A low chuckle answers me. “Don’t play coy, Your Majesty. I see everything. We all do.”
The candlelight flickers, stretching shadows across the stone.
“The bruises,” the deep voice continues calmly. “The pain. Your screams.” It pauses. “You are not as alone as you think.”
My hands curl into fists in my lap. “Who are you?” I ask, my voice trembling despite my effort.
A man steps from the shadows.
“I am sent,” he says simply. “By someone who wishes to help you.” His voice sounds different now that I see him in front of me.
“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it. “Why wouldanyone help me?”
“Because that is what he does,” he replies. His voice lowers. “There are ways to control a man like Charles.”
A shiver runs through me.
“And what does this person want in return?”
“When the time comes, you will owe him a favor of his choosing.”
My stomach twists. “That sounds an awful lot like a bargain with the devil.”
He laughs—soft and amused.
“What would he do to help me?” I ask.
“You must agree first,” the man says.
Silence stretches between us, and I think of my choices. Of nights spent afraid, of a child growing inside me, fragile and unprotected. I think of the future I cannot allow.
“I agree,” I say quietly, before I can come to my senses.
He steps forward into the light.
I have never seen him before—his face is unremarkable. He holds out his hand. “Yours,” he says.
I hesitate, then place my hand in his. He produces a small blade. The cut is barely more than a sting. He catches a few drops in a tiny glass vial.
Then he gestures. “Your ring.”
I look up at him. His stare is intense, unsettling even. I look back down toward my hand where the heavy golden ring sits, the stone almost black in the darkness of the chapel.
I slide it slowly from my finger and hand it to him.
The stranger murmurs words I don’t recognize, his voice low and steady. The ring begins to glow, the vines on it changing ever so slightly. Then it glows red, before cooling once more.
He returns it to me.
“Wear it always,” he instructs. “Do not remove it. Ever.”
I slide it back on. It fits as it always has.
When I look up again, the chapel is empty.
The candles burn, and I sit there for a long time, my hand pressed to my stomach, my pulse finally slowing.
What have I done?
