“What of it?” The Duke broke the roll on his plate into tiny pieces, eating none of them. “He is under my control and no threat to you or me.”

“Is he?” Lessa shoved aside her untouched tray. “If he looks hard enough, he’ll find a way around your commands. Around his promises. There is always a way around.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Lessa recoiled, then leaned forward, catching at the Duke’s sleeve. “My family cast me aside,” she whispered. “Yours took me in. Gave me everything and taught me everything. Do not let Tristan and Cécile’s lies turn you against me – you know I’m loyal. And they’re dead.” She reached up to touch his cheek and he slapped her hand away violently.

“Not while you’re wearing her face.”

Lowering her arm, Lessa glanced around, then let Anaïs’s face melt away to reveal her own. “Anaïs was loyal to Tristan, not to you,” she said. “I killed her because she was a traitor.”

“You killed her to further your own ends,” Angoulême snarled. “Anaïs was my child, and you slaughtered her. Then you lied to me about it.” He leaned closer. “Lied like a cursed human.”

Lessa crouched in on herself, realizing, I thought, that she’d made a mistake in killing Anaïs. That Angoulême had cared more for his daughter than he’d let on, and that it was only his unwillingness to disrupt his plans that kept him from having his revenge. But that might not always be the case.

“I’ll give you another,” she said. “And once our child is strong enough to hold the throne, we can be rid of Roland.”

Angoulême’s anger fell away, and he stroked a finger down her cheek. “I can’t help but admire your ambition, darling. Your willingness to see your entire family dead in your pursuit of the crown.” He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear, her face growing still. Then he sat back. “You promised to love me. Remember that.”

“I love you,” Lessa whispered. “I always have.”

“His cruelty really does know no bounds,” Marc murmured, and I moved away from the portal, unwilling to watch any more of this abuse. Never would I have thought to have cause to feel sympathy for Lessa, but to be forced to love that monster? I sighed.

Then Martin spoke. “Roland’s gone some distance from the camp. He’s waiting.”

“You ready for this, Cécile?” Marc asked.

My pulse was loud in my ears, my ice-cold hands drenched with sweat, but I nodded at Martin and the world tore open to reveal the monster with whom I needed to form an alliance.

Hissing in surprise, Roland leapt back and swiped at the tear, but his magic passed through it as though the opening wasn’t there.

“This is fey magic,” I said to him. “You cannot attack it.”

The violence fell away from him, and he tried again to pluck at the edges of the tear before giving up and acknowledging me. “Why aren’t you dead?”