horse leather.

My eyes snapped open mid-kiss.

The face inches from mine wasn't the architectural, brooding visage of the King. It was Karlos.

I gasped, pulling back in shock, but I was no longer in the solar. I was back at the campfire in the woods, the orange light flickering across Karlos’s rugged features. He was smiling that lopsided, effortless grin—the one that had always made me feel safe, the one I had known since childhood.

"You're a long way from the castle, Diana," Karlos said, his voice playful but laced with a heavy, romantic gravity I hadn't heard before. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw just as Zion’s had. "Why settle for a cage of silk when you could have the horizon with me? I know you. I know the girl behind the mask. He only knows the mystery."

"Karlos, I can't believe this," I murmured and sighed. "Is this real?"

He leaned in again, his forehead resting against mine. "You kissed me back, Diana. Don't tell me you didn't feel it."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, confused rhythm. I looked at Karlos, at the boy who had been my anchor, and felt a wave of terrifying affection. But then, the shadows behind him began to stretch and thicken.

A tall, dark figure manifested out of the woodsmoke. Zion stepped forward, his expression a mask of cold, regal fury that sent a shiver down my spine. He didn't look at Karlos; his eyes were fixed entirely on me, pinning me to the spot.

"He offers you a memory," Zion said, his voice like low thunder. "A ghost of the girl you used to be."

Karlos turned, standing his ground, his hand catching mine and squeezing tight. "I offer her a life. You offer her a gilded execution."

I stood between them, the silk of my gown fluttering in a wind that came from nowhere. The two men stood like pillars of my own fractured soul—the past and the future, the safety of the woods and the danger of the throne.

"Choose, Diana," Zion commanded, stepping closer until the air hummed with his kinetic power. "The boy who loves a shadow, or the man who loves the monster you’re becoming."

"Choose one of us," Karlos pleaded, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Choose home."

They both reached out their hands toward me, their voices overlapping, echoing until the words lost meaning and became a deafening roar.

"Who do you want?" they asked in unison, their faces blurring together into a kaleidoscopic nightmare of ink-dark eyes and hazel warmth. "Who do you truly want?"

I tried to scream, to tell them I didn't know, but my voice was gone.

I snapped awake with a violent gasp, my body slick with a cold sweat.

The room was silent, bathed in the pale, grey light of pre-dawn. I was in the high wing of the fortress, the silk sheets tangled around my legs like a snare. My heart was still racing, the phantom sensation of Zion’s lips and Karlos’s touch lingering on my skin like a brand.

I sat up, pushing my hair back from my face with shaking hands. I looked toward the window, where the first light of day was just beginning to touch the obsidian spires of Fortundra.

"It was just a dream," I whispered to the empty room, but the weight in my chest told a different story.

The mission was still there. The maps were still hidden. But as I stared into the shadows of the corners, I realized the most dangerous thing in this castle wasn't Zion’s power or Angela’s suspicion. It was the fact that even in my sleep, I couldn't decide which lie I wanted to be true.