Sniffling, I tuck the bottle into my backpack along with the other two, and zip it up. The flock of butterflies and moths that have been my veil grow impatient, and herd me toward my final destination.

I turn my back on the human realm, staring into the rabbit hole at my feet.

“Alyssa, luv. Take the leap.”

This time, there’s no question who’s speaking in my mind. It’s the voice of my Beloved Moth.

It hits me how tired and depleted I am. How ready I am to break the bonds of mortality—to step into my forever.

Without another moment’s hesitation, I let my body crumple and fall. I drift, like a feather, and shut my eyes against what I know passes me on my descent: Open wardrobes filled with clothes, pieces of furniture, stacks of books on floating shelves, pantries, jelly jars, and empty picture frames pinned by thick ivy to the dirt walls.

I won’t look because I want his face to be the first thing I see.

At last, I feel his strong arms catch me and set me on the ground. Morpheus—ever waiting—just like he promised.

My eyes open to his immaculate fairy features, untouched by time, flickering in the firelight from the upside-down candelabras. The scents of wax and dust fade to the familiar perfume of hookah smoke.

There’s a grinding sound as the rabbit hole closes overhead, leaving only the candles to light up the windowless domed room.

“Welcome to your new reality, little plum.” He takes my wrinkled and age-freckled hand, holds it to his warm, soft mouth, and drags me in for a kiss—right on the lips—despite that I’m old and frail. He sees beyond that, to what I am inside. To the ruler he’s helped shape in my dreams since my childhood.

Just when I think I’ll drift away on waves of madness and passion, he breaks the kiss. “Let’s get you out of those hideous human clothes, aye?”

A knot of excitement and nervous anticipation scrambles through me as he peels off the simulacrum and removes my tennis shoes. But I stop his hands before he can touch my sweats.

After years of riddles and wordplay and manipulating my subjects in the Red Court, my mind is finally Morpheus’s match. But my body is inferior now. I’m weak and ancient—a sluggish mass of gnarled skin, pitted bones, and atrophied muscles. He’s always been elevated, either in thought or form. From this day forward, I want to be his equal in every aspect—body, spirit, and mind.

“First,” I insist, with a voice more royal and commanding than I ever thought myself capable, “make me young again.”

“As My Queen commands.” Bowing, he reaches around me to the table in the middle of the room, lifts my crown off a pillow, and then places it upon my head.

There’s an enchanted beat . . . not one that I can hear, but one I feel—a rhythm of life and magic that starts in my heart and throbs through every nucleus of every cell, waltzing across the expanse of my DNA. My hair thickens and warms with the pale blond of youth. A few wispy strands twirl around me, shimmering and alive with magic. I hold out my arms, and my skin, breasts, and muscles lift and smooth to suppleness. I release my wings, gasping in rapture as they rip through the back of my shirt and spread tall and proud behind me. Colors bounce off the walls, reflecting the jewels that span the length of my gossamer appendages . . . showcasing every mood for Morpheus to see.

His study of me intensifies, mesmerized and reverent. He’s so quiet and somber, I’m afraid something went wrong.

I touch my face, tapping the soft, flawless skin. “Did it work?” My vocal cords quaver. “Am I normal? Am I me?”

“Not quite, Alyssa,” he answers, his voice gruff. “You have ne’er been normal. You are exquisite. You are transcendent. And you are mine.”

His stake of ownership coils through me—a dare. For one whisper of a moment, it’s disarming, to feel my youth and vibrancy brimming at the surface, tempting me to turn on my charms and meet his challenge. To summon that power—after so many years of being trapped inside a withering mortal shell, of relying on my intellect and wit to nurture confidence and self-respect—is both frightening and exhilarating.

But my hesitation passes in a blink. I’m not intimidated by my sensuality like I would’ve been when I was a naive girl. Now I know to embrace it. When combined with my netherling fierceness and cunning, my feminine wiles will make me invincible because I am a woman . . . and a Red Queen.

I’ll never take my status in either court for granted again.

Morpheus’s admiring stare alerts my competitive side, awakening it. After such a long wait, he’s earned the right to claim me . . . for now. But after we’re married, I’ll claim him right back.

On that thought, I remember I’m completely naked under the sweats hanging baggy on my youthful body. “Did you bring me some clothes?” I ask.

Morpheus clucks his tongue. “As if your footman would let you appear before your subjects in anything less than lace and softness.” His blue hair lights up his smile as he drags some red satin lingerie from his jacket pocket.

I take the skimpy bra and panties, blushing. “Thank you. But . . . where’s the rest of it?”

“Hmmm.” He taps his lip with a fingertip. “What else could we need? You already have your crown. And I brought boots.”

“Morpheus,” I scold, half-mortified and half-giddy.

“Oh, of course. There’s this.” He holds out a freshly clipped red rose embellished with a lace bow. The flower wriggles in his hand as if alive.

I bite my lip, holding back a smirk. “Pretty. But corsages don’t provide much coverage.”

“You think this a corsage? How adorably human of you.” He snorts. “Absolutely no chance of that. I’ve written off proms and everything associated with them for all eternity.”

I’m the one who snorts this time. I trace a fingertip along the flower’s stem. My finger skims his thumb. An electric spark races through my hand at the contact, a delicious sampling of the magic he possesses.

Stepping back, he folds one wing across the rose and blue lightning sparkles behind the satiny veil. When he withdraws his wing, the blossom has flourished into a crimson gown of living rosebuds, lace, and netting.

My heart pounds, because I recognize this dress, and how it matches the suit he’s wearing.

He turns his back so I can slip into the lingerie. As I step into the gown and pull the stretchy lace into place, each rosebud I touch disappears into the fabric, only to bloom again once I’ve moved my hand. It fits perfectly.

“Did you peek?” I ask the moment I’m fully clothed and Morpheus is facing me. The question is rhetorical. I caught him looking at least three times.

He draws me close. “I’m wounded, luv. We both know I’m a perfect gentleman. Now, let’s get you to the palace. You’ve had a long journey. Tonight, you will rest in solitude. I shall give you time to grieve.” His voice is deceptively sincere as he coaxes the rest of my spirited hair free of its bun so it can wind around his arms and fingertips.

I tilt my head. “I won’t be spending tonight alone. After all these years, you’re still lying to me.”

His dark gaze glimmers through thick lashes that only half hide the voracity lurking there. “What gave me away?”

I touch the bejeweled face I’ve come to love so dearly. Not in spite of his infuriating tactics, his word wizardry, his tender malice . . . but because of them. “Oh, I don’t know. The desire blinking through your eye patches.” For the first time, I notice he’s not wearing a hat, and there’s no question why: because by the end of the day, a crown will be sitting on his head. I trace the lapels of the crimson suit tailored perfectly to fit his lithe, graceful form—the very suit he wore in my vision of our fiery honeymoon so long ago. His body trembles in response to my touch. “Or maybe because we’re both dressed for a royal wedding.”