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That sick sensation rises in me all over again.

“Mara, you cannot do this,” I say.

Another wave of whispers spreads through the room, even as the Flora Queen ignores me.

The headsman approaches the girl, centering himself behind her. Someone else brings in a curved bench of sorts, and the guards on either side of the servant now force her body to bow over the bench, locking her cuffs at the base of it so she’s completely restrained, her back bared to the headsman and the crowd beyond him. I hear her sobs and see her back shaking.

The headsman unravels the whip, and oh God, oh God, this cannot be real.

The metal tip of the whip glints in the room, and it’s that one detail that forces me into action.

I’m moving, the fierce need to protect this woman singing through me. Now my skin begins to glow, and I hear the dark, whispered thoughts of my siren.

Spill their blood, make them pay. Protect the girl.

I push my body between the human woman and the headsman.

“Touch her and you’ll regret it,” I say, my voice just as savage as it is melodic.

If I didn’t have the room’s attention before, I certainly have it now.

“For the sake of the Undying Gods, Callypso,” Mara says, finally addressing me, “remove yourself.”

“No.”

Malaki takes a step forward, presumably to join me.

Mara’s hand snaps up to stop him. “Ah-ah,” she says. As she speaks, the vines on the wall behind Malaki slither up and around him, shackling him in place. It’s the first real sign that I’ve pissed off the Flora Queen. “If Callypso is to be a ruler one day,” Mara says, her gaze returning to me, “then she can fight her own battles. Can’t you, enchantress?”

Both Mara and the Green Man watch me with fevered expressions, lapping up my anger, waiting for me to react.

I stare at her, regretful that I didn’t rip out her throat when I had a chance.

“Anyone who hurts this woman will have to go through me,” I say to the room.

Mara grins, the expression malevolent. “So be it.” She flicks her wrist. “Headsman, carry out the punishment.”

Behind me, the headsman shifts nervously. I hear the slick sound of the whip unraveling and the startled gasps of the audience.

Smoldering anger burns low in my belly as I drop to my knees, my hands going to the woman’s shackles. She stares at me with wide, red-rimmed eyes as I work at the locks.

Fuck, I need a key.

The headsman takes position behind me, giving a few practice cracks of the whip.

I quake when I realize I’m not going to be able to release this woman in time. These chains need a key, and the key is in the pockets of soldiers too far away and too unwilling to help. My only ally, Malaki, is being restrained. I’m on my own, and if I leave this woman, she will be whipped.

There’s fire in my soul and poison in my veins.

If my glamour worked, I would make them pay—every last fairy who stood idly by. But all I have is my body and my beliefs.

Making a split-second decision, I drape myself over the woman, my winged back now exposed to the headsman.

She’s shaking with her fear; it only fuels my vengeance.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I whisper, my voice ethereal.

I hear the headsman step back. Beyond him, Malaki is shouting.