Maria was in her chamber, reading by the fading afternoon light, trying to focus on the dense economic charts of the North End to quell the constant internal tremor of dread. A week of forced formality had done nothing to ease the knowledge that Aedric's retribution was still hanging over her head.

  There was a light, hesitant rap on the door.

  "Enter," Maria called, her voice strained.

  Elara slipped in, her expression worried.

  Maria's spine turned to ice. She was just fastening the ties of her night robe.

  "Your Majesty... the King requests your presence." Elara bowed, her face tight with nerves.

  A beat.

  "He asks that you come at once. To his chambers. Immediately"

  The command was simple, but the word "immediately" resonated like a death sentence. Her mind instantly fractured, plunging into icy panic.

  Her hands began to tremble violently, making the parchment crinkle. The bedchamber. This was not a meeting of state.

  He knows.

  Her thoughts lunged straight to Mara, to her scream, to the way she ran. The memory struck her with a force that made her stomach twist.

  Mara told him.

  She talked.

  She must have.

  Maria's breath caught in her throat, and her mind spiraled so fast she could barely breathe.

  Her throat locked. She felt the world tilt slightly under her feet.

  "Elara... did he say why?" Maria asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

  "No, Your Majesty," the girl whispered, though she looked as if she wanted to say more. "Only that you must go immediately."

  He knows.

  He knows.

  He knows.

  Her mind raced with panic. Mara must have talked. Or Varin mentioned something. Or the King overheard. Or maybe he had already known and had been waiting for proof.

  He will drag me to the courtyard.

  He will burn me right there.

  He will make an example of me.

  He will behead me in the courtyard, or worse, he will drag me to the square, like that girl.

  I struck him. I spoke of fire. I am a witch. This is the consequence. He has tired of the game.

  She closed her eyes, trying desperately to focus her thoughts, fighting the rising hysteria. She reached out, silently, instinctively calling for her protector.

  Her breath came too fast. She pressed a hand to the table to steady herself. Everything inside her screamed to run, hide, and disappear into shadow. But if she fled, he would only be certain.

  She forced her feet to move.

  Each step felt heavier than the last.

  Her mind kept repeating the same dreadful thought so loudly it drowned everything else: This is the night he kills me.

  She tried to summon Eldrin.

  In her mind she screamed for him, reached for his shadowed presence, clawed for even the faintest flicker of him.

  Nothing.

  Not a whisper.

  Not a chill.

  Not even a breath in the dark.

  "Eldrin," she tried again, silently this time, almost pleading.

  Still nothing.

  Cold fear drenched her from the inside out. She felt abandoned, exposed, and naked in the most dangerous sense of the word.

  She was alone.

  "Elara," she whispered, "do you know where Mara is?"

  Elara looked away. "She... asked for leave this evening. She said she was unwell."

  Unwell.

  Or terrified.

  Or confessing.

  Maria swallowed hard, her throat burning.

  This is it.

  This is the end.

  He knows.

  He knows what I am.

  Every step toward the door felt like she was being marched to the executioner. Her knees wobbled so badly she had to steady herself against the wall.

  "Elara," she murmured, barely breathing, "if I do not return—"

  "Your Majesty," Elara interrupted quickly, almost desperately, "do not say things like that."

  But Maria only gave a small, hollow nod.

  The corridors stretched endlessly ahead of her, torchlight flickering like warning signs. Even the guards outside his chamber seemed to watch her with too much interest, as if already picturing her execution.

  Elara stayed behind her, whispering a small prayer under her breath.

  Maria wanted to beg her to stop. Prayers were for the doomed.

  When she reached the hallway outside Aedric's chambers, she expected guards holding chains. Or the High Priest waiting. Or Varin lurking like a shadow, ready to witness her downfall.

  Instead, the guards merely bowed and opened the doors.

  That terrified her more.

  A quiet execution. A private burning. No witnesses.

  Her heart felt like it might burst through her ribs.

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  The chamber was dim, lit only by a few braziers and the glow of the fire. Aedric stood near the hearth, shoulders rigid, his back to her. He had removed his cloak. His shirt was unlaced at the throat, dark hair falling slightly in his eyes as he looked over a report.

  He had not heard her enter.

  Maria froze.

  "Your Majesty," she said, her voice a calm formality that felt impossibly thin.

  She waited for a blade.

  For a command.

  For anything that hinted at her fate.

  Silence.

  Just the steady rise and fall of his breath.

  Slowly, almost painfully, Aedric lifted his head and turned toward her.

  His eyes did not burn with fury.

  Not even suspicion.

  He set the paper down, moving slowly toward her. His gaze was intense, dark, and utterly consuming.

  Is he going to choke me? Or drag me into the pool?

  The thought froze her from the inside out, goosebumps racing over her skin from head to toe.

  He stopped directly in front of her. His heat radiated against her skin, overpowering the warmth of the fire.

  "You have pushed me to the edge of my restraint with your defiance, your silence, and your damned, infuriating beauty," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, rough rumble. "

  "W... what?" she said, still trembling, dying inside.

  Aedric reached out, his large, rough hand lifting to trace the high, elegant line of her jaw. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, and the touch sent a sharp, involuntary tremor through Maria's body.

  "You will not slap your king again," he whispered, the memory of her defiance a physical scar. "But you will obey your husband."

  He pulled her toward him, crushing their bodies together. His mouth found hers fierce, demanding, and utterly possessive. The kiss was not tender; it was a hungry, long awaited assertion of ownership, a deliberate act to bind her to his will.

  Maria, caught between terror and a shocking, unwanted surge of heat, instinctively resisted, her right hand pushing against his chest, her head backing off.

  He released her mouth, his eyes dark with triumph and a raw, dangerous desire.

  Maria felt the breath leave her lungs. All her panic, all her certainty of death, hit a wall and crumbled into stunned confusion.

  He did not know.

  He had not been told.

  He had not summoned her to punish her.

  He wanted her.

  Her heart stuttered, confused and trembling.

  Maria stood stunned, her mind a dizzying mix of lingering terror and the sudden, shocking realization that she was safe from the executioner, only to be claimed by the husband.

  Aedric's gaze traveled from her pale, fearful face down to the spot where her hands had pushed him away. Disappointment covered his face, though he didn't appear surprised by her resistance.

  Maria sensed Eldrin, the dark shadow finally lingering behind Aedric, radiating pure condemnation. And in that moment, a cold, sharp blade of rebellious rage cut through Maria's fear, directed not at Aedric, but at her abandoned protector.

  She didn't know what drove her when she reached up and caressed Aedric's rough cheek, her fingers lingering on his beard. The gesture was a silent, devastating declaration to the shadow behind him: It was a final, terrible act of revenge against Eldrin.

  Aedric exhaled once, a quiet, controlled breath. Something in him softened at her touch, but something else, a possessive fury, hardened instantly.

  That was all he needed.

  Maria offered no further resistance as Aedric leaned down, closing the last space between them. His second kiss was a deeper, undeniable claim that consumed her breath. And this time, Maria did not merely submit; she met the hunger in his kiss with a fierce, cold desperation, pouring her rage and abandonment into the act, willingly giving herself to the King to spite the shadow who had failed her.

  He lifted her easily into his arms, his mouth never leaving hers, and carried her toward the heavy, waiting bed.

  The mattress dipped under their weight, the heavy velvet curtains around the bed swooping down to enclose them in a private world. But it was not private. Maria knew exactly who was watching.

  She lay back against the pillows, her hair spilling out in a dark halo, her breath hitching not from desire, but from the jagged adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Aedric hovered over her, his frame blocking out the firelight, a wall of solid, living heat. He was efficient with the ties of her robe, his hands shaking slightly, a tremor of restraint that he was rapidly losing.

  "I have waited," Aedric rasped, his voice rough against the sensitive skin of her neck, "for you to look at me without looking through me."

  He didn't understand. She wasn't looking at him even now.

  Maria's eyes were fixed over his broad shoulder, staring into the gloom of the far corner of the chamber. There, the darkness was too thick. It pooled like ink, coalescing into a shape that was taller than a man, darker than the night.

  she thought venomously, the command screaming in her mind.

  Eldrin's presence surged in response, a tidal wave of silent, glacial fury.

  The temperature in the room plummeted instantly. The air turned biting, breath misting in the sudden chill. The fire in the hearth hissed violently, the flames shrinking down to blue embers as if suffocated by an invisible hand.

  Aedric froze. He lifted his head from the curve of her shoulder, his brow furrowing in confusion. He shivered, the cold instantly raising gooseflesh on his bare arms.

  "What in the gods' names..." Aedric muttered, shifting his weight. He looked toward the window, assuming a latch had broken. "It is suddenly freezing."

  He made to pull away, to check the source of the draft.

  Maria couldn't let him stop. If he turned, if he saw the shadow, or the reality of her terror would come rushing back. She needed this performance to finish. She needed to twist the knife into Eldrin.

  She reached up, her hands sliding into Aedric's hair, gripping him with a force that bordered on painful.

  "Ignore it," she commanded, her voice breathless and sharp.

  Aedric looked down at her, surprised by the ferocity in her tone.

  "Maria, the fire is dying—"

  "Then be my fire," she whispered, arching her back to press her body flush against his, using her coldness to shock him, to draw him back. "Or are you easily distracted, Your Majesty?"

  The challenge hit its mark. Aedric's eyes darkened, the pupils blowing wide, swallowing the confusion. The predator in him responded to the prey offering itself up. He growled low in his throat, a sound of pure possession, and crushed his mouth down on hers again.

  she thought venomously, her fingers digging into Aedric's shoulders hard enough to bruise.

  Aedric groaned low in his throat, mistaking her clawing grip for unbridled passion. He kissed the hollow of her throat, his beard grazing her sensitive skin. "I knew," he muttered against her pulse. "I knew there was fire beneath that ice."

  This time, there was no hesitation.

  Maria met him with a desperate, frantic energy. She let him claim her, let his hands roam where they pleased, let his weight pin her to the sheets. But her eyes remained wide open, locked on the corner of the room.

  The shadow .

  As Aedric's movements became more urgent, the room seemed to tremble. A heavy silver goblet on the bedside table began to rattle against the wood. The curtains of the bed swayed as if caught in a gale, though the windows were shut tight.

  Aedric groaned, lost in the sensation, interpreting her trembling body as response to his touch. "You are mine," he murmured against her lips, the words vibrating through her chest. "Say it."

  Maria looked past him, her gaze piercing the darkness where she felt Eldrin's rage reaching a boiling point. She saw the shadow loom closer, reaching out a phantom hand as if to rip Aedric away from her.

  She smiled against Aedric's mouth, a cruel, broken thing.

  "I am yours," she lied aloud to the King, while her mind screamed the truth to the shadow:

  A sharp echoed through the room, the sound of the mirror above the vanity fracturing down the center.

  Aedric paused, breathless, his forehead resting against hers. "Did you hear that?"

  "It was nothing," Maria gasped, pulling him down, wrapping her legs around him to anchor him, to bury herself in the distraction of the physical world. "Nothing matters."

  The shadow surged forward, a wall of freezing darkness rushing the bed, but Maria closed her eyes at the last second, shutting him out, shutting it all out, surrendering to the friction and the heat and the terrible, safe banality of being a wife instead of a witch.

  She felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes, hot and stinging.

  Aedric kissed them away, tasting the salt, thinking she wept from emotion, from relief, or from the intensity of their union. He didn't know he was kissing away the evidence of her betrayal, not of him, but of the entity that had sworn to protect her.

  When it was over, the silence that fell was heavier than the stone walls of the castle.

  Aedric collapsed beside her, his breathing heavy, his arm draped possessively over her waist. The heat radiating from him was suffocating, but Maria didn't move. She lay perfectly still, staring up at the canopy of the bed.

  The room was slowly warming up again.

  The supernatural chill receded, leaving a damp, stale feeling in the air.

  Aedric's breathing evened out, slipping quickly toward sleep, satisfied and secure in his conquest.

  Only then did Maria turn her head toward the corner.

  It was empty.

  But on the stone floor, just inside the circle of the firelight, the heavy silver goblet lay on its side, crushed flat as if squeezed by a giant, invisible hand.