"He died before being able to explain why."

The sentence plagued my mind as our scenery changed. From the tropical beaches, we crossed a quaint, cobblestone bridge, entering a dense diorama of wispy leaves and wet soil.

Hartland Forest—the jungle-like region that contained the city of Hartland, and Hartland Castle, where queen Tilda reigned. As far as I could tell, it was a tangle of twisting turns and muddy caves and exotic animals I wouldn't dare dream of encountering.

As Ysac pointed out veering vines that seemed to hang from the sky and named the turquoise lakes we trotted by, I lost myself. But not in his presence, as usual; I drowned in his past words. When he'd told me that he and the knaves—three of which were dead, he reminded me—were the only ones aware of the king's mistrust of his mages. But they presumed Gwenore knew, too.

I recalled where we were when he spoke of this. We'd tumbled through a curtain of dangling branches that caressed my cheeks like a mother's delicate fingertips. It was eerie and fascinating all at once. To traverse through so many climates and sceneries in so little time, almost as if each region were its own world, with its own rules.

He'd then warned me that he and his crew also believed that one of the Aces had backstabbed the king somehow, provoking his undoing. And his subsequent death. That had caught me so off-guard, I battled to stay atop my clubber.

An Ace back-stabbing the king?

Some time had passed, where he left me in silence to ruminate over what he said. Oh, I had plenty of responses, questions. But I couldn't formulate them, too in shock. One of the Aces, one of the magical beings I'd taken orders from, might have caused a king's death. I shuddered, doing my best to focus on the road ahead.

We continued on, and Ysac slowed down to pluck a hart fruit from a bush. He sniffed it, rubbed it over his coat to make it shiny, then offered it to me. I declined with a weak smile, because I had no appetite. Even when he tipped the peachy-looking produce closer, pressing it to my lips as he pouted, craving for me to taste it...I didn't melt. His sweetness and his once irresistible expression didn't weaken me.

Because I was afraid. Terrified. My blood ran cold, my stomach churned.

I couldn't get over it. One of the Aces was responsible for the king's demise? Until we'd visited Gwenore, I had no doubt these mages had the kingdom's best interests in mind, but I was no longer sure. Too many seeds of suspicion planted in me, and my attraction to Ysac couldn't kill them.

When I finally found my voice, and confronted the jester on this atrocious news, he shrugged. Shrugged. He was unbothered that a magical advisor might have orchestrated the death of his king, plunging his people into war-riddled chaos, prompting four daughters to bicker over the throne.

"You don't care?" I sensed my vocal cords constricting, and worried a screech would slither out.

"What more can I say?" Ysac's violet eyes vibrated with sympathy for a second; but he pulled away before I could read further into them. "What's done is done. Whichever Ace did this hasn't come forward and hasn't caused any further issues. And who are we, non-magical folk, to dare question such beings?"

That reverberated through my skull as we rode by mossy mounds of rocks. And as we passed a small cluster of cabins before which locals were cooking food over fires, waving at us with warm smiles. And more still as we stumbled upon a pebbled passage taking us to a vast clearance cloistered behind high wooden stakes, stuck together to create a wall.

"Ramparts?" I asked, using my voice again at last; it was raspy, its vibrations painful in my throat.

All around us were tall, lanky trees that bent inward, over-viewing whatever was behind the stakes.

"Ramparts, yes." Ysac pointed at one of the trees. "Look close; you'll see a house upon the branches."

I squinted at him, incredulous. Tree houses? Some of the serving staff had a treehouse in our castle's backyard when I was a boy, but I'd never envisioned anyone actually living in one.

Sighting his scrunched forehead, I could tell he was serious. So I followed his index finger and...yes, there it was. A battered facade resting on a thick, heavy branch, and a small balustrade overlooking us and beyond the ramparts. In the tree beside it was another narrow dwelling; and one more on the other side.

"So...the Hartland population lives in trees?"

Ysac scoffed. "Not all inhabitants." He whistled, and a boyish face appeared at the top of the spiked fence. "It's Ysac! Let me in!" The boy evaporated; seconds later, several of the stakes skidded sideways, like a sliding door, to let us pass. "Only a few have the privilege of residing so close to the castle."

"Privilege?"

Such houses weren't sturdy enough to be considered upscale, right? They didn't appear comfortable in the slightest. They were narrow, shambled, and I doubted they were safe. I wouldn't bring it up, but I was positive they didn't crumble because of...oh yes, you guessed it: magic.

"They have a perfect glimpse into the Hartland Castle courtyard, so yes. Queen Tilda loves to throw frivolous balls for her friends. Those living close-by can see those friends arriving in their various transportations. They get a peek of the extravagant outfits and hear some of the loud music. She invites commoners from time to time, which is why they all admire from their balconies, praying she'll pick them."

Behind the blockade we arrived at a walkway made of a grayish, gravelly substance, with one-inch hearts stamped into it, lining the way forward.

The castle at the end of said walkway was an extensive structure of a faded brown that resembled an old-tree trunk. The roofs were a carnelian color that glittered in the late-afternoon sunlight.

"It's shaped like a heart," muttered Ysac, gesturing at the construct as we approached it.

I turned away to roll my eyes, so he wouldn't see it. Should I have been surprised? He stated the hart represented this region, and yet all I saw were hearts. And the fruit he'd offered me earlier wasn't shaped like a heart; it was bulky and rounded, similar to an apple, with ridges like a raspberry.

I was losing my mind.

"Only one gate?" I asked as we alighted from our clubbers.

Ysac gestured at the jungle-esque woods we'd wandered through. "The forest itself is a gate. It's such a maze that those who seek to penetrate it without experienced guides get lost. It acts as a barrier. But since I know the way...well, here we are."

No one prevented us from meandering through the castle's intricate beige doorway, but I halted in the entrance, taken aback. A massive palm tree took root in the ground in the middle of the room, its leaves the same carnelian hue that painted the roofs. Wait—they were the roofs I'd noticed outside? A roof of leaves? How did that protect—

Ysac caught me craning my neck to observe the odd set-up and yanked at my sleeve to bring me to him. "Come, we can't waste time."

He led me to the right, into a chamber of peach marble walls and creamy flooring, at the conclusion of which resided a rusted throne with mossy vines entwined in the armrests. Plants of all shapes and sizes encircled the chaise, covering the cushions in shadows.

"Majesty?" He cupped a hand over his forehead and scanned the area. Birds chirped above us, and I heard water dripping; but we were alone in this room. "Hmm."

"Hmm?" It was deserted. I raised my shoulders, relieved that our journey was about to end. Because if Queen Tilda wasn't around, we wouldn't go searching for her, would we? "She's not home. Oh well! Should we return to Acewood, then? Three out of four is acceptable—"

He gripped my wrist and hauled me out into the corridor again. "No, she's here. But...she's hiding."

"Hiding?" We scurried down a scarlet hall, our boots clacking on the black-tiled floors. "Why would she hide? This is her castle, no?"

"Yes, well..." He smirked. My insides warmed as I imagined him directing that smirk at me. But instead, he focused ahead, towards an expansive set of ebony stairs. "She's avoiding us."

"How would she know we were coming?" I almost tripped up the second step, straining to keep up with his pace. He knew his way around as if he'd lived here all his life. Where hadn't he been in this godforsaken world?

"Spies in the trees." He said it as if it was normal for a queen to have employees hanging out on branches to verify who entered her realm.

For once, I decided not to pry further. And in any case, my heart ran a marathon in my chest as I became dizzy from these never-ending steps. Up and up, we went, barreling past landings and doors and places to rest. We continued on, higher and higher. I didn't remember seeing such a steep tower when I first envisioned the building.

We finally came to the top. I was panting, and Ysac didn't even break a sweat, his skin smooth as a still body of water, his muscles flexed. I wasn't in shape, despite the constant dashing after him. Here I'd thought I could run a mile or two with the guards back in Springport; so, either they were out of shape, too, or they'd slowed their paces to accommodate me.

We reached a rooftop terrace in the form of a courtyard of crooked branches and tiny ponds with jumping fountains. There was no railing at the edges, only concrete-half walls decorated with potted plants. Crimson and azure and aubergine heart-shaped poufs sat here and there, all empty—

All but the one across from us. Lying on her back, on the cushion, was a fair-skinned woman, holding up a mirror as she pouted at her reflection. She swiped something over her lips—a stain of some sort, I assumed—and giggled.

Somehow, she had no clue we were there. She hadn't heard us.

Ysac tiptoed over until only a dozen inches separated them, then stomped his foot. "Tilda!"

The girl leapt from the cushion and screeched, landing with ease on the heels of her slippers. A cloudy sheet of white fabric draped her tiny silhouette, and her chest moved in and out frantically as she fought to catch her breath.

"Who the fuck—" She dropped the lipstick she'd been clutching, and it rolled across the heart-tiled floors, leaving a burgundy smear in its wake. "Oh, Ysac, it's you." Her short brown bob of hair bounced as she shuffled her skirts to cover her legs. "How did you find me?" While she'd been startled by the interruption, she clearly wasn't surprised to see Ysac.

Ysac snorted as he motioned for me to join him. "I know you, Majesty. Someone clued you in on our imminent arrival, so you clambered up here thinking I would resist invading your privacy, but...you know me, too."

"I do," she said, bending over to retrieve her lipstick. With the tip of her bright red nail, she clipped off the top of the waxy substance and resumed applying a matte coat onto her rounded lips. "And your abrupt decision to visit without a warning isn't nice, Ysac."

She had the feisty attitude of a spoiled teenager, which would make sense, as Ysac had cautioned me she was eighteen and a bit entitled.

Hearts dominated Tilda's territory. They imprinted on her cushions, sprinkled the hem of her gown, and weaved around her neck in a diamond pendant. She had the same crystal eyes as her sisters, yet a flicker of warmth resided in hers. She frowned, but I perceived comfort in her aura. A sprinkle of innocence sparked in her expression when Ysac bowed. He side-glared at me to do the same.

"Oh, stop," she said, gesturing at him to straighten up. "And you too, friend of Ysac." She sized me up and sighed. "Let's adjourn to the throne-room then, shall we? Since I assume you're here to talk about something serious."

We returned downstairs. Calmly descending the treacherous steps was preferable to climbing them in haste, for certain.

As Ysac explained the situation to her, I detected some unspoken link between them. Evasive looks, batting lashes, flushing necks, and fumbled sentences, especially coming from her. She'd been almost bothered by his appearance earlier, but now she hung from his every word, absorbed in him...kind of like I was.

When they spoke, changing the subject from the vote and the pressure of royalty, the atmosphere heated. They turned into timid teens trying to conceal their affections. They were old friends, catching up on gossip and telling stories, but it was more than that. Even Ysac, who was usually so composed, melted when she touched his arm or giggled at his words.

Was it likely that they'd been involved at some point? I'd been wrong earlier about a bond between Ysac and Jack; but I wasn't mistaken here. I couldn't be. The way they acted around one another, trying too hard to pretend like they weren't attracted to one another...

Ysac and Tilda were definitely an item. Whether it happened in the past, or was still going on, I couldn't figure out.

And to watch them flirt so out in the open, my heart pinched, my intestines knotted. Jealousy crept into my being in toxic waves. I had to keep at a distance while they conversed, to avoid spilling my envious fumes all over the queen's polished parquet.

I didn't want them to know, didn't want anyone to know that Ysac captivated me, too. Against Tilda, or any of the other queens, or any of the other gorgeous women in this realm, I didn't stand a chance, did I?

I wanted to snarl at Tilda, to glower at her; but it was hard to hate her. Her lively voice, her groomed brows wiggling as she chuckled with Ysac, her relaxed posture as she lounged atop her throne. Careless and carefree, young and happy. Less intimidating than her siblings, she inspired delight. If Ysac had feelings for her, I couldn't blame him. Under other circumstances, I'd fall for her too.

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