Wren flinched at the ferocity in his voice. With her jaw locked, she reached out with trembling hands and carefully unfastened the blindfold. He looked so peaceful, she could almost believe he’d dozed off there.

“Tell me. I’m curious. How does this procedure work, Ms. Southerland?” He was so casual, he may as well have been inquiring about the weather. Lowry ran his gloved fingertips almost lovingly along the instruments on the surgical cart and chose a speculum.

Wren felt sick. Two thin blades would be inserted into the eye socket, slotted in alongside the conjunctival fornix. Once cranked, the speculum would pry back the eyelid and hold it during the enucleation procedure. The clinical facts came easy to her. But the reality of it now … It was unthinkable. The very thought of Hal beneath her scalpel made her want to sink into the earth.

“It seems quite easy to plunge them in too deep.” Lowry unhooked the locking mechanism and wrenched the speculum apart. It clicked and rattled, a sound like a windup toy. “Or stretch too wide.”

“Stop.”

“Even damaging the cornea would be so painful. I’m afraid my supplies aren’t as advanced as what you’d have in a hospital.…”

He was threatening her. Sincere or not, the image of him so coldly, clumsily gouging out Hal’s eyes … “I said stop! This is madness. You can’t possibly—”

“I understand my limitations.” Lowry placed the instrument on the armrest beside her free hand. “If you’d be so kind, you could spare us any accidental mutilation.”

Through clenched teeth, she growled, “I would sooner die.”

“We’ll see what we can do about that stubborn streak, won’t we?” Lowry snapped his fingers. “Bring her.”

A door opened with a rattling creak. A figure emerged, and as it approached, the shadows pulled back from its face like a veil.

Isabel stepped into the candlelight. She wore a diaphanous gown made of layers and layers of delicate fabric. Her silver-blond hair was unbound, spilling down her back so long and straight, it pooled on the stone floor like liquid mercury. Now more than ever, she looked like something born of the divine, cruel and cold. In her small, fragile hands, she held a thick rope that bound Una. She was gagged, and her arms were twisted behind her back, but her eyes blazed with determined fury.

“Una!” Wren lurched against her restraints, but they held fast, tearing at her wrist.

“Now,” Lowry said. “What was it that you were saying? You’d rather die than help me?”

He traced a slow path to Una and untied the gag. As soon as she was free, she rounded on Isabel without sparing Lowry a glance. “Your Majesty! You must stop this, this…” She trailed off, casting her frantic gaze at the scene in front of them.