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His mouth moves, probably to curse my name, but then I think he remembers my warning.

I will make you eat your tongue.

Whatever he was going to say stays firmly behind his teeth. He settles on glaring at me some more, the hate in his eyes mixing with a little pain. Being powerless is a terrible, humiliating feeling. Both Des and I would know. We’d been powerless before, victims of our fathers’ cruelty. Eight years ago Des had dealt with mine; now I’m returning the favor.

“Tell me, fallen king,” I say conversationally, “how many of your own children have you killed?”

He growls at me, battling back the words. I wait, a small smile tugging at my lips. He can’t hold out forever.

“I … do not … know.” The words are ripped from his throat.

I raise my eyebrows. “That many.” It actually hurts, thinking about these long dead heirs, some who must’ve been children and babies when their own father came after them.

“And have you ever been brought to justice for these crimes?”

The room is rapt, watching this horror show unfold.

“No,” he grinds out from between his teeth.

“Then it’s time you faced punishment.”

Galleghar scowls at me, furious.

“How does the Night Kingdom repay the man who forced countless women into his harem?” I ask. “Women who he took advantage of, women whose children he slaughtered. How do we repay the man who allowed the Thief of Souls to kidnap thousands of soldiers and force unspeakable cruelties on them?

“How do you collect justice for something like that?” I ask him.

It’s quiet for several seconds, the two of us staring each other down.

“You cannot,” Galleghar finally spits out, answering my rhetorical question.

Now I smile, just a little.

“That,” I say softly, “is where you’re wrong.” My eyes move to the soldiers standing by the doors. “Guards, find the bog, and bring him here.”

Galleghar’s eyes widen, and now his anger is replaced by panic. The former Night King’s face reddens as he squirms against my glamour, fighting to break free. Strong as he is, he cannot.

I can feel Temper’s eyes on me, I can sense her surprise and feel the barest breath of her approval. She might not know what a bog is, but she knows I’m about to do something bad, and she’s okay with that. We both harbor monsters within us; she understands this.

The sentiment in the rest of the room is a mystery. There’s magic in the air, and it tastes of fear and anticipation and wicked delight, but the fairies themselves give no indication of their true feelings.

It takes an eternity for the creature to join us. The entire time I stare Galleghar down. It’s the ripple of voices through the room more than the monster itself that alerts me the bog has arrived.

Eventually, I see it creeping up the aisle.

I don’t know if I’m doing right by Desmond or anyone else, or if my own wickedness is overtaking me, but I do know that I feel no guilt.

None at all.

“I don’t know what your fears are,” I say to Galleghar, “but I hope the bog savors them as much as I will.”

Ours to kill, the siren protests.

But I’m saving the killing for another creature.

Galleghar’s upper lip curls, still pinned to the ground by my orders. “I hope the Thief makes you suffer,” he says as the bog’s shadowy form slips up to him.

The former king’s attention moves briefly from me to the monster closing in on him. His breath hitches.