The king stood abruptly, wine forgotten. “We must deal with this immediately. The girl is already confined to quarters, guarded at my son’s insistence. Supposedly for her protection, but it serves our purpose just as well.”
Theron looked less certain, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Father, if Alain learns we’ve moved against his pet witch without evidence—”
“What more evidence do we need?” the king snapped. “Lord Coventry is my most trusted advisor from the border regions. If he says she’s a witch, she’s a witch.”
I inclined my head modestly, even as triumph surged through me. “You honor me with your trust, Your Majesty.”
“Think this through, Father. If you go into her room with a sword drawn, Alain will never forgive you.” Theron rolled his eyes like he was the only one sound of mind, drinking more to prove that wrong.
“We’ll finish our meal,” the king decided, settling back into his chair with an air of finality. “Then collect the witch quietly. She’ll be tried according to kingdom law, not village custom this time.”
Kingdom law meant fire instead of water. A fitting end for the bitch who had humiliated me, who had dared to use her unnatural powers against her rightful master. I would watch her burn and feel nothing but satisfaction.
“A waste of such beauty,” Theron sighed, draining his wine cup.
I watched the servant woman refill him with the rest of the bottle and slip away, her steps just a touch too hurried to be casual. She was heading toward the castle proper, probably to get another bottle before Theron’s temper came out over his cup being emptied and refilled. He always did put on a show for visitors to know his standing with the workers.
An idea formed then, perfect in its cruelty. “Your Majesty,” I began, excitement building in my chest, “might I suggest an alternative to a standard trial? Something more... fitting for the tournament’s conclusion?”
Both royals looked at me with interest.
“The final event is traditionally the hunt,” I continued, warming to my theme. “What if, instead of mere game, we hunt the witch? It would demonstrate your commitment to eradicating magic from your lands while providing a spectacle worthy of the occasion.”
The king’s eyes lit with cruel appreciation. “A literal witch hunt. How appropriate.”
“And when she’s caught?” Theron asked, a gleam in his eyes suggesting he already knew the answer.
I smiled, imagining Isabeau’s terror as she realized she was prey. As she ran through the forest that had sheltered her, only to be driven back into my waiting arms. The fear in those amber eyes when she understood there would be no escape this time.It’d deal with the beasts later because this would free them when I had her again, but she would choose me or die.
“Justice will be served,” I said simply. “Publicly. Definitively.”
The king nodded his approval, raising his goblet in a fresh toast. “To justice, then. And to the finest huntsman in the realm.”
“To the hunt,” I echoed, the wine suddenly tasting sweeter on my tongue.
Isabeau Dubois had escaped me once. She would not do so again. By tomorrow’s sunset, her witch’s body would be ash, and her hold over Prince Alain—whatever its nature—would be broken forever.
If I couldn’t possess her, no one would. Especially not some soft-hearted prince who thought he could save what wasn’t his to protect.
forty-six
Isabeau
Itraced my finger over the faded words on the page, Sir Roland’s brave speech to the dragon blurring as my eyes unfocused. Strange how stories always made facing monsters seem noble, straightforward. The hero draws his sword but then offers friendship in this one, and by the end, everything is resolved.
My reality was messier. No clear heroes, no obvious villains, just people making terrible choices and calling them necessary.I’d been reading the same paragraph for an hour, my mind elsewhere. It was caught between the claiming mark throbbing on my shoulder and the memory of Alain’s voice declaring I belonged to him and the dream I’d had of his wicked ownership of me last night that left me in tears, even as I shattered intimately. Two different kinds of possession, neither one my choice. Though, I didn’t mind belonging to the beasts’ mate.
“We need not be enemies,” I read aloud, my voice sounding hollow in the ornate prison Alain called my chamber. My legs pressed more firmly together, hiding how I cowered after the betrayal of my subconscious thoughts. I battled with the dream last night and the man who stayed at my side. This very book had been a comfort during my fever dreams, his deep yet caring voice carrying me through darkness when poison coursed through my veins. Now the words felt like mockery.
I closed the leather-bound volume, setting it on my lap as I gazed out the window toward the tournament grounds. Even from here, I could see the colorful banners fluttering in the afternoon breeze, hear the distant roar of the crowd as they celebrated whatever spectacle of masculinity was being performed now. Somewhere down there, Gaspard walked free, respected, honored while I sat trapped in this gilded cage.
The amber stone the raven had given me last night rested heavy in my pocket. I’d sewn a small hiding place into the seam of my borrowed dress, keeping it close at all times. Its warmth pulsed against my thigh, a reminder of magic and connections that transcended stone walls and royal decrees.
The door flew open without warning. I jumped, the book tumbling from my lap as Brigida burst in, her face flushed, breath coming in short gasps. She slammed the door behind her, leaning against it as if to barricade it with her body.
“You need to leave,” she panted, eyes wild as they darted toward the window. “Now. This minute.”
I rose slowly, wariness coursing through me. “What’s happened?”
