“Only a troll would try to put a price on something like this,” Chris said, not bothering to hide his disgust.

“Shut your fool mouth,” Jérôme snapped at his son. “We’ll bring her grandmother, my lord. If we ride fast, we should be back here by morning.”

“Or not.” The door clicked shut. “The grandmother is a witch – and it seems we already have one too many of those within the confines of this city.”

Jérôme and Christophe dropped to their knees. Anaïs’s grip on my hand tightened, and Tristan spun towards the door.

As soon as I heard the King’s voice, I knew my time was up. He wanted me dead, and this way it would happen without him even muddying his hands. I would be just another human who succumbed to the darkness of Trollus.

“Have you lost your mind?” Tristan shouted. “She’s injured! If we don’t help her, she’ll die!”

Thibault tsked through his fat lips. “Tragic, to be sure, but such is the way of life. The strong flourish, the weak perish. It is not our way to interfere.” He walked over to the bed and leaned over, cold eyes taking in my weakness. I felt like a small, injured creature under the eye of a hungry vulture. “Pathetically weak,” he said, turning away. “I am sure we can find you something stronger.”

Tristan’s eyes bulged with fury. “She is my wife,” he howled at his father.

“Your Majesty, you must reconsider,” Anaïs gasped. “If she dies…” Her eyes flickered to Tristan.

The King chuckled. “Never fear, Anaïs. I won’t let my boy die. If I have to tie him up for months and force-feed him gruel myself, I’ll do it.”

Even though he was discussing my impending death, I felt relief at the King’s words. He wouldn’t let Tristan die. Tristan wouldn’t have to endure torture in order to survive. But while this knowledge relieved that anxiety, it did nothing to quell my fear of what was to come for me. I did not think I could stand it if the pain got much worse, but the thought of losing consciousness was worse. I didn’t want to lose my last moments. I wanted to live. Clenching my eyes shut, I prayed for a higher power to intervene and keep this hour from becoming my last.

“No,” Tristan said, the word ripping me out of my reverie. “I won’t live without her.”

His father smiled. “How poetic. Unfortunately, kings and their heirs cannot afford such romanticism, Tristan. When she dies, you’ll take a nice troll girl to your bed, one of my choosing.” He shot Anaïs a nasty grin. “Not you, bleeder, so don’t get your hopes up. A nice, unflawed one. Once she produces an heir or two, you, Tristan, can drown yourself in the river for all I care. It won’t matter. You won’t matter.”

“You’re a monster,” I said, my words barely loud enough to hear.

Thibault leaned down over my bed, his breath hot and smelling of garlic. “Yes, but you knew that before you even came, didn’t you, Cécile?”