“Baudouin,” he whispered. “I’m not finished with Baudouin.”
Behind us, Euphemia’s leg flopped heavily, kicking out at things unseen.
“Sire…you killed the duke this morning.” I tried to keep my tone gentle, but it terrified me that he needed reminding.
“Yes.” Marnaigne’s zeal softened as his gaze drifted to the window.
I glanced back and forth between the king and his stricken daughter. Euphemia didn’t have time for this.
I needed to get my valise. I needed to see if my black agar mixture would have any effect on Euphemia. But first—
“But I didn’t kill all of him.”
The king’s words wiped away every bit of momentum I felt. I felt like a runner in a three-legged race, sprinting toward the finish line only to stumble and fall, caught on my partner’s ankle. I narrowed my eyes, instantly wary. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“Baudouin’s seed. I haven’t finished it all. I started,” he said, turning from the window to pace, his energy frenetic. “I started this morning, but there’s still more that needs to be wiped out. More that needs to be eradicated.”
Bellatrice.
I shook my head, desperate to stop the direction of Marnaigne’s thoughts. “No, Your Majesty. I’m certain Euphemia’s sickness is not because of that.”
He nodded. “It is. I can hear them whispering.Kill the seed, saveyour daughter. Kill the seed, save…” His pacing stopped, and as horrible as his manic frenzy had been, I found this sudden stillness even more alarming. “It’s telling me to end it. Telling me to end her.”
“Her?” I asked, still clutching the tiniest scrap of hope. Hoping I’d misunderstood, hoping the king wasn’t completely mad, hoping that all of this could still be set right.
“That green-eyed snake,” he hissed. “She lives under my roof, pretending she’s one of us, pretending she’s mine. And all the while she was plotting to undo me, plotting and scheming with her father.” He breathed in sharply, aghast. “She killed Aurélie. She killed my wife. It was her all along….”
“René,” I said, all but shouting, trying to force him to meet my stare. “Bellatrice did not kill her mother. She has nothing to do with this. The gods have nothing to do with this.”
“Then who does?” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.
I swallowed the sob that wanted to rip from my throat. “People get sick. It’s not a punishment. It’s not a curse. It’s just life. Some illnesses are cyclical. They come and go with the changing seasons and mutate. With all the warm weather recently, it could have…” I trailed off, sensing the problem with my logic. It didn’t make sense. None of it did.
Euphemiahadbeen whole and healthy only hours before. Now she lay shivering and sweating on her bedsheets, struggling for breath as more and more of the golden Brilliance wept from herskin.
Where had it come from? And would my tonic do anything against this new strain?
“I can’t lose her,” he said with grim finality, as if that was all he needed to do, as if this were any other edict he’d decided must be carried out. Proclaim it aloud and it would be handled. “I cannot lose her, Hazel.”
“I know, Your Majesty. And I—”
“You have to save her. You have to cure her,” he insisted, his eyes lighting upon me. It was the first time he’d truly looked my way since that terrible moment in the parlor before the ball.
“I will try to, of course. I will try and—”
“I don’t want attempts,” he snarled, cutting me off. “I want her well. Do that and I will give you anything you want. Money, jewels…”
“I don’t need any of that.”
I meant my words to be an assurance. I would do anything I could to save Euphemia, without question of payment. Seeing how tiny and frail she looked now undid me.
But when Marnaigne’s eyes narrowed, hardening into small chips of blue, I understood how he’d heard them. He’d taken them as a refusal, as a play for something bigger, something more. Jaw clenched, he paused, weighing his next words.
“If you cure her, I will give you anything you want. Anyoneyou want. Leopold,” he added, throwing his son’s name out as though it were nothing more than a bag of coins, a handful of baubles meant to bribe and entice.
I frowned in confusion. “Sir?”
He sighed, further explanation paining him. “Save Euphemia and I will see that Leopold proposes within a fortnight. You will be wed, and one day…” He sighed again. “One day you will be queen.”
