“Cécile, stop!”

Magic lashed around my waist, jerking me back, and Marc stepped between the troll and me.

“Your Grace,” he said. “I don’t believe you have met Her Highness. May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Cécile de Montigny.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Your Highness, the Lady Damia, Dowager Duchesse d’Angoulême.”

I blinked. The troll was Angoulême’s mother. “Your Grace,” I muttered, and reluctantly curtseyed. This was not a random meeting, I was sure of it.

The woman snorted. “It is a bit late for courtesies, girl.” Grabbing hold of her servant’s hair, she dragged the half-blood away from us.

Marc held up a warning hand to keep me from going after them, but it was unnecessary. I knew the troll was trying to provoke me, but it was still infuriating to stand by and watch her treat the half-blood woman so. There had to be something I could do. I couldn’t just walk away.

“My Lord Comte.” The sound of Damia’s voice jerked me to attention. I could feel tension radiating from Marc as he acknowledged the other troll. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Damia’s eyes glittered. “Make arrangements to have the labyrinth opened this evening. This one’s actions merit disposal.” She jerked her chin towards the half-blood cowering at her feet. “I do not care to have my household’s reputation tarnished by such behavior.”

Marc’s hands tightened into fists. “Surely such an extreme reaction is not warranted.”

“I did not ask for your opinion,” she snapped. “She is my property, and I can do with her as I wish.”

The twins came up on either side of me, but I scarcely noticed. I felt the blood drain from my face and my hands turn cold. How far was she willing to take this? Would she really send her servant into the labyrinth to die just to elicit a reaction from me? Because I was positive now that that was exactly what she was trying to do. She was baiting me in an attempt to get at Tristan. If I went to him appealing for help in saving the half-blood, it would not only undercut the carefully crafted ruse defining our relationship, it would also put him in the position of having to choose between sacrificing the servant’s life or revealing his true sentiments towards half-bloods.

“If you are so eager to get rid of her, I’ll take her off your hands,” Victoria suddenly said. “Five hundred is fair, I think.”

“She isn’t for sale,” Angoulême’s mother snapped.

“A thousand, then.”

“No.”

“If you value her so much, I fail to see why you want to see her killed,” Vincent said, closing a hand over my shoulder. He was warning me not to take the bait, but what would be the consequences of me walking away? Could I stomach the guilt of letting the half-blood go to her death? But what could I possibly do to stop it? The law was clear – the servant was her property to do with as she willed. Only a royal decree from either Tristan or the King could stop her from sending the half-blood to her death. I did not see the King being forthcoming in that regard and asking Tristan would feel like I was passing the problem to him. I had to think of another way.

“Ten thousand.”

Damia shot the twins a look of distain. “She is not for sale to you two for any price. You hardly need another in that menagerie you call a household.”

“Sell her to me,” I blurted out. She could refuse the others – she outranked them. But she did not outrank me.

A slow smile made its way onto the woman’s face. “With what coin?”

I glared at her. “I am hardly destitute.”

Her smile broadened. “That may be so, but it would still be Montigny gold doing the purchasing, and I’m afraid that would be breaking the law.”

“How so?” I demanded.

The troll chuckled. “This one,” she gestured towards the cowering servant, “is a Montigny bastard. And the law forbids the purchase of one’s own blood.” She laughed again.

I clenched my jaw, wondering how much thought and preparation had gone into this moment. The law stood in my way at every turn, driving me towards only one possible option: asking Tristan to save the servant. I gritted my teeth, my mind searching desperately for a solution. And I found one.

Forcing a dejected expression onto my face, I stepped backwards. “I’m afraid there is nothing I can do. Neither His Majesty or my husband are likely to take my side in this.” I glanced at Marc. “Make her arrangements.”

Silence greeted my words, surprise written across all their faces. None of them had expected me to let this go.

“Mercy, Highness, mercy!” the servant shrieked, throwing herself at me and clutching my skirts. “Don’t let her kill me,” she pleaded, the fabric of my dress tearing beneath her grip.

“I’m sorry.” I let my lip tremble and tears rise in my eyes. “The law is the law.” I stumbled back and my dress tore.

“Lessa, you fool!” shouted Damia. “Must you give me more reason to rid myself of you?”

Magic slapped against the half-blood over and over again in a sickening rhythm.

“Stop!” I screamed, but Damia only shot me a dark smile, baiting me to take the step that would end this violence. She thought me a fool – thought she could use the laws against me. But two could play at that game – and there was one law in particular that I knew would work in my favor. Bracing myself, I leapt between the two women, the sound of the magic lash falling loud in my ears.

CHAPTER 17

TRISTAN

The sharp stab of pain made me jump in surprise, the motion noticeable enough that my father looked up from the reports the Miners’ Guild had delivered that morning. “What?” he demanded, fixing me with a piercing stare. “Cécile?”

I gave a slight nod, and rose to my feet. Judging from Cécile’s mood, the injury did not seem grievous, but I wanted to go make sure. “By your leave…” I started to say, when the door swung in, interrupting me.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” The troll bowed low, and I recognized him as one of my father’s men.

My father grunted and leaned forward on his desk, fingers interlocked in front of him. “What has she done this time?”

The troll cleared his throat. “The lady Cécile is currently quarreling with Dowager Duchesse d’Angoulême, Your Grace.”

Rubbing one eye, my father glanced my direction. “That’s new. I thought she only quarreled with you.”

I shrugged. “We are all wrong from time to time, Father. Even you.” Looking to the messenger, I asked, “What was the nature of the argument; and importantly, who instigated it?”

“It was regarding Her Grace’s abuse of a servant, my lord. And it is a matter of opinion as to who instigated the confrontation.”

My father leaned back in his chair. “Explain.”

By the time the messenger finished his tale of the events with “…and the Dowager Duchesse requested the Comte open the labyrinth so she could dispose of the servant,” sweat was trickling down my spine. It was made all the worse by the knowledge that Cécile was coming in our direction. Which meant she intended to ask me to thwart the blasted old woman’s plans to dispose of her servant, no doubt entirely unaware that she had been set up. And by falling for the ploy, had set me up.

“Cécile is coming this way,” I said abruptly. There was no point in hiding the knowledge.

My father shook his head wryly. “If she intends to ask me to make an exception, she will be sorely disappointed. I don’t make laws for the purposes of breaking them at the whim of a human girl.” He turned in his chair to look at me. “Unless, perhaps, you are feeling benevolent today.”

I kept my face still. “I don’t make a practice of countering your decrees unnecessarily.” Picking up my glass of water, I stared into its depths and contemplated how best this situation might be resolved. “Did you happen to notice,” I said to the messenger, “the identity of the servant in question?”

The messenger coughed uncomfortably and I instantly knew. “It was Miss Lessa,” he said, voice hoarse.

The desk exploded away from my father, smashing against the far wall. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye. “That bloody manipulative old hag!” he shouted, the air growing hot and the pressure of the room building until my ears popped.

“Get out,” I said to the messenger, and breaking courtesy, he turned and bolted.

I remained still, watching my father storm around the room. Lessa, Lessa, Lessa, I thought. Her mother had been three-quarters troll, making Lessa almost a full-blood. And a powerful one at that – she was reckoned to be the strongest mixed blood alive in Trollus, and she was worth an absolute fortune on the markets. The Dowager Duchesse kept her more as a companion than as a servant. A certain element of prestige came from owning Montigny blood. This was a multi-angled scheme intended to get at not only me, via Cécile, but at my father. Angoulême was growing bold.

“What do you intend to do?” I asked. My father didn’t respond. His eyes were distant, deep in thought. If he protected Lessa, he would be seen as not only willing to circumvent our own laws, but as willing to do it for his own benefit. But if he didn’t protect her, he would be allowing his rival to send one of our blood to her death, and we would be seen as weak. There were no good options.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come,” my father snarled.

Cécile entered, but to my surprise, she was not alone. Trailing at her heels was the Dowager Duchesse herself, along with Lessa, Marc, and the twins. Cécile’s expression was cross, but despite whatever injury she had sustained, she felt oddly eager. Everyone else was unreadable. Which made me worried.

Her eyes took in the smashed desk and she paled slightly.

“We heard about your exploits,” my father said darkly. “I assume you are here to make a request of me?” His fingers twitched ever so slightly as he anticipated Cécile’s appeal. The Dowager Duchesse was strangely quiet. What was going on here?

She glanced in my direction. Please don’t ask me, I prayed, then cursed my own cowardice. I watched her reach up with one hand and rub her arm, obviously the source of her injury, her eyes fixed on me for a long moment before she turned her attention back to my father. A message.

“You really ought to arrange for the girl to be educated in our laws and customs, Your Majesty,” the Dowager Duchesse said, obviously deciding to take advantage of Cécile’s silence. She glanced Cécile’s direction, and their eyes met for a long moment. Cécile said nothing. Damia looked away first. Interesting.

“Unfortunate circumstances such as those that occurred between us,” Damia gestured at Cécile, “would not happen if she knew better. If Her Highness were aware of the laws governing the relationship between a troll and her servant, she would have known not to interfere. It is my right to treat my servants in any way I see fit. To dispose of them how and when I choose, if I no longer care to keep them in my household.” Her eyes flicked from Cécile, to my father, to me. She was visibly flustered, and the Dowager Duchesse was never flustered.

Cécile said nothing, only scuffed the toe of her shoe against the marble floor.

Sweat broke out on Damia’s brow. “The silly girl went so far as to try to purchase Lessa from me, which everyone knows is against the law because…” She broke off as my father shifted his weight. “If she had only known…” she stammered.

Cécile coughed and Damia’s face twitched. “The law does not account for your refusal to sell Lessa to Lady Victoria.” She lifted her chin, meeting my father’s gaze. “The Lady Damia’s assault against her servant was malicious and unjust, and an obvious abuse of the power granted her by Your Majesty’s laws.”

My father cocked one eyebrow.

“I was rash,” Damia blurted out. “Lessa did not deserve punishment, and I find that I have reconsidered my request that Lord Marc arrange for her disposal. She is a favored servant, and Her Highness’s interference has prevented a loss I most undoubtedly would have regretted.”

Cécile inclined her head. “I am glad to have been of assistance.”

Damia’s lips tightened with suppressed fury. “Then we can consider the matter closed.”

“I can’t see why not.”

Damia curtseyed deeply. “By your leave, Your Majesty?”

I cleared my throat. “One question before you leave, Damia.” Rising from my chair, I walked towards Cécile, took her by the wrist, and pushed up her sleeve. Her forearm was marred with an angry red welt. Fury surged through me, and it was an effort to keep from showing it on my face.

“I don’t suppose you would know anything about this… Your Grace?” I asked.

“It was not intentional,” she snapped. “The fool of a girl got between Lessa and me. The blow was not intended for her.”

“I’m quite certain I don’t give a damn about your intentions,” I said quietly, raising Cécile’s arm so my father could see the mark.

“It seems you are the one needing an education in our laws, Lady Damia,” he said, settling his bulk down on a chair. “Allow me to bring you up to date. Following my decision to bond my dearest son and heir to this fragile human girl, I decreed that anyone found to have directly or indirectly harmed her in any way would be subject to severe punishment.”

Damia looked ill. “It was not my intention to harm her,” she repeated.