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Instead, I lean my hip against the war table. “I assume there’s advice for me buried somewhere in the discussion?” I scrutinize her. Finally, I say, “What is it? Do you have some miraculous fae potion that will help me get pregnant?”

I’m not sure whether I’m angry or simply upset, only that my emotions are threatening to spill out my eyes, and Eislyn is the last person I’d allow to see that. So I force it all away.

“You would trust a potion I brewed?” she asks, genuinely surprised.

No, of course I wouldn’t.

After a moment, she says, “Unfortunately, my solution isn’t so convenient.”

I wait for her to continue because I know she has a solution, and with every passing breath, I’m more and more certain I’m going to hate it.

She glances down at the map. “Sarmatian men are known to take many wives.”

My insides curdle at the familiar direction of her words.

“For the sake of your people, Memnon needs to provide them with an heir. Either by you…or by another.”

There it is. The truth she’s gilded in logic and strategy. She wants Memnon to take another wife.

For a moment, I have to fight back the sickness of this entire conversation. Several different responses flit through my head before clarity comes over me.

“My,” I say, my voice breathless with emotion, “not here even a day and you’re already trying to replace me with another.”

Eislyn gives me what I think is supposed to be a compassionate look. She’s far too scheming to quite pull it off.

“I’m not trying to replace you,” she admonishes softly. “No one could do that. You mean far too much to our king.”

Oh, it’sour kingnow. How quickly Eislyn shifts alliances.

“We would merely be invoking the time-honored tradition?—”

“Ask him,” I interrupt, my magic now streaming out of my hands. “Ask Memnon if that’s what he wants.”

I watch her, physically restraining myself from lunging at her.

Eislyn’s expression doesn’t precisely change, and yet I see my answer right there on her features.

“You already have,” I realize. I can’t help it, I laugh. “You devious bitch.” The pieces come together. “You asked him, and he turned your proposal down. So now you thought you might appeal to my—what? My sense of queenly duty?”

Eislyn doesn’t say anything, just lifts her chin.

I bite back the words I want to say. Instead, I settle deeper against the table, crossing my arms. “So who would you recommend?” I ask conversationally. “Which Sarmatian woman would you think best suited for the task of fucking my soul mate?” The discussion is twisting my belly, and my vision is beginning to go red.

Wisely, Eislyn keeps quiet, but then, I don’t need to hear her answer. I already know.

“Or perhaps the woman won’t be Sarmatian. Perhaps she won’t even be human.”

Eislyn’s stare gives away nothing.

“Youcould be his second wife—how convenient would that be? To advise him during the day, then sleep with him at night.”

Her jaw clenches, but I can guarantee this conversation isn’t cutting her up nearly as much as it’s shredding me to pieces.

“Or maybe,” I continue, “if you were okay with sharing for a little while, you’d line up a human wife or two first. You would then be his third or fourth wife—a shame to have to share his attention with so many others. But it wouldn’t matter in the end, would it? I’m guessing that one by one, the other wives would either die or be cast aside until only you remained.”

It’s quiet for several inhalations, and only the soft hiss of flames eating their wicks interrupts that silence.

Eislyn finally smirks at me. “Amazing what fantastical tales you can come up with in your spare time.”