King Mattias scribbled something on a scroll and passed it to Hartmut. Hartmut read it, nodded, then addressed the militairen. “Watch the Wishtress and her group on rotation. They’ll have to remove the shield eventually or they’ll starve to death. Once they do, take them into custody.”

“What of their Talents and Banes, sir?” a militair asked.

“Shackle the boy’s hands.” He eyed Bastiaan’s maimed hand. “We don’t have to worry about the time stopper anymore. Coralythe cursed him. And it seems the Wishtress used her last wish.” His gaze found the Talent Mark circlet around Anouk’s brow. “The queen has a Talent of the mind—not one that will directly affect you unless she touches you.”

This man was as knowledgeable as Bastiaan about the Talents. He understood the markings and what their location implied. Why would he serve King Mattias, who hated Talents?

“I’m not your enemy, Hartmut.” Anouk rose from her place in the corner. “I’m still the queen and I care for my people. No matter what my husband has put me through, I’m loyal to the throne and to Winterune.”

Mattias’s eyes bulged, and if he could have spoken, I had no doubt vitriol and accusations would have come out.

Anouk placed a hand on Runt’s hand. “Please, let me out—agh!” She dropped to her knees, releasing Runt.

“Anouk!” I knelt by my cousin. Had she touched Runt’s blood? Did it still poison those it came in contact with?

Hartmut took two steps our way. “Do not touch the queen!”

Anouk breathed fiercely, then rose. “I’m fine.” Tension sent her fingers into tight fists.

She must be wounded somewhere I couldn’t see. “Are you—?”

“Stop.” The command alone was clipped. A single, manageable word between sharp inhales of pain. “I’m fine. Just . . . weak from the chains.”

Anouk looked to Runt. Intense. Confused.

He eyed her with wide, nervous eyes, as though waiting for her to turn wild or lash out.

She managed a smile, even though she seemed on the verge of tears. “Runt, if you would.” Her gentle voice was a stark contrast to the prior stiffness.

“Of course, Queenie.” Runt wiped a small portion of his shield line away. “But . . . you’re still on our side, right?”

“I’m no one’s enemy.” She said something similar when we met in our small haven so long ago. That we were on opposite sides but not enemies. Did Anouk still believe that?

As stiff as the courtyard statues, Anouk exited our safe haven, then settled at her husband’s side, standing proud and royal. I didn’t know how she managed to remain calm, gentle, and fierce as the bride of the man who brought her such pain.