Tella had a sister, but her sister now had someone else.

And Legend would never be Tella’s husband. In truth, Tella wasn’t even sure that she wanted a husband—she just wanted him. She wanted everything about him. She’d always wanted everything about him. Even before she’d known him, she’d fallen in love with the boy who’d had the passion to make his one wish come true and the audacity to call himself Legend.

Then she’d fallen in love with him again when she’d met him. She’d loved him as Dante, but she loved him even more as Legend. Dante had helped her forget, but Legend had taught her how to dream again, and she loved all the dazzling dreams they shared and the exquisite lies he told with his illusions. But she loved the imperfect truth of him just as much. She loved how protective he was, and how playful he could be. She loved the boy who’d called her an angel and a devil in the same conversation.

She loved the way he teased her, and she didn’t want him to ever stop. She wanted to hear the rest of his stories—and to become a part of those stories. But more than any of those things, she wanted to forever be by his side, whether he was with her as she was fighting a nightmare or chasing a dream, or if it was the other way around, and she was helping him achieve a new dream. Even if that meant sacrificing one of her dreams.

Maybe that was love. All this time, she’d wanted him to love her, and she’d hurt knowing that he hadn’t, but maybe she hadn’t really been loving him. She’d chosen him, she’d fought for him, she’d felt for him, but she hadn’t been willing to sacrifice what she wanted for him.

Tella started running toward the coast, racing back toward Legend’s house, her heart beating faster when she was finally near enough to hear the crashing ocean waves. It was past the middle of the night, on its way to dawn but not there yet. It was that peculiar period of time that wasn’t quite night or morning, but something in between.

If Scarlett had been there, she would have urged Tella to think on it longer. But what if Tella didn’t have time to waste? That week alone she’d seen her mother murdered, Legend die, her sister kidnapped, and the empire overrun by Fates. She couldn’t even imagine what the coming days would bring if the Fallen Star ascended to the throne. But she’d rather go through them knowing that no matter what, she had a present and a future—a forever—with Legend.

Tella slipped inside the house and quickly darted into a bathing room to wash the blood from her hands. She thought about putting on a new dress as well. The mirror showed a girl with wild curls and a hastily thrown on sapphire-blue gown, but Tella was too impatient to change.

She raced up staircase after staircase. By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was breathless. The hallway leading to Legend’s room was dim with night, but she could see delicate strands of light sneaking out of the cracks beneath his door.

She knocked softly. Then a little louder.

Somewhere in the distance, waves were still crashing, but there was no sound coming from inside Legend’s room.

She tried the doorknob, not actually expecting that someone as private or secretive as Legend would keep his door unlocked. But the glass knob turned easily.

Tella felt a thrill race across her shoulders. She’d never been in any of his private rooms. Not during Caraval, not at the palace, not since he’d brought her to any of his houses. She was almost positive he’d cast an illusion over her own bedroom to suit her tastes. But as she entered his rooms, the only glamour she saw was the light.

There wasn’t a single lit candle in sight, yet globes of soft yellow and white lights danced around, making everything glow.

From where she stood, Tella could see his illuminated bedroom and his sitting room. His suite was well appointed, but simpler than she would have expected. Before knowing him, she might have imagined Legend’s sitting room lined with sumptuous red velvet curtains and full of low cushions for seductive rendezvous. But there wasn’t a speck of velvet in sight. There weren’t any low cushions or curtains, either. Impeccable floor-to-ceiling windows provided a spellbinding view of the ocean while letting waxy moonlight slide over the ebony floors, the neat desk, the full bookshelves, and the wide charcoal couches.

Everything looked so perfect, Tella imagined she might smudge it if she stepped fully into the room. She tiptoed past into what was clearly Legend’s bedroom.

His bed took up nearly half the space, and with its heavy iron frame and black silk sheets, it was exactly what she would have expected. Legend lay in the middle of it; his shirt was gone and he was on his stomach, sheets low enough to reveal the exquisite wings tattooed on his beautiful back.

Tella couldn’t have held back her smile. She knew many of his other tattoos had disappeared, but she’d so badly wanted this one to be real.

The wings were as mesmerizing as she remembered. Soulless jet-black with midnight-blue veins the color of lost wishes and fallen stardust. And they were one of her favorite things about him. She itched to reach down and trace them, to run her fingers down his spine and wake him up. But while she’d shared countless dreams with Legend, she’d never seen him sleep, and she was curious.

Her eyes left the wings and trailed to his face. It looked as if he’d fallen asleep while reading. One bronzed hand held a book near his slumbering head, while hair black as raven feathers fell across his forehead. It was a very human pose, and yet his skin faintly glowed with inhuman light. He looked perfect and tempting, and in that moment Tella felt like a girl from a fairy tale who’d stumbled upon a sleeping god that would give her a prize if she woke him with a kiss.

And she was tempted to do just that, to sweep his hair back and press her lips to his brow, when something behind him caught her attention. She’d been so drawn to seeing Legend asleep on his own bed that she hadn’t even noticed the enormous mural painted on the wall behind it.

Tella took a couple steps away to take it all in. Haunting and bright and sad all at once, the artwork almost covered the entire wall.

From the distance, it looked like an overwhelming picture of a night sky on fire. But as she drew closer again, Tella could see that this wasn’t a depiction of sky or fire, but a series of smaller images; a kaleidoscope of stars and night and hourglasses, hot-air balloons and top hats, skulls and roses, death and canals, waterfalls of tears and blood and ruins and riches. It was beauty and horror and pain and longing.

Legend’s soul was painted on this wall.

She didn’t imagine he’d want it seen by anyone, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She swore the mural moved as she drew even closer and looked until it was no longer a picture at all—it was a story.

Tella saw images from Caravals past as well as some that appeared to be from Legend’s life outside of the game.

During the last Caraval, he’d told her that his tattoos were there to help him remember what was real. After the game was over and some of his tattoos had disappeared, she’d imagined that was a lie. But now she wondered if there had been something honest behind what he’d told her, because he’d clearly painted his past on his walls.

Her eyes traveled to the lower right of the wall, where the mural abruptly stopped. She imagined the images right before that naked patch would either be from the last Caraval or the past two months of Legend’s life.

Her pulse sped up as she found the final image. It was of her and Legend during Caraval. They were in front of the Temple of the Stars and he was holding her close. It must have been the moment right after he’d freed her from the cards. He was clutching her as if he had no intention of ever releasing her, even though he had.

If these pictures were memories, he clearly saw things differently than she did.

Tella knew she was pretty, and that when she smiled, she could convince people she was more than pretty; she was beautiful. But in this picture, she could have been a goddess the way he painted her on those tragic steps, while he looked more like a grim shadow.

Was this how he saw himself?

“What do you think of it?” Legend’s voice was low and rough with sleep.

Tella whirled back toward the bed to discover him sitting on the edge of it, bare feet on the ground, black pants covering his legs, and nothing on his flawless chest. His bronze skin glowed a little brighter, and his pants were so low she could see the definition of—

“Donatella.” His voice was a low growl. Her eyes shot up to his face. Stubble coated his jaw, dark hair hung over his forehead, and though his eyes were hooded, his gaze was far from tired. He could have set the room on fire from the intensity of his stare. “You need to stop looking at me that way.”

“How exactly am I looking at you?” she challenged.