“My poor beloved,” he murmured, his fingertips slowly trailing up and down her spine. Once his touch had thrilled her. Now it made her feel small. Vulnerable. “I never wanted to distress you. Will you feel better if I swear to you, on my father’s tomb, that I will only change as many people as we need to defend Dorana?”

Her heart was a lump of ice in her chest. “Much better.”

“Then I swear it.” He kissed her breast, lips warm and soft and loving. “That many and no more.”

Because he’d wonder if she didn’t, she idled her fingers through his hair. “And once we have our army? What then?”

He laughed. “Then we teach our neighbours a lesson.”

“A lesson?”

“Barl…” He slapped her bare buttock, chiding. “Come, my love. Don’t be slow.”

Somehow, she managed a seductive chuckle. “I’m not slow. You’ve worn me out. Tell me everything, Morgan.”

Half beneath him, half beside him, Barl listened in growing horror as he daydreamed aloud about the world he wanted to create. A world in thrall to mages, ruled by mages. Ruled by him. And her, of course. She’d be his consort, splendid in her finery like a Ranoushi concubine.

“And we’ll have sons,” he said, sighing. “As my father wanted. We will found a dynasty of mages, and live forever, and be in love.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she whispered. And as she smiled and kissed him, summoned to mind the binding incant she’d taken from one of his books and altered while she waited. Traced the sigils on his drying skin, four with her fingertips, two with her tongue. Drugged with pleasure, this time, he growled low in his throat. Laughed, not listening, as she whispered into his ear.

And didn’t feel the magic catch fire until it was too late.

“Barl?” he said, his beautiful eyes filling with hurt and dismay, as the binding strands of the incant began to tighten around him. “Barl? What are you—”

She stopped his question with a final kiss, tears spilling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know this mess is my fault as much as it’s yours. But I have to do this, Morgan. You’re so lost. You need time to find your true self.”

“Barl…” His eyes widened and then he shouted, a dreadful cry of rage and pain as the barbs of her binding sank deep into his soul. “My love, how could you do this? You bitch, you slut, you treacherous whore…”

Watching as he fought in vain against her magic, as his will was consumed, rendered impotent by hers, Barl felt coldness seep through her like the slow encroachment of winter. If the night’s horrors had changed him, then they’d changed her as well. This binding of him changed her. She, too, was remade.

And if he’s been made a monster, then what now am I?