Elira's POV
Elira slammed into the dungeon wall as the guards shoved her inside.
Pain exploded through her shoulder. The iron door clanged shut with a sound like a death sentence. Heavy locks clicked into place, one after another, sealing her in darkness so complete she couldn't see her own hands.
"Wait!" She threw herself at the door, pounding with her fists. "Please! I'm telling the truth! Just let me talk to him one more time!"
Footsteps echoed away. No one answered.
Elira's legs gave out. She slid down the freezing stone wall until she hit the floor, chains rattling. The shackles around her wrists were so tight they cut off circulation. Her fingers had gone numb an hour ago.
Or maybe it was two hours. Time didn't exist in this hole.
She pulled her knees to her chest, shivering. The dungeon was colder than anything she'd ever felt. Cold that seeped into bones and made breathing hurt.
I was so close.
That single moment when Caelan had touched her hand—when his dead eyes had flooded with life and feeling—replayed over and over in her mind. For those few heartbeats, he'd been real. The hollow prince and her dream lover had merged into one person, and she'd finally understood the truth.
They were both him. Both real. Split by the curse into waking monster and dreaming heart.
Then Isolde had appeared with her perfect lies and paid witnesses, and everything had shattered.
"I hate you," Elira whispered into the darkness. She didn't know if she meant Isolde or Caelan or the whole cruel world. "I hate all of you."
Her voice cracked. Tears burned hot trails down her frozen cheeks.
Three years. Three years of surviving this nightmare by telling herself she was innocent. That someday, someone would see the truth. That justice existed somewhere.
But justice was a fairy tale. The only truth was power, and people like Isolde had all of it.
Elira's head dropped against the wall. Exhaustion pulled at her like quicksand. She'd barely slept in days. The fear, the anger, the magic exploding from her hands—it had all drained her completely.
Don't sleep, she told herself. In dreams, you'll see him. And you can't face him right now.
But her body didn't care what she wanted. Her eyes closed. The darkness inside her mind swallowed the darkness of the cell.
And the dream pulled her under like a riptide.
She opened her eyes to sunlight.
The dream garden bloomed around her in impossible colors. Flowers shifted from blue to gold as she watched. The lake sparkled with stars that shouldn't exist in daylight. Soft grass cushioned her feet—bare feet, she realized, no longer chained or bleeding.
For one beautiful second, she forgot everything. Forgot the dungeon. Forgot Isolde's betrayal. Forgot that the prince who condemned her and the prince who loved her were the same person.
Then she heard his voice.
"Elira."
She spun around. There he stood—Caelan as he existed in dreams. Warm. Alive. His ice-blue eyes filled with emotions instead of emptiness. He looked like he'd been crying.
"Don't," Elira said, backing away. "Don't come near me."
"Please." He took a step forward. "I need to explain—"
"Explain what? That you threw me in a dungeon? Again?" Bitterness flooded her words. "That you believed everyone except me? That you're so desperate to save yourself you'll destroy anyone in your way?"
Caelan flinched like she'd slapped him. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" Elira's voice rose. "Because from where I'm standing—or from where I'm chained to a wall, actually—it looks exactly like that!"
"I can't feel in the waking world!" The words burst from him. "Don't you understand? Without touching you, I'm hollow! Empty! All I have is logic and evidence, and the evidence said—"
"The evidence was FAKE!" Elira screamed. The dream garden trembled. Flowers wilted. Dark clouds rolled across the perfect sky. "Just like it was three years ago! But you'd rather trust lies than believe me!"
"I don't know what to believe!" Caelan ran his hands through his hair, desperate. "In dreams, I know you. I love you. I'd trust you with my life. But when I wake up, I can't feel that anymore! It's like trying to remember what water tastes like when you're dying of thirst. I know it's real, but I can't feel it!"
Thunder rumbled overhead. The lake turned choppy and dark.
"Then you're going to die," Elira said coldly. "Because I'm done trying to save someone who won't save me back."
"Elira, please—"
"No." She turned away from him. "You want to know the worst part? I fell in love with you. Here, in these dreams, I fell completely in love with you. I thought you were everything good and kind in the world. And then I found out you're also the monster who condemned me. Who sentenced me to hell without caring if I was innocent."
Her voice broke. "How am I supposed to reconcile that? How am I supposed to love you when you keep destroying me?"
Silence fell. Even the thunder stopped.
When Caelan spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know. But I'm begging you to try. Because if you give up on me, I die. And if I die, Isolde wins. She'll take the throne. She'll make sure you never leave that dungeon. We both lose."
Elira's hands clenched into fists. "So I should save you to save myself? That's not love. That's survival."
"Maybe love and survival are the same thing sometimes."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to scream at him that he didn't understand anything. But exhaustion crashed over her—even in dreams, she was tired.
"I need time," she said finally. "Time to think. Time to figure out if the man in my dreams is worth saving the monster in my waking world."
"I don't have time." Caelan's voice cracked. "Dawn comes in four hours. If you don't break the curse before then, I'm dead."
Four hours. She'd been in the dungeon longer than she thought.
"Then you'd better hope I make the right choice," Elira said.
The dream began to fracture. Reality was pulling her back to consciousness.
"Wait!" Caelan grabbed her arm. "There's something you need to know. Something about Isolde and the curse and why this is all happening—"
But the dream shattered before he could finish.
Elira jolted awake in the pitch-black cell, gasping. Her heart hammered. Caelan's last words echoed in her mind.
Something about Isolde and the curse.
What had he been trying to tell her?
Before she could process it, she heard voices outside her cell. Angry voices.
"—can't just barge in here! The prince ordered—"
"The prince is dying, you fool! Now move!"
The locks clicked open. Torchlight flooded the cell, blinding after so much darkness. Elira threw up her hand to shield her eyes.
When her vision cleared, she saw Thorne standing in the doorway. His face was pale. Terrified.
"You need to come now," he said. "Caelan collapsed. He's having some kind of seizure, and he keeps screaming your name. If you don't come—" His voice broke. "He's dying, Elira. Right now. He's dying."
Behind him, more voices shouted. Running footsteps. Someone crying.
And through it all, faint but unmistakable, Elira heard a scream.
Caelan's scream.
Raw. Agonized. Filled with a terror that shouldn't be possible for someone who couldn't feel.
Thorne held out his hand. "Please. I know what he did to you. I know you have every reason to let him die. But if there's any part of you that still—"
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
Elira stared at his outstretched hand. One choice. Right here. Right now.
Let the monster die and have her revenge.
Or save the man she'd loved in dreams and damn herself to a future she couldn't predict.
The screaming got louder.
Elira reached for Thorne's hand.