“Take her back to Trollus,” Marc snapped. He and several of the other trolls slid into the small chamber and moments later, they emerged with Tristan’s limp form. Marc looked over at Vincent. “Mind she doesn’t stab you in the back on the way.”

I flinched, but said nothing.

I had dropped Tristan’s ball of light when Marc pushed me, but it floated in my direction now. Grabbing hold of the magic, I held it up to my other hand and examined my tattoo. It was a dull grey now, but not black like those on Marc’s hand. And I could feel Tristan, faintly, almost like when he was sleeping. He was still alive. I saw Vincent looking at my marks as well. “He won’t die,” I said.

Vincent nodded slowly. “For your sake, for all our sakes, I hope that is so.” Then, with his iron fist locked around my arm, we made our way back to Trollus.

He left me alone with Zoé and Élise in the chambers where they had once prepared me for bonding. Neither spoke to me, but I could feel their anger and sorrow thick in the air. It suited my mood well.

It took three tubs full of bathwater to get the sluag stench off me, and I think they did it not for my comfort, but for their own. As they scrubbed my skin raw, I watched the grey marks on my hand grow darker, less metallic, and the feeling of Tristan in my mind grew fainter by the minute. Tears drizzled out of my eyes, but the girls wiped them away as though they were mere condensation from the bath.

I made no comment when they twisted my hair back into a severe knot or when they brought in a black silk mourning gown and laced the corset so tight I could barely breathe. They were acting like he was dead already, when I knew he wasn’t. When they’d finished with me, I stood in front of the mirror. The woman looking back at me appeared haggard, a decade older than I was. Her blue eyes were dull and swollen red from tears and the corners of her mouth turned down. I turned away from my reflection and resumed my vigil, eyes fixed on my hand.

“You were supposed to be our salvation,” Élise said. “We did everything we could to help you, and this is how you repay us? By trying to escape?”

I remained silent, refusing to look at her. There was nothing I could say.

“I can’t decide if you’re happy or sad that he’s dead,” Zoé said, and something inside me snapped.

“He’s not dead!” I screamed, my hands balled into fists. “He’s not dead,” I repeated. Turning away from her, I fell to my knees and sobbed silently.

I was still on the floor when the guards came, and their rough hands lifted me and dragged my uncooperative form through the palace and into the open air. I looked up only when I felt the mist from the river hit my face and saw thousands of trolls standing all around, their eyes fixed on me. It was eerily similar to my wedding day, except this time I stood alone. And in place of an altar, there stood a guillotine.