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For it was also said the Prince of Hearts was not capable of love because his heart had stopped beating long ago. Only one person could make it beat again: his one true love. They said his kiss had been fatal to all but her—his only weakness—and as he’d sought her, he’d left a trail of corpses.
“Fortune-tellers aren’t like you and me. They see the world as it could be, and sometimes they try to bring about what they want, rather than what should be.”
Once a future is foretold, that future becomes a living thing and it will fight very hard to bring itself about.
Dante had wings. And, holy mother of saints, they were beautiful—soulless jet-black with midnight-blue veins, the color of lost wishes and fallen stardust. He was turned toward his nightstand washing his face, or maybe he was kissing his reflection in the mirror.
Tella was amazing; of course Death would want to keep her.
“But the best villains are the ones you secretly like, and my nana always said Legend was the villain in Caraval.” Dante’s lips twisted into something like a smirk. “Of course she did.”
“Definitely helping.” Dante began untwisting her hair, letting his warm fingers brush her neck, and then leaving them on her pulse as he whispered, “Even if I wasn’t Legend I would want you to win.”