He noticed—it was impossible not to notice—that Raesinia was wearing a sheer silk nightgown that did little or nothing to hide the shape of the figure beneath it. A woman’s figure, Marcus had to admit. The queen’s diminutive height made it easy to forget that she’d passed her twentieth year. When he wrenched his eyes away from that, he took in the knife in her right hand. It was a long, thick blade, probably filched from the butcher’s block in the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Marcus said. “Dressed like that.” He took another step backward, doing his best to keep an eye on Raesinia without actually looking at her. “And . . . perhaps you should put down the knife?”

“Colonel Marcus d’Ivoire,” Raesinia said, with a note of command in her voice. “Sit down on the bed and be quiet.”

“I—”

“Am I your queen or not?”

“You are,” Marcus said. “Your Majesty.”

He sat, and she stepped forward, into the square of moonlight. It made her skin look as pale as parchment, and her eyes glowed.

“I am going to show you something,” she said. “It’s something I have never shown to anyone, at least not of my own free will. I’m doing this because I trust you, and because I don’t want us to have any more . . . misunderstandings.”

Marcus swallowed hard. “I don’t understand.”

“If you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, the consequences would be . . . dire. For me.” She cocked her head. “Janus already knows, of course. I know you don’t understand. Just nod.”

Marcus nodded.

“Fuck.” Raesinia took a deep breath. “God, sometimes I wish I could still get drunk. All right. You helped Janus capture the Thousand Names in Khandar, correct?”

“Yes.” A chill ran along Marcus’ spine. “How do you—”

“So you know magic is real,” Raesinia interrupted. “You know that a person can carry a demon inside her.”

Marcus saw Jen’s face, two images superimposed: eyes closed, resting in his camp bed, calm and beautiful, and with her features twisted into a snarl as she hurled rock-shattering magic in the Desoltai temple.

“I know,” he said softly.

“That makes this easier. Watch closely, and don’t move.”

Raesinia raised her left hand, and brought the knife up, blade flashing silver in the moonlight. Marcus half rose from the bed, intending to tackle her and wrench the weapon away, but the force of her gaze pinned him to the spot. He stared as she held out her left palm and, deliberately, carved a gash across it. The knife was well honed, and her flesh parted easily under it, like a well-cooked roast. Blood welled, coating the blade and dripping to the floor in a steady patter.

“Your Majesty,” Marcus said, his throat tight. “Raesinia. Please.”

“Just watch.”