"Then we have two criminals." Eliam resumed his pacing. "A thief and a liar. Both requiring correction."
He stopped directly in front of Seraphin, towering over her. The fae shrank back against Thaine, who remained still as stone.
"The question becomes punishment. I'm feeling generous… I'll let you choose."
"My lord?" Seraphin's voice cracked.
"Not you." His eyes found Briar's. "Her. She'll choose your fate."
The room tilted. Briar gripped the bed's edge to steady herself. "What? No—"
"Stone for a year. Living but frozen, aware but unable to move, speak, or scream. Time passes slowly in stone." He paused. "Or living wood for a season. Part of my forest, roots drinking deep, fully conscious as bark grows over your skin. Shorter, but intense."
"I won't—"
"Then you'll take her place." His voice dropped lower. "And I'll choose for you. I assure you that I am far less merciful than you are."
Seraphin made a small, broken sound. Her amber eyes found Briar's, wide with terror but also understanding. She knew this was always a possibility. The price of kindness in a cruel place.
"Choose," Eliam commanded. "Now."
Briar's throat closed around the words she had to speak. The bracelet's absence felt heavier than its presence ever had. She looked at Seraphin, who had risked everything to return a worthless piece of plastic and memory.
"Living wood," she whispered. It would end sooner.
"Louder."
"Living wood for a season."
"Excellent choice." Eliam smiled, and satisfaction colored his voice. "Pretty name, Seraphin. It will sound lovely in the wind."
He gestured, and vines erupted from the floor. They wrapped around Seraphin with surprising gentleness, cradling her as they pulled her down. She didn't fight. She looked at Briar one last time and nodded slightly.
The transformation was horrible in its beauty. Bark spread across skin in flowing patterns. Fingers elongated into branches. Hair became leaves that rustled without breeze. And her eyes remained aware until the very end, when bark finally sealed them shut.
Where a fae had knelt, a slender sapling now grew. Briar could see the suggestion of a face in the trunk. She could sense the consciousness trapped within.
"Every sunrise," Eliam said conversationally, "she'll feel the light. Every rain, she'll drink. Every wind, she'll bend. Fully aware. Fully alive. For three months."
Thaine stepped forward and lifted the sapling carefully. Roots dangled from his arms.
"The moonlight grove," Eliam instructed. "Where she can see the stars."
Thaine carried the sapling out. The door closed behind him.
"You're a monster." The words burned in Briar's throat.
"Yes." He turned to her, and his smile was cold. "Now. About your punishment."
"What? I chose—"
"For her. But you still lied to me. Looked me in the eye and spoke falsehood." He moved closer, backing her against the wall. "That requires its own correction."
The mark flared hot on her arm, responding to his proximity or his anger. Maybe both.
"After all," he said softly, "if I let lies pass unpunished, what else might you think you could get away with?"
He led her deeper into the castle than she'd ever been, down stairs that spiraled in tight, narrowing circles, where each step took them further from anything that remembered sunlight. The walls changed as they descended, living wood and carved graystone giving way to ancient blocks that seemed to sweat darkness, their surfaces slick with moisture that smelled of deep earth and older things that had never known sky.
