It seems both my father and William’s father have finally found something they both agree on. My marriage to William will be annulled by this afternoon.

The room I’ve taken here in Montovia feels quite stuffy and uncomfortably warm, but perhaps it is only because I know I’ll never see William again.

I lie down on my bed and close my eyes. This isn’t like last time. This isn’t like last time at all. When my father interfered in my personal life before, I suppose he had good reason. I’d made mistakes—horrible lapses in judgment. And it didn’t help that the man I loved then had almost as little respect for me as my father, though I didn’t see it at the time. I suppose I’ve never considered how much James and my father are alike—at the time, I could only see that James paid attention to me. It’s a little sad, really, that I sought attention from a man like him—some sort of stand-in for my father.

And when it came down to it, he hadn’t only been like my father—he had gone to him for help. And my father betrayed me in a way I could have never imagined—in a way I never can forgive him for. But I don’t allow myself to feel that betrayal very often. Much of it came out in my writings. The poetry William found so dark and disturbing at one time was the direct result of the betrayal of the people closest to me.

It’s why I must move on—why I need to leave this life. I suppose a small part of me had hoped that William would join me. Of course, that isn’t how our story began at all. My marriage to William was one of convenience only—I was never supposed to fall in love with him.

There’s a soft rapping on my door, but I ignore it. I’ll let Reginald carry me out of here—I’m certainly not going to go willingly.

The only thing I’m completely sure of is that I’ll never allow myself to fall in love again. It isn’t worth the pain. And I don’t believe I’ll ever be far enough away from my father, my brother, or Rosvalia to be allowed to give my heart to anyone, anyway. Somehow, word always seems to travel back to someone. Nothing—no one—can protect me from them.

At least there is some poetry in this—there must be. After I return to Rosvalia, I’ll lock myself away somewhere and release this agony the way I always do.

The rapping on the door comes again, louder this time, and I still ignore it. Maybe I locked the door—if I did, it will keep my brother out for a little while longer. I don’t have much to pack—only one of my bags ever made it back from Berlin, though I haven’t thought much about it. I don’t want to allow myself to think about any of it—I was happy there for a short time. I was happy here for a short time. But I should have known better. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

I take a few deep breaths, but it does nothing to relieve the aching William-sized wound in my heart.

I hear the door open, and I know my time in Montovia is over. My brother will come into the bedroom and tell me it’s time to leave. And I’ll never see Montovia—or William—again. My father and brother will make sure of that.

The door to my bedroom is open, and the footsteps stop at the doorway.

I say nothing. I just remain on the bed with my eyes closed.

“Justine?”

I recognize the voice, and it isn’t my brother’s, it’s William’s. Part of me wants to jump into his arms and beg him to get us out of here. But another part knows he’s only here to say goodbye. And that is the part that won’t let me even open my eyes.

“Are you all right?”

I give a single, silent nod, and he sits on the end of the bed.

“I suppose you’ve heard…”

I nod again, still unable to open my eyes. I know if I so much as look at him, I’ll be a pathetic, blubbering mess, and I’ll not have that as his last memory of me. No, I’d much rather it be last night—or any other memory, really.

“I…” He pauses. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.” I can feel the tears welling behind my eyelids, but more, I can hear them in my voice. “Please. Just don’t say anything.”

“If…” Something is cracking in his voice, too. “If we had been honest with each other from the beginning—”

“You were honest. I was not.” My eyes finally flutter open, and I lift myself onto my elbows to look at him. “If I had been honest from the beginning—”

“We wouldn’t be here now.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have married you if you’d told me it was going to be over so soon.”

I nod. There isn’t much I can say because he’s right. I may not have been given a choice in the matter of our marriage, but I went into it under false pretenses, at least as far as William was concerned.

“My father—he can’t be convinced otherwise.” He rubs his jaw where I can see a bruise forming from his earlier fight with my brother. “I…I’d offer to run off with you, but I know neither of us truly wants that.”

I right myself fully on the bed as the tears begin to spill down my cheeks. He has no idea how much I truly do want that—but I can’t expect him to leave his family and his world forever.

“It’s better this way. I… We’ll be better off.” The uncertainty in his voice betrays his words.

It makes me feel the slightest bit better, knowing he’s trying to convince himself.

I nod. “Yes. I suppose we will.” A few more tears fall down my cheeks. “William, I need to tell you something before I go.”

He gulps, nodding, and rubs at his chin again. “I should also—”

“I was wrong.”

He nods. “As was I. About so many things. If I had to do everything over—”

“Not…not about what you think. Of course I was wrong to marry you knowing my father only intended our marriage to last three months. But…but I told you once…” I shake my head. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but I told you once that I believed people were only capable of loving once in their lives.”

His lips tick up into a tiny smile. “I do remember. It was the first night we shared a bed—right before the storm.” He nods again. “I believe I said to you that loving someone was a choice—”

“I was wrong. I need you to know that.” A few more tears spill down my cheeks. “Even though…even though this is over, I need you to know that. It makes things better, though, doesn’t it?”

His eyes shine, and he blinks back his own tears before they fall. “No.”

I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from sobbing. “It does, though. It means we both still have a chance. Someday…maybe. Maybe someday, we can both learn to love someone again. We can both choose to love again.”

He shakes his head. “No. You weren’t wrong, Princess. I think—perhaps—neither of us understood what love was until we found each other.”