“Do you think it’s the correct choice?” I asked.

Marc leaned back in his chair, troll-light moving with him so that his face remained in shadows, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Sabine standing at the door, expression intent. “I think it would certainly be the swiftest and surest way to put a stop to Angoulême, Roland, and their followers. That in the short term, it would mean less loss of life. And,” he held up a hand to forestall my interjection, “that is worth something. But it would come at a cost.”

I chewed on my thumbnail. “Because it would put the King back in control?”

“Worse,” Marc replied. “It would cement his power to the point we might never be able to wrest it from him again.” He leaned toward me, elbows on his knees. “Tristan has worked for a very long time to create an alternative to the way his father rules Trollus. At first, it was covert, appealing only to the half-bloods and a few token sympathizers. But that’s changed. The city is ready to follow him, ready to fight for a new way of life, and if he were to bend knee to his father now…” Marc sighed. “It would be a betrayal I’m not sure he’d ever be able to overcome. And it would mean the Isle would be subject to Thibault’s rule for the rest of his life.”

I had no stomach for this: for the weighing of strategies when lives were at stake. I’d always take the path that would save lives now versus saving lives later, because I believed that time would provide a solution that would see all lives saved. Some – Tristan included – would say that it was a lack of foresight on my part, but I couldn’t stand by and watch people die because it was the strategically correct thing to do.

“He wouldn’t really be bending knee to his father,” I protested. “It would only be until we’ve dealt with Angoulême, and then Tristan can rid Trollus and the world of his father.”

“And do you think Thibault wouldn’t be ready for that?”

I jumped to my feet, chair tipping over with a clatter. “So you think I’m wrong? That we should just sit back and let Roland slaughter our friends and families while we figure out a way to assassinate the King?”

“I didn’t say you were wrong, Cécile,” Marc said. “Only that the solution might not be as clear cut as you might wish.”

“And both of you are forgetting one big problem,” Sabine said, bringing a tray of food to the table. “The fairy queen.”

I took a bowl of soup from the tray and began spooning it into my mouth as I considered Sabine’s words. “She did something to our bond so that Tristan didn’t know I’d left the castle,” I said.

Marc shook his head. “She couldn’t affect that. What she did was catch you in an illusion within your own mind – one that you and Sabine shared.”