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“I will do anything you want me to do.”

He rolls his eyes, but the smile stays. I guess this is what had him so nervous, but God, he doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t he know by now? Anything he asks of me, I’d give him without a second thought. I’d cross oceans, kneel before gods, and walk willingly into the depths of hell itself if I knew his hand would be waiting to take mine at the end of it all.

I reach across the table and tuck a strand of damp hair behind his ear. “Who am I meeting?”

He hesitates, then says softly, “You’ll see.”

I don’t push. If he wants to tell me, he will. If he doesn’t, I’ll find out when we get there.

“Will you stay close?” he asks, and his voice is smaller now, shy.

“Always.”

Ilya

We reach the wrought-iron gate of the private memorial garden. The path leads past weathered granite markers and ancestral stones, but I don’t look at any of them. My feet know the way by heart, even if my body has spent years running in the opposite direction.

At the highest crest of the hill sits a simple slab of gray marble.

Maria Solovyov.

My throat locks tight. I haven’t come here in four years. The last time I stood in front of this stone, Anton had bruised my ribs so badly I could barely draw breath, Vladimir had called me defective because he thought I’m sick, and I had stood in the dark wishing the earth would open up and pull me down into the cold beside her.

Back then, coming here felt like bleeding on a shrine. It felt like dragging all my filth and violence to her feet and begging for forgiveness I didn’t deserve.

I stop two feet from the marble, my fingers tightening around the paper-wrapped flowers until the stems begin to buckle beneath my grip.

“Ilya,” Kento’s voice reaches me softly and steadies me.

“I hated coming here,” I whisper, staring down at her name. “Whenever things got bad in that house, I used to think she left on purpose. I used to be so angry at her for dying. And then I’d hate myself for being angry, so I stayed away.”

Kento doesn’t offer empty platitudes. He steps up beside me, offering the heat of his body to ward off the cemetery chill. “You were just a child,” he says gently. “And you were in pain.”

A breath shudders out of my chest. I sink down onto my knees in the soft moss before the stone, not caring about the damp seeping through the fabric of my trousers.

I lay the white freesias down. “Mama,” it feels strange to say it aloud, stripped of every sarcastic shield I’ve spent a decade constructing. “I… I brought someone.”

I look back over my shoulder. Kento drops to both knees beside me on the wet earth. There is no arrogance in him. He kneels beside me like an ordinary man.

“This is Kento,” I say, my fingers trembling where they rest against my thighs. “He’s an idiot. A gorgeous, pathologically persistent idiot who’s been following me around for the better part of my life. A stalker, essentially. But don’t worry, I’ve decided not to press charges. His eyes are too pretty.” I laugh weakly. “You should see them. They’re black, and they make every other pair of eyes in the world look bad.”

Kento lets out a breathy huff through his nose, his dark eyes lifting to look at the engraved marble. “It is an honor to meet you, Maria,” Kento says sincerely.

I look at the stone, tracing the silver letters with my gaze. “Vladimir is dead, Mama,” I whisper. “Anton is gone too. Alya is dead as well…” My voice trembles at the last name. I don’t think I will ever be able to say it without something in me fracturing. Some miserable piece of my heart still belongs to the girl I once thought she’d always be, and I don’t know how to bury her without burying that part of myself, too.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you in so long. I missed you. I hope you’ve been watching over me, wherever you are. And I hope you’re not too disappointed in the person I’ve become. I know I’ve done things you wouldn’t be proud of, things I can barely bring myself to tell you about, but I’m doing better now. I really am. I wish you could see me. I think you’d like the way I smile these days. It doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore.”

Kento’s hand settles gently against my back. I love that about him. He somehow knows when I need words and when I just need to feel that he’s there. I lean into his touch, and when I glance at him, he gives me the smallest nod, as though to say that I can take as long as I need. So I turn back, swallow the ache lodged behind my ribs, and find the courage to speak a little more.

“I promise I’ll be better from now on. I’m going to become someone you would’ve been proud of. A prince, remember? Just like you always said I was.”

I reach out and rest my palm against the marble one last time, right beside the snowdrops and freesias. “Goodbye, Mama,” I whisper. “I’ll come visit you again soon. I promise.”

We stand up together, brushing the damp moss from our clothes. Kento offers his hand, and I take it, letting his fingers lace through mine as we turn our backs on the grave and begin walking down the hillside path.

As soon as the gate clicks shut behind us, the first cool drop of rain strikes my forehead.

Within seconds, the sky breaks open. A silver rain begins to fall, washing over the dark cedars. Kento pauses at the bottom of the gravel slope. He looks down at me, his dark eyes searching my face with an endless attentiveness. “It’s raining,” he says softly, his breath misting into the chill. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go bring the car around?”