During her isolation, one day stood out above all others: her nineteenth birthday. She had arrived at the palace nearly a year before. She found herself reflecting on everything that had happened since.

  Why had she followed the Emperor without demanding more answers?

  Would he even have given her a choice had she refused?

  Were her parents worried about her disappearance?

  And Owen… was he being treated well?

  Her days, steeped in solitude and monotony, gave her all the time she needed to dwell on these questions, while her nights remained troubled by the traumas of the past months.

  One night, the girl dreamt of Owen. The memory was vague, yet she was certain he had been at her side for a brief moment.

  Similar dreams returned several times over the following weeks, gradually pushing away the nightmares that still haunted her sleep.

  She could see him, speak with him, even hold him in her arms. He listened; he answered. It was as though the simple longing to see him again—her deepest wish—had somehow been granted, slowly breaking the isolation that had confined her.

  She awoke in brighter spirits, cherishing these fragile illusions as treasures that belonged to her alone.

  They sustained her through six long months, during which nothing else disturbed the rhythm of her days.

  One morning, the dream from the previous night remained perfectly clear in her mind. Owen had spoken to her, wearing an expression she had never seen before, and had said, “I’m going to come get you.” In that dream, he had looked different from the last time she had seen him—older, with hair much longer.

  Could it be a premonition? Was it connected to the power the Emperor had mentioned? These questions only multiplied, and with no answers to cling to, she pushed them aside—for now.

  ???

  A few days later, as she sat at the table, she heard the door open. Her handmaiden had already come earlier that day, so she did not expect her to return.

  She feared the Emperor would appear again. But to her astonishment, a very small figure with silver hair slipped through the narrow opening of the door.

  “Owen? Is that you?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mom,” he replied.

  He came toward her, and she rose just enough to sink to her knees and wrap her arms around him.

  “What are you doing here? If the Empe… I mean, your father finds out, he’ll be angry.”

  “I know. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him,” he said without hesitation.

  “But—”

  “I told you, didn’t I?” he cut her off.

  “Told me what?” she asked, bewildered.

  “That I would come get you.”

  The girl’s heart leapt in her chest.

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  She leaned back slightly, rested her hands gently on his shoulders, and looked him over from head to toe. He looked exactly as he had in her dream: a small boy of about five, his silver hair brushing his shoulders.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  “How…? Wasn’t it a dream?”

  “No. I wanted to see you. I wanted it so much that my dream became real. I came to you in your dreams. We truly spoke.”

  The young mother pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the tears rising in her eyes.

  “Darling, tell me—did he hurt you?”

  “No. I don’t see him very often. And you… are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. She hesitated for a moment, then said:

  “I love you, Owen. I don’t want to lose you. You’re all I have. You should leave for now. If he comes, we could both get into trouble, and I don’t want him to turn against you.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just seeing you now, so grown and beautiful, is the best day of my life. Everything will be fine. And we’ll speak in our dreams again, won’t we?”

  Her trembling voice betrayed her fear, which only deepened with every passing second.

  “Mom.”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s coming.”

  She shuddered and recoiled slightly.

  “H-How do you know?”

  “I can feel it.”

  He met her gaze, and before she could speak, he continued:

  “Don’t be afraid. He won’t hurt you this time. I promise.”

  He had barely finished speaking when the door opened once more.

  Owen turned around and, standing between his two parents, faced his father. His mother, petrified, could not move a muscle.

  Awareness struck her then. In the next instant, she seized Owen and held him tightly against her, as though to keep the Emperor from taking him away.

  “Owen, thou hast no place here. Get thee back to thy chamber at once,” he said, stepping forward.

  “No, Father. I won’t go.”

  The Emperor, taken aback by his son’s resolve, narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin in displeasure. He was about to speak again, but the boy cut him off.

  “You can’t keep me from seeing her anymore. Even if you separate us, or lock us away, I can still visit her.”

  Owen’s firm, resolute tone silenced any objection. The Emperor remained motionless for a moment, studying his son. A strange gleam shone in his eyes as he realized that what he had been waiting for was finally coming to pass.

  At last, his gaze fell upon her, and she shivered.

  “So be it. Thou hast prevailed, my son.”

  At these words, the young mother flinched, while Owen remained impassive, as though he had expected this response. The man turned and began to leave.

  “Wait,” Owen stopped him.

  The Emperor paused and turned his head slightly toward him, without fully facing him.

  “Will you… be… kinder to her?” the child pressed.

  “Hmph. There can be no kindness without prior cruelty, can there, my son?” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as he left.

  Silence fell over the room.

  The young mother and Owen remained still and quiet. She held him close, trembling.

  After a long moment, he finally turned and wrapped his arms around her in return, and she let out a long sigh of relief.