"Come now, Ema," he whispered, that dangerous, logical undertone in his voice that always disarmed her. "Why the hysteria? After all... wasn't it you who wanted this?" He paused to let the words land with full weight. "'I will marry you. And ideally, immediately.' Those were your words, weren't they? Your wish. I merely accommodated you. So why are you acting like a victim now?"

  Ema opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He had used her own desperation against her. She spun on her heel and ran. She ran back to the castle, her heart pounding in her throat. She ignored Heinrich, who tried to address her at the entrance, ignored the curious stares of the guests on the terrace. She burst into her room and double-locked the door.

  She leaned her back against the door and slid down to the floor. She breathed deeply, raggedly, as if the room were running out of oxygen. That man—Azriel—knew about Viktor. He knew about the Void. He was real.

  But the most terrifying thing wasn't what Azriel had said. It was what he had shown her. The image of the dying sunflower in his palm still danced before her eyes. That moment when the icy crust tore open with a quiet crack, and from within, from that white, innocent pith, burst those black, jagged thorns. They weren't just any thorns. They were those thorns. Exactly the same ones she had seen in her nightmares. The same ones that encircled her home.

  Azriel hadn't mentioned them by word; he had manifested them. He knew their structure.

  Or did he?

  Ema buried her face in her hands. What if she was wrong? What if she was just paranoid, as Friedrich claimed? After all, he had provided her with a home when she had nothing. He had saved her from the streets, given her a name, status, security. Maybe the world outside really is that cruel, and Friedrich is just trying to protect her from a truth that would destroy her. Maybe Azriel is just a player in some high political game, trying to destabilize the family before an important union, and she had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. "Maybe he really loves me," she whispered into the silence, trying to believe it. "Maybe it's all just immense stress and I'm seeing monsters where there are none."

  At that moment, there was a quiet rustle. From under the door she was leaning against, the corner of a large gray envelope slowly slid in. Ema flinched and jumped away as if it were a snake. She stared at the paper for a moment, her heart pounding. Who put it there? She swiftly unlocked and threw the door wide open.

  The corridor was empty. Only in the distance could she see the backs of a few passing guests, laughing and clinking glasses, oblivious to the drama a few meters away. No one looking suspicious, no one running away. The envelope had simply appeared there.

  She closed the door and locked it again. She picked up the envelope. It was heavy, with no addressee, no seal. She tore it open and dumped the contents onto the bed. They were photographs. High-quality, glossy photos from social events.

  The first one featured Friedrich. He was younger, with the same triumphant gleam in his eyes, but he wasn't standing there alone. Next to him stood a woman. Ema pressed a hand to her mouth. It was her. The woman with thick brown hair falling to her shoulders in soft waves. She wore an elegant evening gown that accentuated her figure and held Friedrich's arm with the intimacy of a wife. The exact same woman Ema had glimpsed in the garden...

  Ema began to leaf through them, and with every subsequent photo, she felt the ground crumbling beneath her feet, her frail hope in Friedrich's innocence turning to dust. A wedding photo. Friedrich and the brown-haired woman at the altar. Both smiling, hands joined by magic. Another photo from a family celebration. Friedrich, Hilda... and Hanna. Hanna was smiling there, holding a glass and warmly toasting the newlyweds. She looked like the bride's best friend.

  "They lied to me," Ema breathed, feeling tears welling up in her eyes—not of sorrow, but of pure, searing anger. "They all lied to me."

  Friedrich had someone. He was married. And that woman was still here—she had seen her with her own eyes in the garden, felt her presence. What happened to her? Why did they deny her?

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  And worse—Hanna. Her only friend, her confidante, who had been soothing her all along, telling her how lucky she was. She knew. She knew all along that Ema was stepping into another woman's dead footprints, and she hadn't said a word. She was just part of the plot. A bead-stringer for Friedrich's necklace.

  "Will I just be the next in line?" she asked herself, her gaze falling on Friedrich's perfect smile in the photo.

  The decision was made in that second. No more fear. No more doubts. No more tiptoeing around. She gathered the photos, clutched them in her fists so tightly the paper crumpled, shoved them into her pockets, and marched out the door. This time she wasn't looking for a hiding place. She was looking for Friedrich.

  With every step down the long corridors, her resolve grew.

  She found him in the Great Hall. He stood in the middle of a knot of influential guests, holding a glass of champagne and radiating satisfaction. He looked like the perfect host, like a king in his kingdom. When he spotted Ema, his smile widened even further.

  "And here she is," he announced loudly, beckoning her closer. "Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Ema. Tomorrow's bride." Ema swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She stepped up to them and executed a perfect, cold curtsy. "Pleased to meet you," she said to the guests, but her eyes were fixed on Friedrich. "Please excuse me, but may I borrow my fiancé for a moment? We have some urgent matters regarding tomorrow that cannot wait."

  The guests chuckled understandingly, and Friedrich, though surprise flashed in his eyes, nodded. "Of course, my dear. I'll be right back."

  He led her aside, into his private study, where he closed the heavy oak doors. The noise of the celebration was instantly muffled. "What is it, Ema?" he asked, loosening his tie. "I hope it's important; those people out there are..."

  "We've never talked about intimate things," Ema interrupted him, taking a stand in the middle of the room. Her hand with the photos was still in her pocket. "About your past." Friedrich paused. "Now? The day before the wedding you want to discuss..." "I want to know who I am marrying," she said calmly. "Who was your first love, Friedrich?"

  Friedrich chuckled, walked over to the desk, and poured himself some water. He pondered, as if fishing for something insignificant in his memory. "First love... that was Isolda. During my studies in Heidelberg," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "But it was one-sided. She was my professor's daughter, unattainable. When I confessed to her, she rejected me and then married someone else. Since then, I've... let's say, never opened up to anyone like that. As an Architect, I have duties. I wanted to be useful to the Family, to grow in power. There was no time for emotions."

  Ema watched him. It sounded rehearsed. "And now?" she asked directly. "Does Friedrich von Riese have someone? Someone he sees when he isn't busy building his empire?"

  Friedrich looked at her, an amused smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He stepped closer to her. "Are you jealous, Ema?" he asked quietly, satisfaction ringing in his voice. "I like that. It means you care about me. That you finally feel something for me." He took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. "No, Ema. I have no one. I see no one. It is only you."

  Ema did not avert her gaze. "So you don't know a woman," she began to slowly describe the bride from the photos, "who has thick brown hair falling to her shoulders, delicate features...? A woman who looks like she belongs here more than I do?" Friedrich's smile froze for a split second. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly. A shadow flickered in his eyes—not fear, but calculation. "No," he said firmly. "I don't know anyone like that."

  Ema pulled her hand out of her pocket. "Then what does this mean?!"

  She threw the photos onto the desk. They scattered across the surface like a fan. Friedrich and the brown-haired bride at the altar. Friedrich and the bride at a celebration. Friedrich's happy smile next to the woman he had denied a second ago.

  Friedrich looked at the photos. His expression hardened. No panic, just a cold annoyance, like catching a child in a lie that cannot be excused. "I didn't want to burden you with that," he said dryly, pushing one photo aside with his finger. "The past can be painful, Ema. You shouldn't go digging in it."

  "You hid a marriage from me!" Ema shouted. "You lied to my face! What else is this family hiding?!" "Please, don't make a drama out of it," he snapped, leaning against the desk. "People get married and separate. It is a perfectly common thing. We realized we weren't made for each other, so we ended it. Why should I tell you about my failures? I wanted us to start with a clean slate."

  Ema stared at him, open-mouthed. The ease with which he swept it off the table was terrifying. "Am I a prisoner?" she asked quietly. Friedrich sighed, as if the debate exhausted him immensely. "What kind of stupid question is that? Of course you are a free person, Ema. No one is keeping you in chains here."

  "Fine," Ema said, straightening up. "I am a free person. That means I can walk out of this room right now, walk through the main gate, and leave. Forever." She turned to leave.

  "No," Friedrich said. It wasn't a shout; it was a statement of fact. Ema stopped. "You said I was free." "We are getting married tomorrow," Friedrich said, a tone in his voice that brooked no opposition. "You cannot leave. Everyone traveled here for us."

  "A prisoner, then," Ema whispered.