“Enough!” The King gestured to the doors. “Let him see her. If he is content, we will proceed.”

“He will be.” The Duchesse’s voice was so quiet, only I heard. “She will shake the foundations of Trollus to the core. Mark my words.”

We walked in a procession through the corridors. Or rather, they walked and I floated along behind them. While I might normally have been keen to experience the weightlessness of flying, the knowledge that I flew towards an unwanted fate ruined the effect. The Queen marched in front of me, leaving me to face her tiny sister for the journey. My mind spun with the possibilities awaiting me, each more horrible than the next. Would he be dimwitted like the Queen? Deformed like Marc? Enormously fat as his father, the King? He could be all of them together, or more terrible than my wildest imagination.

I made little note of the palace corridors as we passed through them. I couldn’t make out anything clearly, anyway. A tiny ball of light floated in front of every member of our small entourage, though the gloom troubled the trolls not in the slightest. Their metallic eyes pierced the darkness, and I marked how they watched me, finding it impossible to decipher what they were thinking. Did their cold hearts pity me? Were the women glad it was I, and not they, floating towards this forced match? A fresh crop of tears stung the cuts on my cheeks. I tried to wipe them away, but of course, I could not. My body was bound in place as surely as if I’d been tied head to foot with rope.

Ahead of the procession, I heard the tinkling laugh of a girl and the sound of a door slamming against a wall.

“His Majesty, the King!” the two-headed troll guard announced.

Afraid, I squeezed my eyes shut. When I finally found the nerve to open them, I hovered in a room richly decorated with tapestries and thick carpets. At its center stood a table and two high-backed chairs. Above the table floated half a dozen boards littered with tiny figurines. A young woman stood next to a chair, her face lowered and knees bent into a deep curtsy. Little of who sat in the other seat was visible to me, for his back was to us: only the bend of a black-clad elbow, the curve of a pale-skinned hand resting on the arm of the chair.

My head swam and I gasped for air, having unconsciously been holding my breath. The girl rose, and her eyes latched onto me. She was beautiful, for an instant, and then her expression twisted with rage. The game boards fell to the table with a clatter. I jerked my gaze away from hers, fixing it instead on the tiny figures spilled across the carpet.

“You can’t be serious?” she hissed. “Her? This, this thing?”

The Duchesse spoke. “Leave us, Anaïs.”

She didn’t move.

“Now, Anaïs. This is no business of yours.”