“Hey—” I can tell I’m about to lose the scalpel, so I give it a good yank and slide it against the king’s skin.

The king curses as the knife cuts into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger and blood pools.

I let go of the scalpel just as the door to my room is thrown open. Marco comes in, gun drawn, a group of guards spreading out behind him.

I roll my eyes at Marco and very slowly relax my coiled muscles. Despite appearing indifferent, I’m not. I’m staring down the same gun barrel that my father had. The one that might’ve killed him.

“Your Majesty,” Marco says, taking in the scene, “is everything alright?” His eyes flick to the king’s bloody hand. “You’re bleeding.”

The king holds out the scalpel for Marco to take while studying me. “I’m fine,” he says as Marco takes the knife from him. “I just cut myself while I took the scalpel from the queen.” The king’s giving me a strange look. I get the impression he’s trying to figure me out.

“Your Majesty?” Marco says, not buying the story.

“That’s all Marco,” the king says.

“But sir, your hand …”

“Later Marco,” the king says, his eyes never straying from mine. “Leave us.”

Marco hesitates, piercing me with a look that says just what he’ll do to me if more harm befalls the king. I flash him my most nefarious grin as he backs out of the room.

“Must you terrify everyone you meet?” The king asks, grabbing some paper towels out of a dispenser to cauterize the flow of blood.

“Yes.”

The king comes back to me, and that strange look is back in his eyes. “Why did you cut me?”

My skin prickles, not because of his question, but because he’s not angry at all. He’s curious. It’s the wrong reaction, and it makes me worry that there indeed is something very, very wrong with the man I married.

“I wanted to see if you could bleed,” I say. My words sound cruel and calculating even to my own ears. There is also something very wrong with me.

“No, you didn’t,” the king says. “You’ve already seen me bleed.” He comes closer to my bed. “You want to know how I heal, don’t you?” he says, his eyes ever so inquisitive.

My heart thumps. “Yes,” I admit.

The king nods slowly. “You thought because I refused to tell you how I died before, I’d always refuse to tell you.”

“How you died before?” I go completely still. Already he’s admitted so much more than I expected.