Siere Marceline accompanied me to the Tharons’ private estate, her steed flush with Kante as we arrived at the manor’s front entrance. A pair of young children ran unsupervised around the yard, hardly seeming to mind either one of us while they played.
Marcy must have sensed that I was up to something unpleasant. As she tied off the mounts, she returned quickly to my side and put a hand on the hilt of her blade.
“Let no one inside,” I said at the door. “Including the children.”
The ground rumbled beneath our feet. Another tremor in a series of them; they were commonplace today, like something deep below the ground was waking from a thousand year slumber.
I waited for it to stop before I knocked.
It wasn’t Angharad who answered, but her exhausted husband. He startled at the sight of me and bowed, taking a step back from the entrance. “Y-Your Majesty. Forgive me, I was not expecting you. Did my wife send for you?”
“Hello, Trefor.”
I spoke decisively. Behind me, Marcy made a sharp sound of alarm as the marquis’ eyes went impossibly wide, pupils dilating into dark pools. His mouth fell slack and his bow deepened until he’d nearly folded in half, trembling from the weight of the curse.
“My,” he breathed. My fingers twitched beside me, trembling with the rush of control. “Forgive me. I’m not sure what’s come over me. You look beautiful today—gods, what am I saying?”
“It’s quite all right,” I replied to him and to Marcy, easing her with a motion of the hand. I could hear her sword returning to its scabbard. That small statement hit Trefor Tharon like a punch to the gut. He dropped down on one knee. “Where is Lady Angharad?”
“Lady who?” he answered, then cleared his throat. “Ah. She’s resting. Shall I fetch her? I don’t mind; I’ll drag her here still asleep, if you wish. Or we could leave her there, perhaps, and go on a stroll around the family estate. It would be my pleasure to give youthe tour.”
“Stop.”
The word cut through his fever. This was what I’d been protected from all these years, then? This was my curse upon the common man, weaker to their urges than Nicolas had been. The once-proud marquis now closely resembled a mutt begging for table scraps.
“Take me to her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Anything for you.” He scrambled to his feet, tripping over himself in his haste. “This way, my radiant queen. I am your humble servant. If I may—”
“Quiet.”
He pressed a hand over his mouth, but his eyes still worshipped me as he led me through the manor.
It was in quite a state. The children made a mess of their toys, but that was negligible; the more distinguished mess was the assortment of abandoned, emptied bottles and the red stains that blotted every carpet we passed.
Angharad’s bedroom reeked of stale wine and sweat. She was propped against her throw pillows, hair in disarray, and looked up at me through bloodshot eyes.
“Your Majesty?” she asked, jolting upright and wincing. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I was not expecting your company. Forgive me, the house is…”
I watched her struggle to end that sentence, wondering how she might lie to relieve some of the guilt. When no words came, I smiled. “I thought we might share a drink and some conversation, Lady Angharad. I find myself parched.”
I gestured to the little table by the window. Confusion flickered across her face, but the prospect of wine got her moving. She stumbled from her bed, throwing a robe over her nightdress. “Trefor, bring the white from Sunhill.”
“Trefor,” I said, cutting him off mid-nod. “Strike that. Bring us whiskey.”
“Yes. Right away,” he replied, eagerly disappearing from the room. Angharad studied me, sniffling, and wiped her nose.
“I thought you had some vow of silence around men,” she noted. My eyes were drawn to her shaking hands; were they always so unsteady? I didn’t remember her penchantfor drink ever being this bad.
I said nothing until Trefor returned with a bottle and three glasses.
“Oh, only two will be necessary. Pour for us, Marquis. Then kneel beside the table.”
He did as he was told, filling our drinks and then dropping to all fours next to my chair. Angharad’s glass froze halfway to her lips. “Trefor, what on earth are you doing?”
Angharad’s face went white as I kicked my legs up onto his back and took a sip of whiskey.
“What have you done to him?” Angharad asked. Her gaze turned accusatory as she set down the glass. “You… You’re the witch. Not Florence, it wasyou,wasn’t it—”
