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When she sees me looking, she self-consciously covers the marks, but there’s another bruise around her wrist. I can almost make out the small handprint the must’ve squeezed her there.

“H-how can I help you?” she asks, her eyes moving to me and Des.

“Do you know why I’m here?” I ask, taking a few tentative steps towards her.

She shakes her head, her gaze lingering on my shimmering skin.

“I’m here to ask you a few questions concerning the disappearances of fairies across your kingdom,” I explain.

She sucks in a breath, her face visibly paling. Now, now she has an idea.

She begins to shake her head, backing up and bumping into the chair behind her. “Please.” She places a hand over the bruises on her chest once more. “I-I can’t.”

Seeing her fear, I would expect her to play dumb. But perhaps both of us know it’s no use.

Her eyes began to dart about, looking for an escape. She edges away from me, clumsily banging into things.

“There’s nowhere for you to go,” I say. “We both know this.”

Despite my warning, she tries to slip past me, feinting to the left before she runs, like I’m going to try to tackle her.

Unfortunately for this woman, I’m used to targets running from me.

“Stop,” I command, my voice unearthly.

Immediately her body halts, her shoulders trembling. When she looks over at me, a silent tear slips down her cheek. The sight of it breaks my heart.

“Please, you have no idea what he’ll do if I talk,” she pleads.

He?

“Let’s sit down,” I suggest, my voice soothing despite the glamour.

Robotically, she moves to the small couch, more tears following the first. When she looks at me, I can see the resistance in her eyes, but she can’t do a damn thing about it.

“What’s your name?” I ask, sitting next to her and taking her hand. It’s already clammy with sweat.

She stares down at her hands in her lap. “Gaelia.”

A human woman with a fae name.

“Were you born here?” I ask.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she nods.

“What do you do in the palace?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

She peers over Des, who’s still leaning in the room’s entryway, before returning her attention back to her lap. “I work in the royal nursery.”

My eyes move back to the bruise on her wrist. Again, the impression it’s left on her skin makes it look as though a tiny hand squeezed it too hard. A child’s hand …

I force my gaze back to her. “Why does your king believe you know something about the disappearances?” I ask.

Her expression crumbles, her eyes and mouth pinched as she cries. “Please,” she begs again.

Gaelia looks at me with agony, and I can tell this is her last ditch effort to stop the rest of the conversation from unfolding. She’s pleading for my humanity with her eyes, but she doesn’t know that I have no more control of the situation than she does.

I press my own lips together, my eyes stinging. I don’t want to do this to her. She’s not a criminal, just the last in a line of humans that were once slaves in this world. She’s a victim, one who’s had the misfortune of working in the wrong place at the wrong time. And thanks to me, she’s probably going to suffer for her forced confession.