The sounds and smells of morning came far too soon: the murmur of servants in the hallways, the faint clink of dishes, and the scent of cooking food filling the air. Pénélope was still asleep, tucked against me, her hair tickling my collarbone. The last thing I wanted to do was move.

But the worst thing I could do was ignore a summons from the King.

She stirred as I eased my arm out from under her, but then grew still as I settled the blankets over her shoulders. In the faint light of my magic, there was no mistaking the shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes. More rest would do her good.

I silently dressed, then eased out of the room, brightening my light only once I was out in the hallway. Following the smell of food, I ignored the urge to sneak out the back and went to find my parents.

But only my mother sat at the table, a steaming cup held delicately in one hand. “Your father has gone to speak with the Duke,” she said. “And His Majesty is expecting you.”

“I know.”

I started to leave, but then she said, “Sit with me and eat before you go, darling.”

Reluctantly, I tugged out one of the chairs, then selected a number of items for my plate though I wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. Across the room, the piano began to play a simple melody, a lullaby I recognized from my childhood, her magic pressing the keys as though it were an extension of her fingers.

“Eat.”

I bit into a piece of bread layered with egg and butter sauce, one of my favorites, but the richness made me nauseous.

“How is Pénélope?”

I swallowed, the food sticking in my throat. “Sleeping.”

“Good. She needs to keep up her strength.” A note jangled harsh and loud, and my mother frowned. “She’s lived a difficult life in that house. Some villains are born. Some are made. Édouard is both. As is his mother.”

It was strange to hear my mother speak so familiarly about the Duke d’Angoulême, which made me wonder how well she knew him. How much contact they’d had in the past.

“I understand your choice, Marc,” she said, setting down her cup. “You wish to keep her safe. And even if her life were not in danger, bonding always has an allure for those deeply in love. It is the pinnacle–” she lifted her hand high “–connection that can be achieved between two hearts. An ultimate and unalterable commitment in our world where loyalty flips on the turn of a coin. But…”

I couldn’t help flinching at the word, because no good ever came from it.

“But you are my son, and I fear the danger your choice has put your life in.” The music ceased and she pressed a hand to her temple for a moment before turning her face to me, her magic brushing my cheek. “No parent wishes to outlive their child.”

Her unseeing eyes turned liquid with tears, and my stomach twisted with guilt. “Mother…”

“Shhh.” Rising, she came around the table, pulling me against her. “I am terrified for you, Marc. As is your father. But above all, I wish for you to be happy and to know love, so for the sake of that wish, I will try to be brave.” Bending, she kissed my forehead in a way she hadn’t since I was a little boy. “Now go. You shouldn’t keep the King waiting.”

---

I was directed not to the throne room, but to the King’s study, where I found him reading reports with his feet propped up on the desk. I bowed, then waited for him to acknowledge me, my heart racing faster and faster with each passing second.

I was afraid of him.

Everyone was, to a greater or lesser extent, with the lone exception of my Aunt Sylvie, who mocked him merrily with only the slightest provocation, her safety guaranteed by the fact she was conjoined to the Queen. Most counted his power, which was greater than any troll living, as the reason he inspired such fear, but I believed otherwise. It was his mind. The way he seemed able to delve into one’s deepest thoughts and discover the slightest weakness, then exploit said weakness when one was most vulnerable. He never used his magic – at least not to its fullest extent – but his mind controlled Trollus with its endless hoard of information. With deception and manipulation. He understood people: trolls, half-bloods, and humans alike. His only equal was Angoulême, and sometimes it felt like Trollus was an enormous game of Guerre set between them, every one of us a pawn.

“Nephew.”

I jumped, then bowed again. “Your Majesty.”

He was silent, and I stared at the carpet – imported from the very far east of the continent – listening to him shift his bulk on the chair, taking my measure.

“You stole from me.”

“Yes.” Not only did the Élixir belong to the crown, I’d abused my access to the glass gardens in order to steal it.

“You broke my laws.”

“Yes.” I’d taken the key and gone into the labyrinth without my father’s permission. Had bonded Pénélope without the assent of the crown. Even if I had the capacity to lie, there was no point. The truth was written in silver across my hand.

“Care to explain yourself? That you’re besotted with her is obvious, so you may skip that portion of your explanation.”

“I…”

“You will look at me when speaking, boy.”

Dragging my eyes away from the carpet, I pushed back my hood. “It was the only way to save her, Your Majesty.” I didn’t bother mentioning that his unwillingness to help Pénélope had forced my hand, because in truth, it had only sped along my decision.

“To save her?” One of the King’s eyebrows rose. “It seems to me that the individual she most needed protection from was you.”

“Pardon?” The word slipped from my lips, not because I didn’t understand him, but because… because…

“With caution and a bit of luck, the girl might have lived to an old age but not for the pair of you falling between the sheets.” He tapped his chin with his index finger. “Magic is curiously unreliable as a safeguard in such situations, and I speak from experience.”

Lessa. It was the first time I’d heard of him acknowledging her parentage, but my thoughts were too scattered to focus on that now.

“Regardless, the fact remains that it was those activities – of which you were an integral part – that ensured her demise. So tell me: how was stealing from me and breaking my laws saving her life?”

My mouth opened and shut, my teeth clicking together. Nothing he said was untrue, and yet it twisted everything. My throat burned with bile as I struggled with what to say, before finally choking out, “The threat to her life was more imminent than that, Your Majesty. You see, her father…”

“The Duke. Yes, you mentioned his threats before.”

His voice dripped with sarcasm, but I ignored it and continued. “He found out that she was pregnant. He was angry, and he set Lessa to kill Pénélope. She managed to escape, but I knew… This was the only way.”

The King stared at me, unblinking. “So you stole from me and broke my laws not to save Lady Pénélope, but to provide her with some extra weeks or months of life, at the likely cost of your own.”

“Yes.” And I’d do it all over again.

“Because you believed her father, the Duke d’Angoulême, intended to kill her or have her killed should she remain in his household?”

“Yes.”

Opening a drawer, the King extracted a card, sliding it across the desk toward me. “It’s been some time since I was invited to an engagement at the Angoulême manor, but I suppose there was no helping it given you are my nephew. Rather interestingly, it arrived prior to you and Pénélope returning from your little sojourn in the labyrinth.”

I stared at the thick paper embossed with red and gold. It was an invitation to a bonding celebration at the Angoulême manor. My bonding celebration. And I knew in an instant that I’d misinterpreted my aunt’s foretelling. It hadn’t been a warning against me – it had been a warning for me. A warning about the Duke’s intentions.

“You didn’t save her from anything, because her life was never truly in jeopardy,” the King said, and the invitation burst into flame. “You, nephew, have been played.”