Chapter 51

"I don't understand," the king said, repeating himself as he paced Euphemia's chambers. "I don't understand, I don't understand! " His muttered recitation grew to a roar as I bent over the little princess, rearranging a cooling compress on her forehead.

After seeing the streaks of Brilliance, I'd quickly ushered Euphemia from the ballroom, all but hauling her over my shoulder to her suite, and sent word to King Marnaigne.

By the time he arrived, I'd gotten her out of the heavy ball gown and into a nightdress. I hoped she'd be able to breathe easier in the thin lawn shift, but still she gasped for air, eventually falling into a hazy stupor of grumbled protests.

Even in her daze, her fingers twitched at angles strange and taut, tapping out a relentless rhythm against her sparkling duvet. There was a tic along her left cheekbone, and her toes quivered restlessly.

Safe along the edges of the room, two of her lady's maids fretted, wanting to help but terrified of catching the illness themselves. I longed to send them away, but the king held all authority.

"I've done everything right," he went on, striking at the backs of chairs, grabbing throw pillows and flinging them across the room. "I won the war. I destroyed every threat to our realm. I've done everything the gods have asked of me, and this is how I'm repaid?"

He growled, striking out at a little side table and sending its potted fern flying through the air. The vase shattered against the marble tiles.

One of the maids jumped into action, trying to clear the debris before King Marnaigne could pace through it. One of the shards sank into her fingertip, and she winced as droplets of blood dotted the floor.

I pushed myself from the bed, but Marnaigne blocked my path, a finger stabbing at my chest. "Not till you fix my daughter!"

"She needs stitches," I said, gesturing to the slick of blood.

"Then she can find assistance elsewhere!" He whirled on the maid. "Get out! Both of you, get out, and find somewhere else to be incompetent! You shan't darken my house any more with your idiocy."

The maid burst into tears as she fled the room, clutching her wounded hand to her chest. The second maid hurried after her, and I wanted to call after them, beg them to come back, because I was suddenly, horribly alone with the king.

He stood in the middle of the chaos he'd created, surveying the torn-apart room. His grim eyes fell upon Euphemia.

"It's the Shivers, isn't it?"

I swallowed, trying to find my voice. "I honestly don't know. At first glance, it would seem so…but there are things in Euphemia's case that I can't explain, that don't make sense. The Shivers starts off slowly—the muscle spasms, a dusting of Brilliance. But see how much is already coming out of her? She's nearly coated in it."

Marnaigne made a small pained noise of agreement.

"And she's burning up," I continued. "I've never seen patients with the Shivers have a fever. It could be a good sign…her body is fighting hard and strong…but her breathing…" As if on cue, Euphemia let out a harsh wheeze. "It looks like the Shivers, but it's acting like something else entirely."

Marnaigne sank into the nearest chair, like a marionette cut from its strings. The fury had left him, and he now seemed hollowed out, exhausted and grieved. "I'm being punished. Again."

"Oh no, Your Majesty. The gods didn't do this," I said, instinctively reaching out to reassure him. Just before I touched his back, I noticed my hands were covered in Brilliance, and I quickly pulled away.

"They did," he insisted. "They're punishing me for something I've done. For my faults. For my sins. For…" He trailed off, his eyes distant as he searched for a reason. He scratched his scalp, tugging at the ends of his hair. His fingers were trembling, not with an onslaught of the Shivers but with building frustration. "What did I do to deserve this? What did she do? She is an innocent. She couldn't have…No. It must be something else. It's a message for someone else." He muttered something under his breath too hurried to catch, but I heard him repeat it. Once, then twice, then again, becoming a series, a litany, a plea.

"A message?" I echoed, trying to stop him from spinning into another burst of anger.

Marnaigne nodded fervently. "The gods are sending me a sign. Through Euphemia." He rose suddenly, his eyes darting about the room. "Something in my house is not right. Something in my realm is not as it should be. There's something I still need to do."

I took a step away, giving him a wide berth, as one would a dangerous animal. "I don't think that's what's—"

His gasp cut me off.

"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, save your 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.

Euphemia had been 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. Any one you 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."

His words were madness. "I don't want that. I don't—"

"Oh, of course you do, Hazel," he snapped. "Everyone does. Girls clamor outside the palace grounds. Dukes travel from afar with their pretty daughters in tow. Scullery maids and kitchen wenches pour out of the woodwork, positioning and propositioning themselves to get closer and closer."

"That's not what I've done," I stated, my voice flat and cold.

Marnaigne snorted, unconvinced.

"It's not," I repeated with insistence. "You brought me here. You kept me here. I didn't even…I didn't even particularly like Leopold when I met him. I thought he was pompous and entitled and—"

"I've seen the way he looks at you," the king said firmly, and despite everything, my breath caught and a flush of heat broke over my cheeks.

Had he?

"Watching, watching, always watching. And I've seen the way you look at him," Marnaigne went on, his eyes flickering with too bright a shine. "So you do this thing for me, this one little thing, and he's yours. I will give it my blessing. I will welcome you into my family with open arms."

I nearly laughed aloud, stunned that he'd think I might wish to be any part of his family after all I'd witnessed that day.

"I don't want your bribes," I said, keeping my voice strong but even. It wouldn't serve me or Euphemia to spark his anger again. "I don't want Leopold, and I don't want to be a queen. But I will do everything I can to cure Euphemia. I care about her as if she were my own little sister. I don't want to see her sick or in pain. I…" Before I could stop myself, I reached out and fondly cupped her cheek. She looked so small and forlorn.

When the deathshead rose over her slumbering face, silent and leering, I was too surprised to make a sound.

"If you don't want it, that is your decision," King Marnaigne said, watching me with careful, guarded eyes, and I had the strangest sensation that he somehow knew what I'd seen. "But I will do my best to ensure you do yours. " His jaw tightened with resolution. "Starting with Bellatrice."

"Sire, no!" I cried in horror, spinning from Euphemia.

He was already in the hall. "If I cannot tempt your success, I will block any chance of your failure." King Marnaigne fumbled at the front of the door, and I heard a lock click. "If my daughter does not survive this…neither will you."