“We have always been enemies, and we will always be enemies. Why try to force together puzzle pieces that will never fit?” I ask. The king’s hands slide into the pockets of his suit, and he bows his head, like he’s actually thinking deeply on my question. Finally, he speaks. “That first moment I saw you,” Montes says, “I felt a jolt right here,” Montes places a hand over his heart, “and I knew with certainty that you were mine.” “I’m not a possession, something you repeatedly seem to forget.” “Your heart is, and I wish to own it—I will own it.”
