But so very necessary.

They could not learn that it was Cécile who’d killed Anushka. Bad enough that she was clearly complicit, but if the humans learned she’d wielded the knife, they’d blame her for what was to come. And already her death was sought by too many. Better that they believed it was me and have all the violence and vitriol cast at my feet.

Yet knowing it was the right choice did little to ease the sting of leaving her standing alone in the snow, hands stained with blood. It was Anushka’s blood, not her mother’s – for Genevieve had been dead many long years – but I doubted very much that she was yet capable of disassociating the two.

Unbidden, the memory of her lashing out with the knife crossed my vision, the blow shallow and clumsy, and yet filled with uncharacteristic violence. The second strike: more certain and deep enough to kill. And the reasons she’d given me for doing it… They’d been good and just – motivations I’d expect, knowing her as I did. Yet I couldn’t help but question what had really driven her hand. She’d been under compulsion, and now, having delivered on her promise, was no longer. Did she regret what she had done?

Did I?

I shoved the thoughts from my mind. What was done was done, and my focus needed to be on formulating a plan to prevent my people – and the fey – from wreaking havoc on the Isle. And on the world. Wresting control from my father. Putting an end to Angoulême, and… managing Roland.

I resisted the urge to glance at Fred; that bit of deception was bound to bite me on the ass sooner rather than later, because Aiden had freed himself while I was cut off from my power. It was my fault for not tying off the magic binding him. That he hadn’t shown up yet made me very uneasy. He was under my father’s compulsion, but how that would manifest was yet unknown. There were too many players, too many moving parts, and I didn’t feel well-enough informed to make a move one way or another.

But doing nothing would only ensure our defeat. Our enemies were almost certainly on the move – schemes months, if not years in the making, were unfolding as I scrambled to catch up.

Ahead, the doors to a chamber opened, the guards standing at either side eyeing me nervously as I passed. Ignoring the massive table surrounded by chairs, I went to the stone staircase on the far side of the room. “This leads to the tower?” I asked no one in particular.

“Yes,” Fred replied, and I didn’t miss the sharp glance the Regent shot his direction, silently willing Fred to keep his mouth shut until I could manage his revealing appropriately.

Taking the steps three at a time, I shoved open the iron-bound oak door at the top and stepped out into the bitter cold of winter. From this height, all of Trianon was spread out before me, the walls marked in intervals with burning torches and the better parts of the city glowing faintly from the gaslights lining the streets. It was eerily quiet, but the tension seeping out from every household was palpable, even from my lofty perch. The humans were afraid, and as much as I hated to admit it, the Winter Queen had done me a favor in that. Fear could be a unifying force, and if I could harness it, so much the better.