"Never."
"Do you ever wonder what happens when he forgets to come back?"
"No."
"Liar." Her smile sharpens. "I can smell the fear on you sometimes. There have been moments, haven't there? When you wondered if the beast would recognize you. If the hunger would care that you're his wife."
I don't answer.
"That's what I thought. Your people are already dead, girl. Nothing you do here will save them," she says it gently, almost kindly.
Coral whimpers behind me. One of her legs is giving out. She's losing too much blood.
"She is a fae creature. Let me heal her," the witch offers. "As a gesture of goodwill."
Coral snarls, baring her teeth at the witch.
I drop to my knees beside my wyvern, ignoring the witch. My hands find the arrows still embedded in her shoulder and wing.
"I don't want your goodwill," I mutter, reaching for what little power I have left. The threads are thin and fraying but the blessing flows slowly.
The witch watches without interfering. That alone tells me something is wrong. She should attack while I'm vulnerable and distracted. But she stands perfectly still and her expression shifts. It's almost like she's fighting herself. The enchantress I was talking to moments ago seems ready to strike but there's another part deep inside her that watches Coral with something that looks almost like reverence.
"Then what do you want?" Her tone shifts, becoming almost sincere. "Allow me, Morgaine, to fulfill your wish."
"I want you to leave my kingdom. Stop attacking my people. Take your riders and go home," I tell her firmly.
She laughs again. "Is that all? And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll make you."
She spreads her arms. "You can barely stand. Your pet wyvern is bleeding out. What exactly is your plan here?"
I don't have one. But I can't let her see that. I drop the shield and draw my dagger. It's pathetic compared to her power, but it's what I have.
"Brave," she acknowledges.
She moves.
One moment she's ten feet away, the next she's inside my guard. Her hand catches my wrist, stopping the dagger mid-thrust. Her grip is iron-strong.
"You're fast," she says, impressed. "But not fast enough."
She twists. My wrist screams in pain and the dagger falls. I try to pull away but she's too strong. She jerks me close, her other hand coming up to grip my throat.
"Here's what's going to happen," she whispers. "You're going to yield to Eirik. Bend the knee. Give him Aelfheim—"
She stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening slightly. Her mouth opens as if to continue, then closes. The words that come next are different, urgent. "No. I don't want the kingdom. Give me the vampire. Give me him."
I stare at her in shock. "What? No."
Her expression flickers rapidly, shifting between two distinct presences. She speaks again, voice strained. "Yield to Eirik. Swear fealty—" Then cuts herself off with a sharp intake of breath. "The vampire. I need the creature. Promise him to me."
It's like watching someone try to appease two different masters. One demanding Aelfheim for Eirik. The other fixated on Svenn.
There's something familiar about this. Not the witch's face, but something underneath. Something in the way she moves, the way that second voice sounds.
Her grip tightens around my throat. I gasp, struggling for air.
