“Anytime, Hollis,” he said, gesturing to the space beside him.

Here I was, being commanded by the king to take my place beside him, a place my parents, in their best hopes, secured for their only daughter. Oh, their rage when I refused to go back the palace with them made so much sense now. What else could they have done?

“Move, woman.”

I heard Etan growl beside me.

“I am giving you a command, Hollis Brite!”

And it was that, his third refusal to address me by my married name, that made me snap. I stared down that wicked man and held my head high. “You’ll find my name is Hollis Eastoffe now, and that I am a citizen of Isolte. You do not command me. I never have and never will belong to you!”

Jameson was standing there behind his massive head table, all alone.

“Hollis, I want to be a good husband to you. Generous, kind. But you are not setting us up for a very happy marriage.”

“I don’t want to be married to you!” I shouted.

“But you already are!” he screamed back, the veins in his neck and temple bulging grotesquely as he slammed the scroll onto the table. “So I suggest you behave.”

“And what if she simply refuses?” Etan asked calmly. “As a king in my own right, I can offer this lady a level of protection in my court it seems she will be lacking in yours.”

“Who are you to speak to me?” Jameson asked.

Etan, undeterred, replied. “I just told you. A fellow sovereign. And if the way you casually dismissed that young lady,” he said, tipping his forehead at Delia Grace, “is any indication of how women are treated in your court, I will take Lady Hollis Eastoffe home with me now.”

Jameson raised his sword—Silas’s sword—and pointed it at Etan. “Is this usurper what you would leave me for?” he bellowed.

“I would leave you for a pauper,” I replied spitefully. “You are a murderous coward, and I will not be your wife.”

He stood on his chair. “It is done!” he insisted. “You cannot fight it. You cannot fight me!” He climbed up over the table, preparing to come at Etan and me in his rage.

Etan drew his sword, but it made no difference.

For as fast as it all happened, the moment itself felt drawn out, as if I could see each piece fall into place almost before it occurred.

Jameson, in his anger and urgency, lost his footing as he jumped from the table. He tripped, dropping his golden sword. The setting sun glinted across the blade as it fell, and all I could think was that Silas’s work looked lovely, even when it was tumbling. The sword landed on its hilt, tipped up toward Jameson. And when he stumbled off the edge of his dais, his proud platform where he could survey those who worshipped him, the blade pierced him through.

I saw the way it lined up with his body, knew that there was no way to save him from his own mistake, and I turned my face into Etan’s chest. For all the pain Jameson had wrought, I didn’t want to see any more death. I stayed there for a moment, wishing I could also block the shouts from around the room and the anguished sounds of Jameson gurgling as he died. When everything finally went quiet, I turned.