Tristan sighed and shifted, and I felt his fingers interlock with mine. Glancing down, I saw he’d pressed his face against my stomach, his eyes closed and lashes black against his fair skin. My heart softened, warmth chasing away the tension and ceaseless pressure of the King’s compulsion. I smoothed the disarray of his hair and traced a finger along the curve of his ear, my thumb brushing along the line of his cheekbone.

He relaxed, and a smile curved my lips as I thought of this hard-won gift of his trust. That he’d finally stopped trying to hide his fears and weaknesses, and was willingly turning to me for comfort was worth more to me than all the gold in Trollus.

“I love you,” I mouthed silently, and his fingers tightened around mine as though he had heard. It made me think of last night. The way it had felt. The intensity of the moment. But then an unwanted thought intruded. “Anushka was Alexis’ mistress,” I said, half to myself. “Do you know for how long?”

“Two years. Possibly three. It’s not something he would have cared to have documented. Nor would his wife.”

I frowned. “What was her name?”

“Lamia.” Tristan cleared his throat. “Other than my great-grandmother who ruled Trollus for almost forty years, Lamia is said to have been the most powerful queen in our history.”

“Did not help her much,” I muttered.

He hesitated before answering. “She may not have cared. Their match would have been arranged by the crown for the purpose of breeding power into the line, and she would have been raised to be… pragmatic.”

I considered his words, and they sounded hollow. Even if the troll queen had not cared a whit for her husband, she was still bonded to him. Anushka knew how to mute the connection, but it would have required her slipping the other woman a potion every time she was with Alexis. More likely, the Queen had known about the affair and had lived with those feelings in her head over and over again. It would have been maddening.

“Did she survive his murder?”

“Yes. But when it became clear there was no escape from Anushka’s curse, she went mad. Her son had to…” He broke off. “He had no choice. Power and madness are a poor mix.”

I met his eye, and neither of us needed to say anything to know he referred to his own brother as much as the long-dead queen.

A knock sounded at the door. “It’s me,” Sabine’s muffled voice called through. “Let me in.”

Once inside, she pulled back her hood, snow falling to dust the floor. “I swear this is the coldest winter I’ve ever known,” she muttered, pulling off her cloak and draping it over a chair. “Build up the fire, would you?”

The fireplace burst bright with pale troll-fire as Tristan followed Sabine into the sitting room, his expression intent. “Well?”

“There’s nothing,” she said, sitting on the chair across from me. “No talk of a murder, much less one where the individual died in an … unusual fashion. Not even a whisper.” Pouring a cup of tea from the pot on the table, she took a mouthful and grimaced and held out the cup to Tristan. “It’s cold.”