“You knew.” I stare at her. “You knew Isabeau was ... not herself.”
“I have always feared that this day would come. I spoke to her father, planned, plotted, and yet she has still transformed.” Queen Morag plucks the crown off her head and drops it on the seat as she stands. “For this moment, I would set aside my crown and my duty.”
I say nothing. Without the physical crown, she is still the queen. Nothing changes that.
“I love her, you realize. Isabeau is my brother’s child. All I have left of him in the world.” Morag pauses and smiles a watery smile. “He was my best friend as a child, never treating me as if I was the future queen, never hesitating to tell me his true feelings. I mourn him in ways I cannot show the world. All who love him mourn him.”
“Shekilledpeople.” I shove back the temper threatening to rise. I cannot strike the queen; to do so would be treason. “If you told me that her curse meant that—”
“You truly think this is a curse?”
“Turning into some hair-covered beast that slaughters people in the woods isn’t a fate she would choose! It must be the curse.”
“You believe that? Fully? That she—”
“Of course I do! Iloveher. She’s kind, impulsive, but not a killer. She’s not ...” My words fade as I realize that the queen is trying to lead me to a point thatshecannot say. “What are you saying? Do you think she chose to kill those travelers? Girard, the last one, was the anomaly, but she also attackedme. I cannot believe that she would hurt me.”
The queen shudders, her expression drawn in pain. “So you think that she was acting out of character? Not like herself?”
The queen is sweating now, and I can see that she is trying to resist ageas.
“I would rather not be accused of treason if you die of magic, Your Majesty,” I point out coldly. “I cannot face any more catastrophic events today.”
“Did the beast seem like ...Isabeau?”
“No. I think killing people is out of character for her,” I snap.
“I do, too. At least formy niece.” The queen trembles fiercely as she blurts out this last statement, visibly fighting against the magical taboo that has obviously bound her words.
“You don’t think Isabeau is the beast that killed them,” I whisper.
Yes, Isabeau is a cursed woman.
The beast I met could have easily killed them. Those claws ...
The beast I met—Isabeau—called me hers. Last night, she curled up and slept. She was not violent with me either time.
“Thegeasis not insisting I kill her,” I realize with an overwhelming relief. Now that my emotions about killing Isabeau are in control, clarity hits me like an assault. “Thegeasis to kill the beast. The first murder happened before the last duke’s death, when he was in his final days,” I muse.
“The murders also continued after he died,” the queen adds.
“Heisdead? Truly?”
“Yes. My brother is dead. My niece is gentle.” The queen watches me in anticipation. She opens her mouth, makes a gurgled sound that likely started as a word, and then says, “Geas.”
“Is Isabeau’s transformation a curse? Or is it inherited?”
“I cannot say.” Sweat rolls from the queen’s cheeks and neck. Her gown is visibly damp.
“Was your brother cursed? You? The prince?” I fire the questions at her.
“No.”
“Is her mother cursed?” I ask.
“No.” Then the queen looks at me and declares, “Isaacwas as human as I am. We shared parents.”
“This is not a curse, is it?” I whisper.
