“My Bane is no different from any other weapon and the choice that comes with it. I can choose to nock and shoot an arrow at a man’s heart. I can choose to spike an enemy’s glass with poison. I can choose to suck away your life with a single touch.”

She paled.

“But that’s just it. The Bane will always be subject to my choice. Nothing can overpower my will unless I let it.”

“The king can.” She put more space between them, then seemed to realize what she was doing and stepped forward again, throwing her shoulders back. “He can control you now.” She offered the retort with confidence, but her body spoke of uneasiness. King Mattias could control her, too, and she didn’t like that. Not one bit.

“Mattias can control me only if I give the Bane sovereignty over my life. That, too, is a choice. You still don’t see it? You chose to destroy Myrthe’s Talent because of your own pain—”

“She murdered my sons!”

“An accident.” He pushed himself forward and leveled her with a gaze that still bore the same intensity as if he were standing eye to eye with her. “Tragic. Terrible. Devastating. I do not minimize that.”

“You can’t possibly understand it,” she seethed.

“We’ve all lost people dear to us, but not everyone chooses to take revenge or destroy lives in response to grief. Any additional pain you’re suffering is brought on by yourself. You are hindering yourself from healing.”

Her chest heaved with deep breaths, with arguments caught in her throat, with fury and rage. Hatred.

He shook his head. “You hate Talented so much that you’d force Banes on the world?”

“It’s a gift.”

“A gift to be controlled by the king? To be given Banes and denied Talents? Denied the opportunity to choose which one you give power over your life?”

“You don’t understand.” Had Coralythe ever even considered drinking from the Well of Talents?

Instead of anger he felt sadness. “You could have so much more life, Coralythe.”

“What do you want?” she spit out.

He rose, posing his request in as humble yet firm a way as possible. “I want you to remove Myrthe’s curse.”

She scoffed. “Reward her? Let her go about using her wishes for her own gain?”

“You and I both know she’s learned that lesson. You forced her to harden her heart—to become an even colder and less compassionate person than she was before the accident with your sons.”

“Don’t try to unearth compassion in me for my children’s murderer.”

“I don’t expect compassion. Nor do I expect forgiveness. But I do ask you to make a choice. Think about the trajectory of your life and which way you want it to go.”

“Everything is going the way I want it to.”

“Everything?” He raised an eyebrow.