“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing me back. “I have faith in you.”

At least someone did, I thought, as I rushed through the palace to the King’s private dining room.

“Your Majesties,” I said, dropping into a deep curtsey. “Your Grace.”

Only the three of them, plus a dozen servants, were in the room. Lessa stood behind the King with a wine pitcher, her face expressionless. Tristan, as I had suspected, was absent.

“You’re late,” the King snapped around a mouthful of food.

“My apologies,” I replied, sitting down in my usual seat. “Thank you for waiting for me to arrive before you began.”

The Duchesse cackled merrily, the wine in her glass sloshing over the rim. “The glutton’s gut eats all day and lechers all night. Such a thoroughfare of vice has no time to waste waiting on manners.”

The King paused mid-chew and gave a baleful glare. “Where is Tristan?”

“How should I know?” I said, motioning for the servant to give me an extra portion of chicken. “He does not keep me appraised of his comings and goings.” I was feeling somewhat bold – having read Anushka’s spells, the trolls no longer seemed quite so invincible.

The King set down his fork and pushed his plate away, even though it was still laden with food. I felt my hands grow cold and it took a great deal of willpower to swallow my mouthful of chicken.

“I’ve had about enough of the way you two carry on,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back. “Quarreling in public with no regard for how your behavior reflects on this household. How it reflects on me.”

I forced myself to chew and swallow before answering. “I am not the one instigating our quarrels, Your Majesty. Forgive me, but perhaps your criticism would be better directed towards your son.”

The Duchesse shot me a dark look from over the Queen’s shoulder. She clearly did not appreciate me passing the blame to her nephew.

The King laughed. “Perhaps it would, but he isn’t here, is he? Tell me, Cécile, why do you think he is so set against you?”

I hesitated. I considered pleading ignorance, but then decided against it. He would know I was lying. “Because I am human, Your Majesty. He dislikes my kind.” I watched, barely able to breathe as he slowly shook his head.

“Excuses, Cécile. You were brought here to serve a purpose – a purpose you seem to have forgotten while you gallivant through my city pursuing every possible whimsy that this one,” he gestured at the Duchesse, “can think up.” He took a long sip of wine, eyeing me over the rim of the glass. Lessa leaned over his shoulder to refill it. “You are a splendid example of your kind, my dear, and for all his protests, Tristan is a seventeen year-old boy. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good,” he replied. “Because if I don’t see an improvement in your conduct, not only will your gallivanting cease, I will lock you in a box with no room to move.”