It’s not my sister who comes to me later, but Isolde. She leads me to a part of the palace that I haven’t been to before. The decor here is more masculine. Antique swords and guns decorate the walls, and heads of animals long extinct look down on us as we make our way to the king’s rooms.

At the end of a corridor, Isolde pauses. “You see that door flanked by the guards?” She points towards an ornately carved door halfway down the corridor. “That’s the king’s chamber.”

I swallow hard and wipe my sweaty palms on the flimsy fabric of my dress. Spots dance in front of my eyes and I take a deep breath, trying to force air into my constricted lungs.

“Keep it together, Jane! This is your opportunity.” Isolde grips the side of my head and I’m forced to look into those two deep pools of blue. “If you please him tonight, then you — you, poor country Jane — could be the next Head Swan.”

“But I don’t want to be the Head Swan,” I whisper.

She pulls her hand back and for a moment I think she’s going to slap me, but she just takes a deep breath and lets her arm fall to her side. “Don’t be silly, Jane. It’s the greatest honour. What every Swan wants.” She turned on her heel and strides off back down the corridor.

I close my eyes. I wish I knew what she was thinking. She seems to be helping me, but I get a feeling that there’s more to it than that.

Opening my eyes, I catch one of the guards looking at me and straighten my shoulders. There’s a throbbing in my ears that gets louder as I approach them. At first, I think it’s my imagination, but then I realise that it’s music, a deep thumping bass, coming from the king’s room. I pause outside the door and look questioningly at the guard to the left. He speaks into a headset, and a moment later nods to me. “Go in. He’s expecting you.”

Trembling, I open the door and am immediately enveloped in a wave of sound.

“Jane!” I’m vaguely aware of the king walking towards me, his hands outstretched in a welcoming gesture. I drop into a hurried curtsy.

He says something, but I can’t hear over the noise and shake my head dumbly. My cheeks burn and I’m sure my embarrassment must be visible even under the layers of makeup.

The music suddenly fades to a background hum. “It is a bit loud, isn’t it,” the king says. He tilts his head to one side, studying me.

Get a grip, Jane. I force myself to smile up at him. “A little, your Majesty. I’ve never heard that music before. What is it?”

He seems to appreciate the question and spends five minutes telling me about the new music producer he’s found on the Interweb as he takes my arm and leads me into the room. It’s huge and must be on the same side of the palace as the inspection hall, as out of the windows that line the whole of the far wall, I can see over the palace walls to the forest beyond. The site of the waving treetops makes my heart ache.

I turn back to find myself inches from his face. Before I have a chance to take a breath, his lips are on mine. His mouth is hard, bruising, and he forces my lips apart with his tongue. His smooth fingers, so different to Rafe’s rough hands, grip my arms, holding me to him. He pulls away for a second, but I don’t have time to catch my breath before he’s back on me, sucking the air from my body.

I close my eyes and try and force my tense muscles to relax. Pretend it’s Rafe. Pretend you’re kissing Rafe. But I can’t, and I struggle to control my revulsion as his lips move from my mouth, across my face and down my neck.

My dress is gossamer thin with sparkling beads that glint in the light like drops of dew on a spider’s web. Underneath it, I am naked, without even the comfort and security of underwear. I’ve never felt more exposed.

The king pushes himself into me and moans slightly. His mouth moves back up my neck towards my lips as he runs a hand up and down my back. His cold fingers make me shiver.

“You are so … beautiful,” he breathes, tilting my chin up so I’m forced to stare straight into his dark eyes. His gaze flicks to the huge, four-poster bed. My stomach lurches.

A faint chime sounds in the room. The king glances at the door and curses under his breath before kissing me again. He moves toward the bed, pulling me with him.

The chime sounds again, louder this time.

“What is that?” I ask, grasping for any excuse to delay the inevitable.

“An unwelcome interruption!”

He storms over to the door and opens it. I breathe deeply and close my eyes, trying to compose myself. His footsteps pad back across the floor.

“I’m sorry, Jane, but I must go and attend to an important matter. Please, wait here. I’ll be no longer than half an hour.”

I sink into a high-backed chair but have barely had time to catch my breath after he’s left the room before light rapid footsteps approach. I turn to see Leora sweeping across the room towards me. Her expression is dark and she’s carrying a long knife in one hand. The blade glints silver.

I jump to my feet, placing the chair between us.

“Jane,” she breathes. “Thank goodness I got here in time. Isolde …”

“What are you doing here?” I eye the knife warily.

“Do you want to get out of here, Jane. Really?” There’s a strange fire in her eyes.

“Of course, I do. But you said it was impossible.”

“Not impossible.”

I look down to the knife in her hand then back up at her determined face. “You want to hurt me?” I whisper.

“I want to save you, Jane.”

I take a step backwards, my eyes never leaving hers. “You’re crazy.”

“No, listen to me. If you let me cut you, scar your face, then the King will no longer want you. You’ll be given a medical discharge. You can get back to your family. I’ll take the blame and you’ll be free to leave.”

I raise my hand to my cheek, the cheek that until a few weeks ago I couldn’t bear to touch. The cheek that is now as smooth and beautiful as a china doll’s. “No.”

Leora’s face crumples, and for a moment, I think she’s about cry. “Please, Jane. It’s what Mother would have wanted.”

“For one of her daughters to cut up the other?” I spit. “She made me ugly once. I’m not going to let you do it again.”

Isolde’s words come back to me. She sees you as a danger. Was that why she’d given me the poison? So she could go to the King instead? And when that didn’t work …

“That’s it, isn’t it. You just want to get rid of me, so you can have the King to yourself.”

Her eyes widen. “No, that’s not it at all. I’m trying to protect you. What you were telling me earlier, about love. It made me realise. What you look like doesn’t matter. It’s what you do, how you act that defines you. You will never be ugly, Jane, not unless you stay here. We may be beautiful on the outside, but living here makes you ugly on the inside.”

She lifts the knife again and I swallow hard, trying to wet my lips. Perhaps she’s right. A few cuts, a little pain, and I could be back home with my parents. What have I got to lose? If it is just a few cuts …

If someone wants you out of the way, they’ll kill you.

“Please, Jane, we don’t have much time.” There’s a note of desperation in her voice.

She’s standing between me and the door. I glance over my shoulder. There’s another door in the corner, but I have no way of knowing if it’s unlocked. Just as I’m about to make a run for it, the main door bursts open and Isolde runs in. She is carrying a glass bottle of water.

Slowly, I take a step back.

Isolde looks from Leora to me. She takes in the knife in Leora’s hand and a faint smile crosses her lips.

Leora glances around then looks back at me. “Isolde, you have no business here. Leave now.” It’s clearly an order, but Isolde doesn’t move. Instead, she walks over to me.

“Are you okay, Jane?”

I nod, though my feet are rooted to the floor and my body is shaking with fear.

“I did warn you, Jane,” she says, placing a hand on my arm. Her touch is like ice. “She’s jealous of you. Scared that you’ll take her place.”

My sister spits and a tiny globule of saliva lands on the polished floor in front of us. “Lies, Jane. All she’s feeding you is lies. Please, I’m only trying to help you.”

Her eyes plead with me to believe her, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. And she’s the one standing in front of me with a dagger, threatening to slash me open.

“Are you pretending to save her, Leora?” Isolde continues. “Pretending that you hurting her — killing her — will save her? Just like your mother.”

“What?” I gasp. The coldness from Isolde’s fingers seems to spread along my arm and up to my shoulder.

Isolde turns to me. “You didn’t know that, did you? That she killed her own mother?”

Leora’s face pales. “That is not what happened and you know it.”

The tension in the air increases, as if there’s an invisible string between the two of them that’s being pulled taught, almost to a breaking point. They stare at each other, neither one looking away.

I peel Isolde’s fingers off my arm and take a step away from her. They don’t notice. This isn’t a battle between me and Leona, but between Isolde and Leona. But who is right?

I launch myself forward and wrench the knife from Leora’s hand. They both turn to stare at me, Leora confused, Isolde smiling. I raise the blade to my cheek and feel its sharpness. “I will do it.” My voice shakes. My hand even more so. A drop of blood rolls down my cheek.

“No, Jane!” Isolde’s eyes are wide, but she makes no move to stop me. “If you hurt yourself you’ll be punished.”

“Please, Jane, let me do it,” Leora pleads.

I hesitate, then lower the knife, confused. Just then, I catch sight of a fleeting smile of satisfaction that crosses Isolde’s face. A memory returns. The maid’s words. She used to be Head Swan until Leora came along.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. Her insistence on keeping me hidden until my birthmark had faded. Placing me in the king’s way. Had she arranged for the guards to catch Rafe? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past her. Her lips are set into a thin line that twists her beautiful face into something harsh and ugly.

“You’re using me,” I whisper. The knife clatters to the floor.

Isolde’s face transforms into a look of innocent puzzlement. But it’s too late. I’ve seen beneath that mask now. “You were using us both,” I say slowly. “If Leora scars me then she’ll be thrown out, locked up, or banished from the city. And I … Well, the king won’t want me if I’m disfigured.”

“Which paves the way for you to be Head Swan again,” finishes Leora. Her eyes narrow. “How dare you.”

She launches herself at Isolde and they both go tumbling to the floor. The bottle of water drops from Isolde’s hand and rolls across the floor. It clinks against a chair leg and I frown. Why a glass bottle? Strange that — glass is heavy.

They wrestle on the floor. For a minute, it seems as if Leora has the upper hand, but Isolde delivers a blow to her stomach that leaves her doubled over and spluttering on the floor.

Isolde gets to her feet, her face flushed and her hair half torn from its perfect up-do. “You will pay for that,” she hisses and stretches her hand out toward the bottle.

Suddenly, I’m certain that whatever is in that bottle, it’s not water. Why would she bring water in here anyway? There’s a jug on the table.

Adrenaline surges through me, giving life to my body. “Stop!”

I pick up the knife, but my fingers fumble it and it clatters to the floor. Leora tries to get to her feet, but she’s bent over, still clutching her stomach. Time seems to slow, and I can sense that I’m not moving fast enough. I won’t get there in time. I grasp the knife again, firmer this time, and run toward them, holding it out in front of me like a shield. Isolde uncorks the bottle and draws her arm back. I jump and my legs, strong from years of outdoor work, propel me across the remaining distance. The liquid flies from the bottle and I feel a wetness as it hits my skin. Then I crash into the floor, the knife flying from my hand.

The breath is knocked from me and my shoulder crunches under the impact, but that is nothing compared to the pain on my face. It’s on fire. Millions of tiny needles of flame are burrowing their way into my skin. An unearthly scream draws the breath from my lungs as I claw at my face, tearing my skin. If only I can get rid of it, perhaps it will stop the burning. The sound echoes around the room and bounces around my head until I can think of nothing else except the pain and the noise.

A wave of water hits me, and I splutter as it catches at the back of my throat. I lean forward, my lungs hacking, as I try to catch my breath. The cold liquid soothes the burning, but only for a second.

Leora stands in front of me, holding the water jug. Her expression is horrified, but there’s something else. Something I recognise all too well. Revulsion.

A movement catches my eye. Isolde is reaching for the knife. “No!” I try and scream, but all that comes out is a croak and Leora takes a step toward me, not heeding the danger from behind. I stretch out a hand, but I’m powerless to intervene as Isolde raises the knife, aiming it at Leora’s back.

Leora takes another step closer, her hand reaching out towards mine. She must think I’m asking for help. Our fingers brush as Isolde steps forward and brings the dagger down. With the last of my strength, I curl my fingers around Leora’s and pull her toward me. At the same moment, the door crashes open and a shot rings out. Isolde freezes, a look of shock on her face. A red flower blossoms on her chest. It spreads outward. The knife drops from her hand. She takes a step back, then falls to the floor.

Through the haze of pain, I’m dimly aware of men running into the room. There’s an angry voice — the king. Leora’s weight is lifted from me and strong arms pick me up and carry me from the room.

There are more lights. And voices — worried voices. But I can’t hold back the black cloud of pain any longer and I let myself be drawn into oblivion.