“If there is indeed an Unrequited Prophecy that names the King and me, and it’s Unrequited because no one’s realized it was talking about us, how old would it need to be?” The Keeper considered, his lantern swinging as he picked up the pace slightly, as if talk of Prophecies without being near them made his hands itch. “At least a thousand years, I’d imagine,” he said finally, ducking into another tight twist of the staircase.

