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Marian approaches as nervous whispers swarm the kitchen. My father shoves the meat-laden tray at a nearby guard, but not before grabbing a haunch. His weathered fingers pull at it, dig right into its dry flesh. “Do you see the problem, Maria?”

Do you see the problem, Emilia?

“Do you think my men are dogs?” He makes a sweeping gesture at them.

“That they are capable of prying apart leather with teeth sharp as knives? Or perhaps that they might beg for any scrap you offer in this Fates-forsaken kitchen?” he says.

“Or maybe you thought us incapable of distinguishing days-old hog meat from that of a fresh boar?”

Do you think I’m a fool, Emilia? Did you think I would not notice the closet empty of clothes? The missing jewelry? The coins that disappeared from my vault little by little?

A sound like wind rushes through my ears.

“No, milord, please,” Marian says. “I can have a fresh meal prepared and served to your wing within the hour . . .”

My father’s eyes glaze over, frenzied as they are, and I know . . . I know where he is.

Only you noticed too late, husband. She is gone, forever out of your reach. I’ve made certain of it.

Marian remains calm.

So had Emilia.

Oh, I do hope you’re wrong, wife, as I will peel every strip of skin from your bones until you beg me for death, he had said. You will return her to me.

She did not.

Quick as a whip, my father’s hand lashes out. Snakes around Marian’s throat. And then he’s shoving the haunch of meat through her teeth, down her throat, until she’s choking, crying, clawing for air, the platter dropping from her hands—

The room blinks white.

And then I am in the foyer closet, watching Emilia, watching as my father clamps his hand over her throat—

I am there.

I am back.

Emilia brandishes a vase from the mantel behind her—my mother’s vase. She smashes it over my father’s head. Blood wells from the cut, beading along his brow, saturating his skin. He doesn’t let go. He won’t let go. Terror seizes my entire being.

Then he slams the crown of her head against the hearth.

Again—again.

Again, until she stops fighting, and her body goes limp.

He scoops her up, cradling her like the doll he thought she was, red soaking her curls and bleeding down the back of her dress as he shoves through the balcony doors.

Even then, I had known what was about to happen.

Silent sobs warped my vision, but I heard her voice in my head, her words from only minutes before.

I cannot go with you, my love. I need you to run, no matter what.

If you love me, you will run. Go through the drain, take it into the next village.

Sell this ring, and never, ever come back.

With my father turned away, I took my chance. Grabbed my suitcase and crawled for the front door. Guilt tore at my soul, but a sickening fear pushed me onward. If I stayed, he would do the same thing to me.

I opened the door, poised to flee. Only I glanced back just in time to see him thrust her over the rail. Like a stale loaf he might toss away, throw to the birds.

Like she was nothing.

“Please, General, the fault was mine,” I hear distantly, the head chef ‘s high-pitched voice. “I overcooked it, an oversight that won’t happen again—”

My eyes fly open as my father flings Marian to the ground. She’s wheezing, her face patchy and red, tears streaming in rivulets down the length of her neck.

“There, you are correct,” he says. “It won’t happen again, will it?”

Only dimly do I register him leaving. I’m trembling so violently I can’t see.

Minutes slide by, maybe more. I lose all sense of time. My hands have long since gone numb, but I cover my eyes with my palms. Dig my thumbs into my braid. Over and over, I see Emilia. The blood blossoming from her scalp. The shape of her figure plummeting off the balcony.

My lungs ache from trying to breathe.

At some point, Marian nudges me gently. I glance at her, unable to find words. Unable to move, even, when I should be the one comforting her. How despicable I am. How lowly, because I did not emerge from hiding. I could have stopped him, and I did not.

“Marian,” I breathe.

I want to ask if she’s all right, but of course she isn’t. And what could she say? Looking at her now, a pained smile on her lips—she would tell me that she’s fine.

So I say nothing as she arranges a new platter. She’s quiet, too, but I don’t miss the way her throat bobs, like she’s trying to swallow. To recover. It must be on fire.

I am on fire. I feel it everywhere, scorching across my flesh. This happened because of me.

He will never stop hurting so long as he walks around like he’s a king and we’re the carpet upon which he treads.

I can’t erase Emilia’s death from my mind, can’t stop seeing what he did to Marian, even as she squeezes my hand and releases me, walking away.

I could have stopped him long before he came here. I could have returned, told the world the truth of who he is. What he did. More so, I would have been under Illian’s protection as his Jewel. And now it’s too late. I’m but a puppet, like my father said I would be.

Unless—

Unless I clear my name. No one would believe the words of a convicted criminal, but once I’m free of Illian, the daughter of General Maksim Stova could tell the world the murderer he is.

I’m the only one who knows the truth of Emilia’s death, the only one who knows the demon he tries to hide.

If I survive this Gathering, I could expose him.

Because he doesn’t deserve death; that’s too kind. No, I want him to rot in a cell like I did. I want him to think of me and Emilia every day for the rest of his life. I want our voices to taunt him in the dark.

This is what I should have been planning all along, ever since I was released. But I thought he was far out of reach. Instead, he’s here, violent and cruel as ever—the hounds master of the Beast of the North.

And he’s been delivered straight to me. Or me to him.

No.

I will take everything from him.

I will ruin him.