They ate their next meal quickly and quietly. Eden forced him to eat fruit this time, since it was readily available and usually easy to detect if tampered with. Only after that did Atlas finally lead her to her cloak.

It was out on a grand old balcony, hanging on a clothes line with her undershirt and pants. Even her boots were there.

Something about watching her dark clothes lift and flap in the gentle wind next to the blue-white sheets of the palace had her feeling uneasy. It wrecked the pattern, the peace. She pulled them down hastily, feeling oddly ashamed.

Atlas left her to change while he backtracked to deal with the groggy intruders. He returned a few minutes later, as Eden was finally fluffing her hair from beneath the collar of her cloak.

“Ebony.”

She looked at him, expression passive.

He smiled faintly, then nodded. A confirmation. “If you refuse to tell me your name, I’ll call you Ebony.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why…” She frowned, “to all of that.”

He leaned back on the balcony railing, looking at ease but not particularly tired. At least, not as noticeably. “You need a name… and it suits you with that cloak. Ebony it is, until further notice.”

Eden offered him a deadpan look. “I said you could call me whatever you wanted, I didn’t promise to be enthusiastic about it.”

“Fair enough. I do wonder about that cloak though. It’s clearly reversible. Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable wearing white instead of black, especially under the sun?”

“It’s not about what’s comfortable,” Eden said shortly.

“I don’t follow.”

“Good. You’re not meant to. Can we go now?”

Atlas lifted himself up. “Are you pressed for time?”

“Actually I am.”

“Perhaps we should save this for another day then.”

“No,” Eden said sternly, “we go now.” She headed for the door, intent clear. Atlas followed her out but quickly took the lead, guiding her to the bottom floor and out into the courtyard where the party had been held. They took a left to the gardens, the poisonous gate open and inviting. Eden glared at it as they passed by.

Once inside the garden walls she stopped and pointed behind her, at the section of the wall next to the gates where the helpful ivy clung. “That needs to be trimmed.”

Atlas stopped to look, and the angle made his long hair look like fire. “Those vines?”

She nodded. “They’re strong enough to help a person climb over the wall. That’s how I got in. I’m sure that’s how the others are doing it too.”

“I’ll have it seen to immediately.” He turned away. “And I’ll have the guards take note of you, so that you won’t have to sneak in anymore. You’re my guest and I owe you a great debt. You may come whenever you like.”

The announcement shocked her. She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about all the guards knowing who she was. Still, it would be more efficient for the sake of the mission if she didn’t have to slink around like a criminal anymore.

“Uh, okay,” she murmured lamely. “Thank you.”

He dipped his head courteously. “This way.”

Eden followed him for a good deal longer than she was expecting, weaving through the flowering gardens until she was convinced he was leading her in a circle. Though she was growing anxious about returning to the Lakehouse, the curious part of her didn’t particularly mind. That was until they came to another wall and a stone archway. Beyond, it was much darker. She pulled to a stop.

“What I need to show you resides in the shade gardens,” Atlas explained, stopping beneath the archway to turn and look at her.

“Shade gardens?”

He gestured back the way they came, where the flora was cheerful and bright. “That was the sun garden, next is the shade garden, and at the end is the water garden. The last two don’t get much attention these days… but I promise they are worth seeing.”

Intrigued, Eden stepped through the arch and watched as her surroundings transformed from the sunlit extravagance – of flowers dawned at weddings and parties for their splendor and exuberance – to something far quieter, shyer. Trees were planted orderly, but hovered over the plants below like protective parents, winding their branches together to create a beautiful, lush roof.

The colors of the garden were a stark contrast to the area she had just stepped from, the leaves and grass a shade closer to teal rather than the lemon-green that drew her eyes before. These gardens were gentler, more private – like she had stepped out of Rose’s world and into her own. There were next to no flowers. The few she saw were mostly blue or purple, and hung bashfully under wide-spread fronds, afraid to draw attention to themselves.

And, it was much, much cooler under the protective canopy. The air smelled of mulch and felt misty on her skin. She pushed her hood down to feel more of it.

“I feel these gardens are a little underrated,” Atlas said. “The sun gardens are inspiring, but, this place is… calm. Not many people appreciate it the way I do.”

“I understand,” Eden said. “This place is … honest.”

He looked surprised, mouth gently parting. “Honest. I’ve never heard anyone describe it that way before.”

She passed him, taking the initiative. Some of the foliage was overgrown onto the path. She fingered the dewy leaves as she went by, admiring the smoothness of these plants she didn’t know the name of. Crane would have liked this place too.

“Ebony.”

Hearing the name from her spot a few paces ahead, Eden slowed and decided to indulge him. After all, she had given him permission to call her something. She looked back at him quizzically.

When their eyes met, something strange happened – a tiny bolt of electricity went through her chest. She blamed the shock on the way his eyes looked in the shade, like twin storms – deep and relentless, like they were churning somehow even though she swore they weren’t.

“What do you mean?” Atlas asked, his voice surprisingly intense but not unkind. “Everyone else describes these gardens as cold and dark. To you its honest. What does that mean?”

“Oh… it doesn’t matter,” she said, realizing how bizarre it must have sounded.

“Yes, it does.”

Eden shook her head and turned away. “Never mind. I thought it was obvious.”

Faster than she could comprehend, his body had cut her off. She almost head-butted him mid-step before stumbling back.

“It is obvious,” he countered, “but I want to hear you say it.”

She threw her hands up, exasperated and more than a little confused. “Why? Why must I constantly explain truths to you?”

“Because you’re the only one who sees them as I do, and I need you to say them to prove I am not crazy.”

Mouth opened to retort, it quickly clamped shut when she realized she didn’t have one. How exactly was she supposed to respond to that?

She ended up sighing. “You’re not crazy, alright?” It obviously wasn’t enough, because when she tried to push past him, his arm flung out to stop her.

“Why is it honest?” Atlas pressed. His hand grasped her shoulder, turning her forcibly to face him. Again, that strange bolt of tension went through her. This time it was accompanied by a small dose of heat that settled at the back of her neck. Under normal circumstances she would never let someone touch her so assertively, but he seemed only desperate, not aggressive.

“Brontide! Because that’s who everyone wants to be – pretends to be,” she flung her arm in the direction of the sun gardens, “but this is who we are.” She pointed to the ground at her feet. “Okay? Are you happy n—”

Atlas bent down, forehead landing on her right shoulder, freezing her to the spot. His hands still gripped her upper arms firmly. Eden had never witnessed a reaction like that before, let alone a few seconds later when he started chuckling. She looked around quickly, hoping there were no accidental witnesses.

“I knew it,” he said almost to himself. Then stronger, “I knew it.”

She said nothing, flabbergasted. He lifted his head from her shoulder. She wondered if her expression was more confused or unnerved or an appropriate mix of both.

Uncomfortable feelings mixed further when he slowly started moving his hand toward her cheek. The closer his touch came, the more she reacted – flicking her eyes from his hand to his face repeatedly in bewilderment, and moving her head further away to compensate for the closing distance.

Atlas broke into a wide smile that reached his eyes. His hand paused. “You’re real. You react to my hand like it’s a poisonous bug.”

Eden fixed him with a sharp stare. “And I’ll deal with it like a bug if you don’t quit it.”

His fingers curled in. “Sorry,” he said, finally stepping away. “I don’t mean to test you. I just… I haven’t seen someone like you in a long time – someone who reacts normally to me despite my gifts. It’s refreshing. I almost don’t believe it.”

“Well your testing is getting on my nerves,” Eden replied bluntly. “So how about this? How about instead of constantly trying to prove to yourself that I’m not going to turn into some sort of succubus, you start proving to me that you’re not an asshole.”

His eyebrows shot up, incredulous. “An asshole?”

“An asshole,” she affirmed.

“How do you figure that?”

“I figure the crown has made your head heavy, so you find it easy to look down on others – to judge them.”

“That tends to happen when others are constantly hanging off of it.”

“Stop tempting them then,” Eden hissed. She got closer to his face – started circling him like an animal.

“I swear I’m not.”

“No? Then what’s this?” Gathering up the end of his cloak she tossed it on the air to display its finery. “Or this.” She stepped on one of his fitted boots, forcing him to look down at the wet print. “Or this.” She flicked at his nose, since it was vulnerable.

Atlas blinked in surprise. “I can’t do anything about my face.”

She ignored him. “You have all this, but you can’t afford to have some standards?”

He balked. “I have standards.”

“That’s not how it seems.”

“I…” He stared at her, openly struggling. “I know how it seems. Believe me… I know. When people look at me… I can tell what they’re thinking. They’re disappointed. After all, how could someone with so much power have so little conviction? I can do almost anything, and yet I spend my time drinking and sleeping around with women I barely know. If you think I’m not tired of it – of ruining myself – you’re mistaken.”

“I don’t doubt you’re tired of it,” Eden answered, folding her hands into her sleeves. “So what we’ve got here is a serious case of fried pineapples.”

A startled smile broke onto his face. “What?”

“Fried pineapples,” she repeated, blunt. “We talked about it in the kitchen. When people don’t like fish, they’re forced to eat fruit. Usually pineapples—”

“But what does that have to do with me?”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”