She stood abruptly, giving him a dazzling smile. “I think you should go now. We have an understanding. You will hear from me within the week—an official invitation to visit Arborlon and speak to the High Council and the Elven people, as promised.”

He started to get up, but she quickly motioned him back again. “Oh, I don’t think you should walk out with me, Seraphic. We don’t want to create an appearance of impropriety. Let me send someone to escort you out.”

“That’s very kind,” he replied with a smile. He motioned toward her face with a slow, vague gesture. “By the way, I wouldn’t let those scratches go unattended. They look rather nasty.”

She smiled back. “Accidents happen, Seraphic. You might want to bear that in mind.”

Then she turned and was out the door before he could respond. But it didn’t stop him from thinking that he would have given anything in that moment to be able to strangle her.

HE WALKED BACK through the city to the small inn at which he was staying, one frequented by non-Elven travelers, and retired to his room to brood. He could not remember the last time he had been this unhappy. What made his situation even worse was he lacked a way to change that. How could he bring Isoeld Severine to heel? He couldn’t expose her by revealing her part in the death of the King without revealing his own. He couldn’t send Bonnasaint after her because killing her gained him nothing; it just put him further away from his goal of persuading the Elven people to his cause. And threats were pointless. A woman like Isoeld was immune to any threats that he might muster.

He needed something else, another way to get to her, a form of leverage that would force her to do what he wanted. He had believed wrongly that he had gained that leverage by giving her what she wanted—her husband dead and herself poised to gain the throne. Where was her gratitude for that? Nowhere in sight.

What troubled him even more was her failure to take control of things when she’d had the chance. The Elven people were in shock over losing the King; they would have rallied to her at once if she had demanded it. Instead, she had dithered about with her stepdaughter’s fate and tried to handle it discreetly. She might have intended to kill the girl, but she had failed to carry out the act. Now it might be too late. In spite of what the Queen thought, the girl would not be easily found. She had family and friends and allies, people who didn’t like the baker’s daughter who had married their King. They would help her. They would hide her. It could take weeks before anything further happened.