Tick, tock, Princess.

Rolling over, I buried my face in the pillow. When I’d first seen the red writing, I’d thought it was blood. It had turned out to be only my own lip stain. But while the medium of the message was more innocuous than I’d originally thought, its meaning was no less nefarious. Not only was I running out of time, the placement of the message and the casual use of my own cosmetics slapped me in the face with the knowledge that the King could reach me anytime and anywhere. I might be free of Trollus, but I was not free from danger. I wondered if anywhere was safe.

My thoughts swiftly returned to the results of my spell the prior night. And the spell itself. It had been so easy – no worrying about whether the nature and balance of the ingredients was correct, or if I was using the elements best suited to the task. No fear the power that manifested would be insufficient.

And it had felt good.

I shivered, worming my way deeper under the covers. Certainly, it had been hard to kill the chicken, but more than that, I remembered the euphoric influx of power. Power that had lingered in me long enough to shout my mother into submission when I’d returned home, hours after casting the spell. It had been a revolting act. But it had also been intoxicating. Addicting. Digging my bitten fingernails ineffectually into my palms, I mumbled, “Don’t think about it.”

Better to think of the results.

All but two of the burn marks on the map we’d proven to be deceased women. The one mark within Trianon we couldn’t find had been located in the Regent’s castle, and I knew for certain that Marie had been there last night, and I was certain Anushka had been in her company. My own blasted mother had performed for her. Chris would argue that it was still no proof. That we needed to investigate the mark outside the city. Yet even before I’d heard his argument, I was already dismissing it. It would only be another grave out in the middle of a field or a forest.

She could have left Trianon, Chris’s phantom voice echoed in my head. If she knows you’re after her, perhaps she has fled. I brushed the voice of my friend aside – my gut told me that Anushka would not flee from me.

But what about the trolls?

“Bloody stones, shut up!” I swore.

“Mademoiselle?”

Tipping my head, I peered out of the depths of my covers with one eye. The maid stood in the doorway, one eyebrow arched. “Not you,” I said. “The… the neighbors are being loud.”

“It is quite late in the morning,” she said pointedly, her gaze flicking to my untouched tray.

“I’m sorry,” I said, eyeing its contents again. My stomach did flip-flops. “I’m feeling under the weather. I don’t think I can eat a thing.”

A soft little sniff told me exactly what she thought of my malaise. “Will you be wanting lunch?”