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“Closer?” I ask.

“Yes, lean over the bed. My comforter has come untucked on the other side. You must fix it.”

My face is a mask of emptiness, and my soul burns. I’ve been trapped in this house too long, stuck in this room with the duke staring at me while he licks his lips and tries to coax me closer. Meanwhile, my sister is living a life of luxury and perfection and freedom. On thedamned Shadow King’s arm. I had failed to woo him during my stay at the palace, so I thought I’d settled for the next best thing.

I will settle no longer.

The iron band around my lungs snaps. My brain detaches from the rest of my body, and my limbs move without my consciously saying so.

I do as the duke bid earlier. I hike up my skirts and sit astride him. His eyes bulge from their sockets before he has the good sense to reach out with both hands, wrapping them around my waist. He tries to force me into just the position he wants; then he makes his best attempts at thrusting his hips up into me, layers and layers of clothing and bedding thankfully still separating us.

But my focus is on the extra pillow beside his head. I lean down for it, and Pholios’s fingers go to cup my breasts. The pressure is bruising, but I don’t sit up until I’ve got the pillow. Even then, it’s only to adjust my position.

I smother him with the down-filled cushion.

That which had started to go hard beneath me suddenly goes limp. Pholios’s cries of distress are eaten by the pillow, and his feeble body barely moves beneath mine. His hands finally leave my chest to reach for my arms, trying to force them away from himself.

I don’t let up the pressure.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, husband? Am I finally good for something now?”

If Alessandra can get everything she wants despite murdering a man, then why can’t I? Her face rises in my vision, and I close my eyes against it, against every foul thing this man has ever done to me.

Never again.

Even when his pathetic resistance ceases, I don’t get up right away. I sit there atop my dead husband, lost in some kind of dark limbo between before and after.

Before, I wasn’t a violent person. Before, I’d been patience personified.

Now, I’m free. Now, I can be whatever I want.

Starting with a murderess, just like my sister. I have stooped to her level. The thought finally drives me to action. I right myself, place the pillow back in its position, and smooth out the duke’s hair. He looks so peaceful in death.

I hope he finds no peace wherever I’ve just sent him.

As I return to my chair, I notice a figure in the doorway. Kyros’s son, Nico, stands there, crumbs on his chin.

He looks between me and the duke.

I catch my breath.

CHAPTER 2

Nico puts his finger to his lips, the signal I usually give him when the duke is sleeping. I relax instantly. Of course he doesn’t think anything different.

He whispers, “Catch me if you can, Duchess.” Then he bolts back out the doorway.

I give chase.

“Did you really just come find me with crumbs on your chin and no sweets to share?” I call after him.

Nico shrieks with laughter. He is surprisingly fast for being so little. He slides down the banister at the stairs, while I have to take them slowly because of the heaviness of my skirts. When I hit the ground, I take off at a run once more, finally gaining on the boy. He pumps his little arms, and just before I’m upon him, Kyros rounds the corner with the duke’s breakfast tray.

I scoop Nico up into my arms and twirl him in the air. His giggles lighten my heart, and I reach down with one arm to tickle his tummy before setting him back on the floor. His laughter feels so right in this large manor. It is finally a place where we can all be happy. The duke is dead.

Dead.

Dead.