The door opened and a troll I did not recognize hurried inside. “Your Majesty, the half-bloods are rioting in the streets,” he gasped.

“Indeed.” The King’s face was neutral – he’d expected this. “Order them contained, but keep casualties to a minimum. Do you understand?”

The troll’s eyes widened. “But they’ve gone wild, sir. I do not see how we can contain them without violence.”

The King rose to his feet. “I do not desire my people killed,” he snapped. “Let that be known. And see that they are contained peaceably. They are not acting under their own volition.”

The troll nodded rapidly and bolted from the room.

“Already he grows harder,” the King mused. “He has promised the death of his own brother. He has deceived his followers in the worst of ways to further his own ends. He is sending men to their deaths to protect a life he considers more important than theirs. And he is right. You, my little witch, are the key to our freedom.”

“No,” I whispered, my heart filling with horror. “You lie.”

“I cannot lie.” The King cocked his head as though listening. “He will not be long now.”

Sure enough, my ears caught the sound of boots pounding down the hall, and I could feel Tristan coming towards us. I opened my mouth to scream a warning, but magic muffled my attempt. “You see, Cécile, I will break him as many times as I need to in order to make him the heir I need him to be.” Picking up a pillow, he loomed over me.

The door flew open.

“Get away from her,” Tristan shouted, and magic slammed his father away from the bed. The King howled with laughter and Tristan staggered back beneath the onslaught of invisible fists.

“You’re a fool, boy,” he cackled. “Ordering a rebellion now, when you are at your weakest. If only you’d waited, you might have had a chance.”

The air grew so thick with magic that I could scarcely breathe. And it was getting hotter, the temperature rising until the room blistered with the heat of an oven. I lay paralyzed on the bed, helpless. All I could do was watch.

To my eyes, it was a battle of invisible weapons made known only by their effects. Blades of magic slashed through the air with a whistling sound, clattering against magical shields like steel on steel. Tristan and his father both landed blows, jagged wounds opened on pale skin, healing over seconds later, leaving only bloody smears to show they’d been injured at all.

But blind to the magic as I was, it was still clear to me that Tristan was losing. The fear and exhaustion I felt in my mind were reinforced by the dark shadows on his face, the tearing gasp of his breath. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and I hissed in terror as the King landed a blow on his arm, sending him staggering. Too many sleepless nights, the sluag attack, and the effort of shoring up the tree had taken their toll.