“I sold it. I told you I sold all of our things. I am sorry.”

Now that her father was visibly upset, a hand at his head, Nya wished she hadn’t lied at all. She didn’t enjoy causing him pain. The only thing she wanted from him was an apology, and a love that didn’t suffocate her—she would never have those things.

“Actually wait, Father. I think I didn’t sell that chest.” She watched as he sagged back down onto the bed, thinking she would keep his secret when anyone with common sense would expect her to tell Ledi and Thabiso about it. “I have to go now.”

“Will you come visit me tomorrow?” he asked, his heart pain and shock completely forgotten.

“Yes,” she lied.

“And you won’t leave me again?”

“No,” she lied, blinking back tears. There was no pleasure in these lies, so she gave him one truth. “I love you, Father.”

She kissed him on his forehead, then turned and left before he could see her tears.

As she walked through the gates of the prison, it was her turn to clutch her chest. She doubled over, trying to breathe deeply like Portia had once taught her. How could someone so unworthy of her love still cause her so much pain?

It seemed love didn’t differentiate between worthiness and unworthiness. Some monsters couldn’t be defeated—they would always have their claws in you. She could understand why Johan had been so adamant about avoiding the emotion. She had lost him and her father both, in different ways, and it was awful. Terrifying. But she wouldn’t shy away from love. She would likely be hurt, again and again, but if she closed herself off from that, wouldn’t it be just as her father had wished?

She stood, breathing under control, and got into the car with a driver from the palace that had been waiting for her in the parking lot. She stared out the window as it pulled away, staring at the less familiar sights surrounding the prison, and the bustle of the city center, without truly seeing them.

She tried to imagine remaking a life in Thesolo, going to these shops again and walking these streets, but the same feeling of being trapped descended on her again. She loved her country, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of constriction that had marked so much of her life there. The door to her birdcage was open, but it still felt too small.

“Here we are, Ms. Jerami,” the driver said as they pulled up in front of the palace after passing through the security at the entrance gates.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sliding out as a member of the palace staff opened her door. She walked toward the gardens instead of going inside to see her friends and family. She was tired and she was lonely, and she didn’t want to talk about her father yet. She also didn’t want to talk about Johan and have to reveal her lie to her grandparents and the rest of the kingdom.

She passed Lineo, the palace guard who had witnessed so many of her embarrassing moments, and nodded. The woman didn’t smile, but she nodded in return before touching her ear and turning away from Nya. Tears warmed Nya’s eyes as she imagined Lineo and everyone else realizing they had been right—Nya had been silly to think things could work with Johan. Everyone would know he had pitied her.

No. He loved you. However it had turned out, that was one true thing in a lifetime of lies. She wouldn’t let anyone take that away from her.

She exhaled deeply, walking toward her gazebo. She considered not going in to avoid memories of Johan but those were unavoidable, and maybe it would help to immerse herself in it. She didn’t want to hide from pain—she didn’t want lost love to warp her, as it had warped her father.

She was almost inside the structure when she heard a strange yipping noise.

She paused, looking around, then entered under the curtain of flowers and found . . .

“Phokojoe,” she said, stopping up short. A man with a fox’s head stood in the gazebo, leaning against one of its posts. The fox god sported a fine blue vest over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

“Lovely maiden,” the fox god said in a slightly muffled voice tinged with a Liechtienbourgish accent.

Her heart began to beat fast, too fast. There was a pain in her chest, one she felt more deeply than she had in front of the prison but that filled her with gladness instead of sorrow.

It seemed Johan had done some reading.

“Phokojoe, I have nothing to offer you,” she said in a trembling voice, responding with the appropriate line from the fairy tale.

The fox god took a step forward. “You have treated me well and I will never forget that. What is it you most desire, lovely maiden?”

“A job?” Nya joked, deviating from the script, because she wanted to make Johan laugh and because she still wasn’t quite sure she could trust the happiness threatening her.

The fox head mask tilted. “Hmm. Employment isn’t my domain, though I know some gods who could help with that.”

“Great,” she said. Then closed her eyes and pressed her palms against them, unable to contain the emotion swelling in her. Joy. Fear. Hope. Love.

She hiccupped out a sob and then heard the sound of the fox god’s designer shoes on the wood floor of the gazebo, moving toward her. When she peeked through her fingers she could see the blue of his pants and the dusting of auburn hair on his forearm as he stood before her.

“Is there . . . is there anything else you desire?”