Ursula and Sabine ran as bears until they reached the abandoned cottage in the woods. They’d been going there for years, tidying the place and making sure creeping vines never fully swallowed the walls. They’d drunk pots of tea there. Eaten bowls of porridge. They’d even stocked it with clothing, blankets, medicine, bandages, and other such things, as if to make it seem less like a hideaway and more like a home.

They shifted to their human forms, and Ursula fetched them clothes. Sabine held her hand to her cheek, and blood oozed between her fingers.

Sabine showed Ursula the cut. “Is it bad?”

Ursula wrapped a blanket around Sabine’s shoulders and examined the wound. She never should have let the fight happen. She could have volunteered herself. If the kingdom wanted to watch a man fight a were, why should it not have been her against her brother? But the truth was, it had never occurred to her. She couldn’t imagine fighting him. Not for real. Not in front of their people. That wasn’t what a prince and princess did.

In failing to do this, she’d failed to act, and Sabine would wear this scar for life.

“Hold still.” The gash was deep, but the edges were smooth and would knit neatly. Ursula fetched the medicine kit and unrolled it. She took a bottle of spirits and poured it over her fingertips, cleaning them. Then she offered it to Sabine for a sip. She declined.

“I’m definitely taking a sip after this is done.” Ursula dampened a cloth and pressed it into the wound.

Sabine winced but held still.

Ursula’s eyebrows drew together as she poured spirits over a needle and threaded it. “Ready?”

Sabine’s lips made a teasing smile. “What if I say no?”

“I would probably light a fire, make myself some tea, and watch you bleed to death.”

“So no tea for me?”

“No. Gore only.”

“In that case, I suppose you may embroider my face.”

“Luckily for you, I am very good at stitch craft.” Ursula pinched the needle and tried to quell her trembling. Being close to Sabine always made her feel not quite firmly fixed in her own body, neither the human nor the bear version. But being this close? It had never happened in their human form, not in all these years, not at all how Ursula had wanted and imagined it.

She cupped Sabine’s uninjured cheek in her left hand and pretended everything was fine. “This will hurt.”

“I’m shocked,” Sabine said. “The injury itself was such a delight to receive.”

“Do I need to sew your mouth shut?” Ursula looked at Sabine’s lips. Those lips.

“At this rate,” Sabine said, “the cut’s going to heal all on its own. Just start. I can take it.”

Ursula closed the wound with her left hand. With her right, she pierced Sabine’s skin and saw the flash of pain in her eyes. Ursula winced.

How could Albrecht have done this? What had he hoped to achieve? She wouldn’t consider the possibility that he’d meant to do more than injure Sabine. Even Albrecht wouldn’t be that monstrous. He’d probably been scared. She could smell his fear every time she took her bear form. Sabine was no less fierce a warrior.

She tightened the thread on the first stitch. “Only a few more.”

Sabine said nothing. Ursula took the silence as a wish that she hurry, so she did, piercing the skin as swiftly and gently as she could. Soon she forgot that she was so close to Sabine. That her fingers had Sabine’s blood on them. That she was causing her pain, even with the intent to heal. She was focused on the wound and what it would take to make it right and nothing else.

She finished. Tied it off. “There. I should probably confess now that I actually can’t sew at all.”

“I should probably confess now that I’m not surprised. Stitch craft. Honestly.”

Ursula set down the needle. She knelt before Sabine, gathering Sabine’s hands in hers. She lifted them to her lips. She looked up. Tears spilled onto Sabine’s cheeks. Ursula rose and reached for them. With a fingertip, she wiped away one tear, and then the other. And even though there were no more tears to dry, she pressed her hand against Sabine’s uninjured cheek. It was so warm. So soft. So dear.

Ursula’s breathing changed. It was faster now. Sabine gave her a look that she’d never seen before. At first, Ursula didn’t understand it. And then she did. There was an intentness to it. A purpose that was so clear in her deep brown eyes. Ursula’s insides sped up. She felt as though she was turning to liquid, threatening to spill.

Sabine leaned forward. “Ursula.”

That was all it took. Her name. A request behind it. An invitation. A promise. Their lips touched. Ursula was gentle. She did not wish this, of all things, to hurt.

Ursula was used to transformations. Her body went from bear to human and back all the time. This transformation was something else, something beyond. She’d become lips, hands, a beating heart. She couldn’t get close enough to Sabine, not with her mouth, her tongue, or the rest of her body. Was it like this for everyone, this ravenous hunger, or did Ursula’s bear senses make everything more acute? She couldn’t tell. She had never kissed anyone else, had never wanted to, and never would again.

Sabine cupped her hand behind Ursula’s head and Ursula followed suit. She’d always loved Sabine’s hair, since the first day she’d seen it, and it felt even more wondrous than she’d imagined, soft and strong at the same time. It was exactly like Sabine.

Time passed, but she couldn’t measure it. She could kiss Sabine forever. What she’d imagined for years didn’t measure up to what was real, what was happening, what was turning her body into something entirely new. She felt like the night sky, infinite and sparkling with stars. Like something that could hold the entire world in its embrace.

Sabine’s hands moved to Ursula’s cheeks and then to her hair again, and it felt as though both of her bodies, bear and human, had been awakened for the first time at once. Ursula wanted more. More, more.

But then Sabine pulled away.

Ursula’s eyes opened. Sabine’s were wide, and she held up a hand.

“Did I hurt you?” Ursula’s gaze shot to Sabine’s wound. “I—”

“Shh. Listen.”

Ursula’s senses flooded. She couldn’t focus at first. Couldn’t hear anything. And then she did. Someone was coming. They were running.

“What do we do?” Sabine had already taken her bear form. Ursula shifted too. When the door swung open, she moved in front of Sabine to protect her. And she growled as though she wanted to rip the high white sun from the sky.

Ursula needed a moment to recognize Greta. She knew her, of course. She’d seen her working in her corner of the kitchen many times since that day in the square. But now it was as though every last scrap of childhood had been carved away by the bladed edge of the world. Her face was bone white, frozen. Ursula backed away, bumping into Sabine as she did.

Sabine took her human form first. Ursula followed, glad Sabine’s stitches had held. Greta brandished an enormous knife.

Ursula, not one to be embarrassed by her own nakedness, realized something. “This house. It was yours, wasn’t it?”

Greta nodded.

“I didn’t know.” And that was true, although Ursula could have figured it out, had she thought about it. This made her blush.

“We’ve been looking after it.” Sabine, who’d slipped into a tunic, handed Ursula clothing. “Come in. Sit.”

Greta hesitated. Ursula knew that if she had given the invitation, Greta would have come in. But that wasn’t how she wanted it to be, with her giving commands that must be obeyed. This was Greta’s own house, for goodness’ sake. Sometimes the burden of her birthright was more than she could take.

“Greta,” Ursula said as she pulled a tunic over her head. “Would you like to come in?”

Greta put the knife in her satchel. Her face was hard to read, but Ursula thought she could understand the calculations behind her eyes. Greta wanted to come in, but she was also afraid. Afraid of Ursula and Sabine. Afraid they would harm her.

Ursula had power. She’d wielded it badly when she didn’t insist Hans and Greta be set free that day. She’d been stuck then between pity and the law, and she thought she’d struck a fair balance. She’d been wrong.

“Where’s your brother?” she asked.

“I came alone.” Greta eyed the satchel over her shoulder. It bulged with food. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have … I—”

Sabine put an arm around Greta and led her to a chair.

“Here, sit. Rest. You’ve had a journey.” She took the bag and set it on the table. She removed a loaf of bread and some cheese and sliced them both, making a pretty arrangement on a plate.

Leave it to Sabine to know the right thing to do. The human thing to do. She needed Sabine for that. For so much more. It made her want to kiss Sabine all over again. She felt her body start to glow with heat. With pride. Sabine was hers. Hers. In every way.

Ursula knew she ought to leave. If she did, Sabine could heal in the safety of the forest. Greta could have company and protection. Neither would have to contend with the presence of someone who complicated everything. Reluctantly, she put on boots. Much as she didn’t want to leave, she excused herself, closed the door gently behind her, and walked into the woods.

And that was it. That’s what leaders did. The right thing. The difficult thing. The thing they did not want to do. She hoped they understood.

It would be night before long. She needed to return home in time for her father’s benediction, which would happen when the moon reached its peak. She needed to make things right with Albrecht too. He’d be angry with her for interfering. But it wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time. They were siblings. Twins. And the bond of that blood would bear out always.