Or had it?

I wanted Tristan freed, that I knew. And my friends. Marc, the twins, Pierre, and the Duchesse Sylvie. Zoé and Élise. All the half-bloods, really. I wanted them free of the curse. But the others? I thought about Angoulême, King Thibault, and especially about Tristan’s demon of a little brother, and a cold sweat broke across my brow. Them I would be well and truly content to keep locked up for eternity.

But that was the problem. If I released one, I released all, and the consequences would be on me. But so would the consequences of doing nothing.

Pain twisted in my chest, and I shoved my mug across the table. I missed him. Not only for reasons of the heart, but as an ally. Missed watching his formidable and tenacious intelligence at work – that mind of his that I so greatly admired. What I would not give for his ability to see to the heart of a puzzle.

The room spun as I looked around, making my stomach churn. I sucked in a deep breath to try to calm my senses and instantly regretted it. The stench of stale beer and sweat assaulted my nostrils and I gagged. “Bloody stones and sky.” Clambering to my feet, I pushed my way through the revelers, eyes fixed on the front door and fresh air.

I wasn’t going to make it.

I pushed harder, ignoring the complaints of those in my path. Reaching the door, I flung it open and staggered out into the cool air. Then I fell to my knees and retched up three flagons of beer into the gutter.

“I must confess,” a voice said from behind me. “This wasn’t precisely the posture I expected to find you in.”

Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I looked over my shoulder. A cloaked man stood a few paces behind me, face shadowed by his hood. “What do you want?”

“Only to deliver a message.” His mouth widened into a smile. “To her Royal Highness, Princess Cécile de Montigny.”

Chapter 2

Cécile

I rose unsteadily to my feet, the lace of my gloves catching on the brick wall as I grasped it for support. “Who are you?”

“A messenger.”

“From who?” I asked, though I already knew.

“From his Majesty, King Thibault.” The man inclined his head. “He sends his warmest and most heartfelt greetings to his absent daughter-in-law. Trollus hasn’t been the same since your hasty departure.”

“Are you here to kill me?” Was this the moment of reckoning?

The messenger laughed. “Kill you? Certainly not. If I’d been here to kill you, you would already be dead. I’m not one to delay the inevitable.”

“Then why?” I asked, feeling not at all reassured. “And how is it that you can speak of them at all?”

“His Majesty would like…” he started to say, then Chris burst out the front door of the bar. “Cécile” he called, looking around wildly. His eyes fixed on me and the messenger. “Hey!” he shouted. “Leave her alone!”