“I hate you!” I yell, and spit blood into his face. He does the strangest thing: His single eye lights up and he starts to laugh.

“You don’t hate me,” he says. “You love me and I love you.”

“I hate you,” I say, but I’m doubting it now, I’m confused. His arms enfold me in a hug.

“You love me,” he says. “You’re my wonderful, strong darling, and you’ll be queen someday. Wouldn’t you like to be queen?”

I’m hugging Father, who is kneeling on the floor before me in a smoky room, so big, so comforting. Father is warm and nice to hug, though his shirt smells funny, like something sweet and rotten. “Queen of all Monsea?” I say in wonderment. The words are thick in my mouth. My tongue hurts. I don’t remember why.

“You’ll be queen someday,” Father says. “I’ll teach you all the important things, for we must prepare you. You’ll have to work hard, my Bitterblue. You don’t have all my advantages. But I’ll mold you, yes?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And you must never, ever disobey me. The next time you destroy my papers, Bitterblue, I’ll cut off one of your mother’s fingers.”

This confuses me. “What? Father! You mustn’t!”

“The time after that,” Father says, “I’ll hand you the knife and you’ll cut off one of her fingers.”

Falling again. I’m alone in the sky with the words Father just said; I plummet into comprehension. “No,” I say, certain. “You couldn’t make me do that.”

“I think you know that I could,” he says, trapping me close to him with hands clasped above my elbows. “You’re my strong-minded girl and I think you know exactly what I can do. Shall we make a promise, darling? Shall we promise to be honest with each other from now on? I shall make you into the most luminous queen.”

“You can’t make me hurt Mama,” I say.

Father raises a hand and cracks me across the face. I’m blind and gasping and would fall if he weren’t holding me up. “I can make anyone do anything,” he says with perfect calm.

“You can’t make me hurt Mama,” I yell through my face that is stinging and running with tears and snot. “One day I’m going to be big enough to kill you.”

Father is laughing again. “Sweetheart,” he says, forcing me back into his embrace. “Oh, see how perfect you are. You will be my masterpiece.”

When Mama and Thiel come through the hidden door, Father is murmuring to me and I’m resting my cheek on his nice shoulder, safe in his arms, wondering why the room smells like smoke and why my nose hurts so much. “Bitterblue?” Mama says, sounding scared. I raise my face to her. Her eyes go wide and she comes to me and pulls me away from Father. “What did you do?” she hisses at Father. “You struck her. You animal. I’ll kill you.”

“Darling, don’t be silly,” Father says, standing, looming over us. Mama and I are so small, so small wound together, and I’m confused because Mama is angry at Father. Father says to Mama, “I didn’t strike her. You did.”