Through some miracle, I saw him again that night. Somewhere in the twilight between consciousness and sleep, my ears pricked to the song so faint I could almost imagine that it was an hallucination. Whether or not he’s real, I still didn’t know, but then again I didn’t suppose it much mattered. At worst, I had been gifted with a vivid imagination, and some part of me knew that for now at least, living in my imagination might mean saving my sanity.

The song sang into my ears and my eyes fluttered open, my pupils widening as I searched frantically about my room for him, for Dracen. I caught him in a corner, leaned up beside the windowsill, standing just out of reach the narrow sliver moonlight that still managed to ford the shadow and catch on his silky hair and the sharp angle of his jaw. His chin was buried in his chest and he watched his feet as he sang under his breath, absently, as if he were unaware of my presence—though I knew that was ridiculous, as it was, after all, my bedchamber and not his. I sat quite still in my bed and listened to him.

“You’re the king,” I mumbled, mostly to myself. “King Dracen, of the Golden Age of Serrayna…” I repeated the information my new mother-in-law had spat haughtily to me over lunch. Dracen’s voice softened, wavered as if in response, and a longing took hold of his whole demeanor. I didn’t say anything, just batted my eyelashes sleepily until they finally gave up and fell across my cheekbones in defeat. I don’t know how many seconds or minutes or hours passed like that, him singing to himself in the shadows, me quite content in my bed, closing my eyes for a bit, watching him unnoticed the rest of the time. I think I fell back asleep, but it was a sweeter sleep than I had felt since leaving my country. It was a sleep in which Kier didn’t exist.

When I awoke for the second time, there was complete silence, too sweet to be empty, electric with possibility. I imagined Dracen there with me, and when I opened my eyes and saw him sitting on the foot of my bed, hand curved absently around my bedpost, I became more convinced than ever that he was not simply a dream or a figment of my imagination. He didn’t sing—he didn’t need to. The song had only ever been a façade, a cheap way to communicate to me more tangibly what I felt when I looked at him, when he looked at me. I waited impatiently for his eyes to meet mine, to speak to him in the silent code I sensed existed between us. He finally turned his face to mine, eyes half caught by sleep, and swung his knees up on the bed so he could wind his whole body around toward me.

“Good morning,” he murmured, not so surprised when I followed with my inevitable response.

“But it’s the middle of the night!”

“Of course. How silly of me to mistake it for morning. But you’re awake, nevertheless. I hope my singing didn’t bother you?”

“No, on the contrary, it brought me the most restful sleep I’ve had since I’ve been in this godforsaken country.” His mouth curled into a playful scowl, so familiar and new at the same time, like everything about him.

“I had rather hoped it would… though it does hurt me to hear you speak ill of Serrayna. I know it holds no sweet memories for you, but it is a beautiful country, a loving country.”

“You are Serraynan.” I stated what I meant to be a question, not so surprised by his nationality so much as his claimed humanity. The idea that he was of this world had not entered my thoughts. Dead king, perhaps, dreamt lover, more likely. But this was the first time I was able to look on him and see warm skin, living eyes.

“Yes, completely,” he replied, shaking me out of my adoring reverie. “I love this country with a fervor few could understand. It means everything to me,” he declared, passionate sparks flaring in his dark eyes.

“It means nothing to me… It has only brought me unhappiness,” I softly sighed. I spoke to him as if he were still a dream, unafraid of offending him or of misunderstandings. And yet I knew, deep down, that there could be no misunderstanding between us. We were two parts of one whole, meant to exist in the same way, with the same thoughts and feelings. My mind spun dizzily as my heart quickened, thumping away excitedly in my chest. It felt more like a hallucination than a dream now; I could almost feel the physical sensation of being drawn to him.

As if reading my thoughts, he pulled himself down to me, drawing me tightly to his chest. I pressed my nose to his shirt; separating the crisp scent of the linen from the woodsy sweetness that melted from his skin. A smile tingled through my lips, and I felt lightheaded, drunk off his scent and the warmth of his body against mine. I could feel his pulse shuddering gently under his skin, and as I moved my lips to his neck to kiss his bare skin, I felt his breath stir my hair. The physical sensations were spectacular, overwhelming; not only was I so keenly aware of him as I had never been aware of another human being, I sensed myself in a new way as well.

“Don’t be afraid of Serrayna, Lyra. It is not she who has brought you this unhappiness; it is her leaders, sons and daughters of a corrupted bloodline. They are not even Serraynan; therefore, they should not be mistaken for her. Please don’t hold their actions against the land herself.” I tilted my head up so our gazes could grasp one another, and I saw the pain behind his eyes, the fear that I really had learned to hate Serrayna. “Look, this place can’t be all bad… she’s brought you to me, hasn’t she?”

“And you to me,” I agreed, letting his lips sink into mine. His hands wandered across the landscape of my shoulders and back, over the curve of my hip. Strangely enough, I didn’t think of my husband at all; like in a dream, my thoughts conveniently and completely avoided that certain, unavoidable subject. I was completely in the present as I had never been before.

It was Dracen who pried his lips from mine and said the inevitable words, “Are you sure this is what you want?” I blinked hard and remembered crying in Kier’s bed, abandoned and alone. My thoughts drifted back to Dracen and his ghostly nature. Did he really count, seeing as how I wasn’t even sure if he was real? Did it matter?

“I married Serrayna tonight, not the man meant to represent her. And you are more she than Kier.” Dracen’s lips formed a half-smile as he turned my creative logic over in his mind. He answered me with another kiss as I surrendered myself to thoughtless passion, actively avoiding any thought or moralizing that would make this demi-dream less than sacred.