She pushed her bottom lip out into a pout. “So hasty!”

“Get out,” I repeated. “Or I will make you leave, and I won’t be gentle about it.”

A cruel little giggle escaped from between her lips. “Are you so sure you can?” Sitting up, she slid off the bed and came toward me, stopping about a pace away. “I daresay, you aren’t looking in the peak of health.” Her eyes flicked to my manacled and bandaged wrist and up again. “It must be dreadful to feel so abused.”

I stared silently at her. Did she know that I was aware of her true identity? Or was she still going to attempt to pretend to be Anaïs? “What do you want from me?”

Lessa smiled, the curve of her lips familiar in a way that made me want to tear the magic off her face. “We’ll get to that.” She closed the distance between us so that we were only inches apart. My skin crawled, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of driving me back.

“You’re in quite a predicament. One that might very well send you to your death if I don’t help you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

She tilted her head back and laughed. “But you might need it. Cécile made a promise to the King to find Anushka. There is nothing he desires more, and his obsession will force her to the grave if she does not succeed. You promised the half-bloods you’d build a stone tree for them, which frankly, requires you to be alive. Except that you know Cécile’s time is short, which means your time is short, and you are driven to work day and night without rest, which is driving you to the point where you’ll burn out your power. Especially given the iron rot that is consuming you. Such a sordid circle of things: the King’s desire creates Cécile’s obsession, which drives your addiction to your work. Work that the King does not care to see completed, which makes him want the curse broken all the more. Around and around we go.” She walked in a slow rotation behind me and back to where she had started. “Spiraling down until someone dies.”

“Make your point.”

“It doesn’t have to be you and Cécile who die.” She tilted her head. “It could be him. He is, after all, the instigator.”

As if I hadn’t thought of that every waking minute for days. “Wonderfully traitorous solution, but unfortunately, killing my father would only delay the inevitable. As I’m sure you’re well aware, my brother is heir to the throne, and I cannot imagine he’ll suffer me to live long after he is crowned. Any fool could see your little ploy is self-serving.”

“It could serve us both.” Her voice was soft, persuasive. “No one wants Roland to be king, least of all me.”

“Yet you are betrothed to him.” Just saying the words made me feel sick. “And I think you are wrong to say that no one wants him to be king. I believe the Duke wants that very much indeed.”