Evangeline was once again waiting for a spark of recognition, or at least a tiny glimmer. She needed something familiar, something to hold on to so she wouldn’t collapse to the ground again, and Apollo was looking at her as if he wanted to be that something. No one had ever looked at her with such intensity before.

He reminded her of a fairy tale hero, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, dark eyes that burned, and clothes that spoke of a kind of wealth that brought to mind images of treasure chests and castles. He wore a dark red coat with a high collar and rich golden embroidery covering the cuffs and shoulders. Underneath, he wore a fitted jacket—or so it seemed to her at least. The men in her homeland of Valenda dressed very differently.

But it was obvious she was no longer there. The thought brought a fresh wave of panic that made her words rush out. “How did I get here? How did we meet? Why don’t I remember you?” she asked.

“Someone who wants to keep us apart stole your memories.” Something sparkled in Apollo’s brown eyes, though she couldn’t tell if it was anger or pain. Evangeline wished she could remember him. But the more she tried, the worse she felt. Her head ached and her chest felt empty, as if she had lost something more than just her memories.