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That night I slept soundly, but in my sleep there was a dream – a fitful dream of men and women I did not know, or could only just remember, and when I woke up I woke up screaming and gasping for breath, and even Logan could not comfort me. That night, and for many nights after that, I dreamed again and again of that strange boy who flitted across my thoughts. As time passed I remembered who he was – he was Prince Kian, and we had known each other once, or had we? He and I had worked together to broker peace. Had we been involved? I couldn't remember – or perhaps we had been, but somehow whenever my mind tried to reach him, to remember what it was about Prince Kian that gave me these nightmares, the thoughts would vanish, the way shadows vanish at the very presence of light. I tried to talk to Logan about these dreams, these strange thoughts – these memories that seemed so important and yet so gossamer, so constantly out of my reach – but it was no use. He had no more memory than I did of these strange events. In any case, I had much to think about, and the upcoming Peace Treaty Summit with the Crown Prince, his mother the Snow Queen of the Winter Court more than preoccupied my thoughts.
Wort was now in the Summer Prison with the rest of the dissenters, whom Logan and I had weeded out, awaiting his trial and final magical banishment from Feyland altogether. Logan and Rodney had together begun training the army for new strategies – abandoning war in favor of a stronger defense strategy and more attention paid to the Pixie lands. If Wort and Delano were anything to go by, the Pixies were our greatest enemies now.
And yet, for all the joy that the Peace Treaty brought to me and my Court, my greatest happiness was the time I spent with Logan. We were in the Summer Gardens, the one with an intricate maze built of summer rose bushes of every shade, walking hand in hand when he turned to me under the white blossoms of the fragrant orange trees, got on one knee, and presented me with a ring forged from gold and diamonds. In the center were diamonds cut into small clusters that formed a crescent moon...the symbol of the Wolf Fey. For wolves from Feyland were touched by fey magic.
“Breena,” Logan said. “I’ve loved you for all my life. I’ve never loved anyone or anything more than I love you. We have been together for so long, and I know you as well as I know myself. You are part of me, and I am part of you. Without you, I would not be complete.” Logan’s lips quivered with emotion. “Please say you will marry me, Breena.”
My hands trembled as Logan placed the ring on my finger, and I stared into his big dark eyes, filled with longing and love. I could not think of anyone I loved more. There had always been Logan, only him. “Yes,” I said, reaching up to kiss him. “I love you so much!” His eyes shone with such love and happiness as his face bent down to kiss me.
We had announced our relationship to the Court publicly within a few days, announcing a Royal Engagement that sent the people of Feyland into a state of shock and scandal. No Fairy Queen had ever married a Werewolf before – and yet so overjoyed were the fairies by their latest victory against the Winter Court that I could have married a Pixie himself and been able to get away with it. It is a new age – the fairies cried. There is peace now! Things are different!
After all, Logan had gained a place of great distinction in the Summer Court. It was his bravery in defending me from both the Pixie Delano and the knights of the Winter Court that had allowed peace to occur, and he had been presiding with me at the Spring Pass when the lands were at last returned to the Summer realm. His natural charisma and charm, too, had served him well, and before long it seemed that all the fairies in the land were overjoyed to have Logan as their future Prince Regent. He would be my Wolf Prince.
I spent my days attending to queenly duties – signing treaties, holding audiences, receiving my ministers – but the best parts of all were when Logan appeared between each break in my schedule, taking me in his arms, nuzzling my ears and throat, warming me with his kiss with every spare moment of his day. We could not take our eyes off each other whenever we were in the same room.
And yet, when I slept, I dreamed the most terrible dreams. I dreamed of the Crown Prince Kian, rage and fire in his eyes, reacting to some terrible and unspeakable news. I saw in my mind's eye the Prince throwing his crown against the room, striding up to a pageboy and picking him up by the collar, demanding to know the truth, the real truth.
“You're lying!” he was shouting. “You're lying! It can't be true!”
“It is, Your Highness,” stuttered the page-boy. “The Princess Breena is engaged to be married to the Wolf Logan! I saw it with my own eyes!”
A hazy sense of recollection seemed to come back to me in my dreams. I was the cause of this, wasn't I? There was something I had done...had Kian been in love with me once? Or perhaps we had been involved – how strange that I could barely remember what it was...
I saw the Winter Queen placing a calm hand on Kian's shoulder, speaking in an implacable tone about the nature of duty, about the importance of suppressing emotions. I saw the Princess Shasta, in a corner, clapping her hand over her mouth as she shouted obscenities, her anger almost matching that of her brother. How could Breena betray her brother like this?
In my dreams, time passed. I saw Kian night after night – growing darker and colder, locking himself in his tower room, speaking to nobody but Shasta. He would not eat; he would not sleep. I saw the shadow-boy of my dreams grow thinner and paler, staring out across the moors at the Summer Palace. I saw him leave the Winter Grounds at all hours of the morning and return with scores of Pixie prisoners, or dragon scales – taking on the most dangerous missions he could find, speaking to no-one, shutting out the pain. I saw him fight Pixies unarmed, as if willing them to kill him, daring them to end his life, his pain, his suffering. In my dreams I suffered with him.
And yet, each morning, I woke up to find my memory of the Prince Kian hazier than ever. I could vaguely recollect that we had been involved, somehow, but I could not call to mind a single instance where we had ever talked, ever kissed.
“I wouldn't worry about it,” said Logan, patting my hand. “You're probably just stressed.” Logan did not know where or when had I met the Winter Prince. He could only recall me dreaming of the enemy prince and having once been his intended when I was but a toddler.
And so, night by night, I forgot my dreams.