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Neither Aric nor I had answers, and both of us were too exhausted to continue the conversation with any fruitfulness. I was cold, damp, and aching; we’d barely survived an assassination attempt; and someone wanted Aric, me, or both of us dead. I feared for my retinue’s safety, but I was all too aware that I could do nothing for them now. Showing up with a bloodied shift and a horse for a husband could only make things worse.

So instead, since there was nothing more productive to be done at the moment, I curled up in the corner of the stall and attempted to get warm. It rapidly proved a futile gesture, despite the blanket. Though the building was marginally warmer than the air outside, the ground and my wet clothes sapped the heat straight from my bones. Intermittent shivers coursed through me, making my muscles cramp. Between my earlier flare, the cold, and the fact that I’d been up all night, I wouldn’t be able to function even if I figured out what in the ocean’s hundred names I was supposed to do about all this.

-Bianca.-

Aric’s voice in my head sent my pulse spiking again. I closed my eyes, too tired for another argument.

-We should share each other’s warmth.-

My eyes flew open with surprise. My face heated. Yes, we were married—if the assassin hadn’t shown up, we would already be intimately acquainted with each other’s bodies. But the idea of sharing his warmth felt strangely… personal.

Also, he was a horse.

Aric sighed, with what felt like both irritation and embarrassment. - You won’t be much use if you make yourself sick with the chill. And… you’re not the only one who’s cold.-

I turned his suggestion over in my mind, weighing my reluctance like a new blade. There was no particular reason to refuse—other than the awkwardness of the situation. If he planned to hurt me, he’d had ample opportunity already. I was shivering, he was a large warm animal, and we couldn’t risk a fire, even if we’d had the materials to make one.

I was too practical, and too cold, to be stubborn about it. He’d invited me. I lost nothing by accepting, not even my dignity—it was far too late to salvage that.

“Fine,” I said shortly. “If you roll over on me, I will make you regret it profoundly.”

Aric huffed out a breath. - I already regret this profoundly.-

Still, he lowered to his knees. I scooted over to lean against him. As my shoulder brushed his side, I paused, frowning.

“You’re shivering.”

-As I mentioned, I’m cold.-

But I’d seen enough of horses to know that this wasn’t just the cold at work. Now that I was paying attention, I noticed how the whites of his eyes showed, how every line of his body was rigid. Temperature alone didn’t cause that sort of response.

“Aric,” I said quietly. “Are you all right?”

His voice was thick with disdain. - All right? Of course I’m not all right. I’m a horse. -

I winced. “You’re taking it surprisingly well.”

-I am not taking it well.- His voice sharpened. - I’m barely staving off panic. I have no idea whether this spell is reversible, since apparently you don’t understand its workings. I can’t do something as simple as open a door or pick up a blanket. I am covered in mud. Sleeping in the cold is an indignity. And on top of that, I’ve just learned there’s a plot to force us to marry and another plot, or perhaps the same, to have me killed. The only reason I’m holding myself together at all is that if I didn’t, we’d both be dead.-

I bit my lip. It was true—without his quick thinking, and quick response, we’d still be in the bedchamber with the assassin. I’d taken his apparent calmness at face value, but now that his facade had cracked, it was all too easy to see what lay beneath. I knew firsthand that one could appear collected while falling to pieces inside.

I leaned into his side, taking advantage of the warmth he’d offered. Aric flinched, his muscles rippling. Then, obviously forcing himself, he relaxed. Marginally.

“I’m sorry about the enchantment,” I said, hoping he could hear my sincerity. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Aric released a heavy sigh. - I’m struggling to accept that as true.-

Stubborn ass. No, horse. “I’ll swear it by any of the Virtues you like.”

-That’s… that’s not what I meant.- I could feel him considering. Reluctant to speak his mind. - It’s that… if you’re telling the truth, then I’m afraid I’ve misjudged you rather badly.-

“Yes. Yes, you have. And you’ve been horribly rude about it, too.”

-I concede my manners have been… somewhat lacking.-

I eyed him suspiciously. Why was he suddenly agreeing with me? This must be another trap. “If you are attempting to find a reason to continue lacking manners, I refuse to assist in your endeavors.”

-Actually, Bianca, I am attempting to suggest a truce.-

I blinked, disoriented. I’d thought we were exchanging the opening blows to another sparring match, and instead… he was extending a—a hoof? “A truce?”

-Yes.- I could practically feel Aric rolling his eyes. - It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement in which we agree to stop fighting each other, at least until our lives are out of immediate danger.-

“I know what a truce is,” I retorted, in a decidedly belligerent tone. Then I checked myself, reconsidering.

I was still suspicious of Aric—and begrudging. Even if his suggestion wasn’t underlined by nefarious motives, after how he’d treated me, I was reluctant to let him move past his rudeness so easily.

But then again, I had accidentally turned him into a horse. Perhaps that was retribution enough. For now. A truce, after all, was temporary. And it would be easier to resolve the rest of this disaster and figure out who was behind the assassination attempt if Aric and I weren’t sparring the entire time.

“Very well,” I said finally. “In that case, I will attempt to agree to your truce whenever you manage to actually offer one. Provided you don’t take my acceptance as permission to resume said lack of manners.”

Aric snorted. - I offer you a truce, wife. We work together until we’ve lifted the curse and determined who wants us dead.-

“I accept your truce, husband .” I was still wary, but I was too tired to keep fighting. And despite his boorish behavior, it was becoming clear that he wasn’t the enemy I’d taken him for. I folded my arms. “I would suggest we shake on it, but your hooves are filthy.”

-That is not my fault.-

“Never mind whose fault it is. Are we agreed?”

-Fine. Agreed.-

A beam of morning sun filtered through the clouds, illuminating the floor of the stable; the rain was finally petering out. The air was warming—no, I was warming, thanks to Aric’s heat. My shivering had subsided, and between his warm bulk and the blanket, I could almost pretend to be comfortable.

I should make a plan. Figure out how to reverse Tatiana’s spell, get safely back into the castle, and determine who had sent the assassin and how they had slipped past Julieta and my guards—and whether my retinue was all right. Please, please let them be all right.

But the warmth was compelling, and my exhaustion bone-deep. I allowed myself to lean against Aric and close my eyes. Just for a moment.

“Hey. Wake up.”

A boot was nudging my leg, quite insistently. I mumbled a protest and pulled the blanket closer. Surely it wasn’t time for Julieta to rouse me yet. I’d barely slept at all.

Steel scraped. The sound brought me fully awake in an instant. I sat up in a rush, my eyes flying open.

Noon sun shafted into the stables. Its diffuse beam illuminated a human figure standing over me, drawn sword in hand.

The assassin. They’d found us.

I was moving before my thoughts caught up with my actions. I rolled away from Aric, leaving the blankets behind in a rush of cold. My hand scrabbled through the rotting straw for a fistful of dirt, which I flung at my attacker’s eyes.

My opponent stumbled back, cursing roundly in one of the Zhei dialects. My training in foreign tongues hadn’t included the common terminology of overseas tavern brawls, but to judge by how vehemently the person was swearing, some of the dirt had gotten into their eyes.

I scuttled out of range, scanning my surroundings for a weapon. Perhaps a rock. Or if I could get behind the assassin and twist the blanket around their throat—

-Stop.- Aric surged to his feet. One hoof slammed down scant inches from my bare foot. - Don’t fight her. It’s Marya.-

“Marya?” It took me a moment to place the name: the woman Lord Varin had pointed out at the welcome ball. Aric’s captain of the guard. His lover.

“That’s Captain Dai to you,” the woman spat in Gilden, rubbing fiercely at her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t sheath her saber. “Where’s Aric? No one else could have shown you this place.”

-Marya.- The horse took a careful step towards her. More carefully than he’d moved around me. - It’s me. I know this is a shock, but—-

“Answer me,” Marya demanded, cutting him off. “Or I swear I’ll run you through, duchess or not.”

She looked more than capable of following through on her threats. And I didn’t have a blade of my own at hand.

“Aric’s right here,” I said, answering her in Gilden. I kept my voice cool, collected, as if this were an ordinary appointment at court. “Didn’t you hear him?”

Her dark eyes narrowed. They were bloodshot from the dust. “Don’t try my patience. The only reason I haven’t run you through yet is because Aric is the only one who could have led you here. You’d better tell me where he is if you value keeping your guts intact.”

I addressed Aric without looking at him, wary of the sword in Marya’s hand. “Tell her. Husband .”

-Marya,- Aric began again. - I’m right here. I’m the horse.-

“There you have it,” I told Marya. “From the horse’s mouth.”

Her saber slid up to point at my throat. “I won’t stand for mockery. Not when Aric is missing. Where is he? ”

-Bianca,- said Aric, - I don’t think she can hear me.-

I didn’t dare look at him, not with a sword only one move away from my jugular. “I was coming to that same conclusion myself.”

“What conclusion?” Marya demanded. “Tell me what you’ve done with Aric, or I’ll—”

“—run me through. Yes, I gathered that distinct impression.” It hadn’t escaped me that she’d used Aric’s first name. Not his title. If I’d needed proof of Lord Varin’s ballroom insinuations, I had it now.

I examined the woman’s face, trying to decide which approach to take. She seemed approximately as flexible, and persuadable, as a granite boulder. Courtly manners would get me nowhere except the business end of her blade. Which, as she’d already informed me, she was zealously eager to use.

“Aric is the horse,” I said, opting for bluntness. “He’s been trying to tell you so himself, but apparently you can’t hear him.”

Marya’s eyes narrowed to a blade’s edge. “You expect me to believe that this horse is the king of Gildenheim.”

“Well, he’s not officially the king yet. But he is my husband, as of last night. When is the coronation again? In a week?”

-Six days,- Aric corrected. - At the equinox. Keep your facts in order, wife .-

Marya’s blade lowered ever so slightly. She stared at me as if she couldn’t decide whether I was addled, dishonest, or both.

“I swear it’s the truth,” I said. “By—by archives and indices, or whatever it is you swear by around here.”

Marya’s eyes widened. “That’s Aric’s phrase.” She glanced at the horse and then back at me. “But—if that is really Aric, then why is he a horse ?”

“It was the assassin’s fault, really,” I said. “They broke in and tried to kill us both. A spell went awry. Here we are.”

-You are leaving out a stupendous amount of detail,- Aric reprimanded me.

“Hush. She’s pointing a sword at my throat. I’m a bit distracted.”

Marya said, incredulous, “And I’m supposed to believe you’re talking to him now.”

“Believe whatever you like,” I countered. “But I certainly wasn’t talking to you. In fact, I’d rather not. You’re quite welcome to leave.”

-Don’t offend her,- Aric said. - She’s here to help us.-

“To help you, maybe. Not me. Unless her idea of helping me constitutes putting a hole in my throat. Which, for the record, I would not regard as help. ”

Marya finally lowered her blade. Her free hand came up to rub at her brow, as though she were trying to erase a headache. “I’m getting dizzy trying to follow this. Fine—let’s say I believe you, and Aric has been turned into this horse.” She gestured skeptically at Aric. “Prove it. Have him tell you something nobody else would know. No one except Aric and me.”

I sighed. I was not particularly keen on knowing what secrets the man I’d married shared with his lover.

“Well?” I asked Aric.

-Her favorite tale is the story of the Wildwood Crown. Tell her we used to read it together behind the drapes in the library. She’d pinch her nose so she didn’t sneeze and get us caught.-

At least it wasn’t an anecdote about her preferences in bed.

When I relayed this information to Marya, the tension finally went out of her sword arm. She looked wide-eyed at Aric, as if seeing the massive horse for the first time. It would have been the perfect opportunity to attack, if only I had a blade at hand.

“Well. Rot it to the roots.” She rubbed her brow again, then turned on me so sharply that I flinched. “Turn him back, then. Whatever it takes.”

“I can’t,” I said, exasperated. “We’ve already been over this.”

“Tell him—wait, he can understand me?”

“ Yes ,” Aric and I said at the same time. Though of course Marya could only hear one of us.

She turned back to Aric. “You’re needed at the castle immediately. It’s a disaster. Half the court is convinced you’ve been murdered, the other half that you’ve been kidnapped. It took me this long just to get away without anyone noticing.” She paused, pinching her nose exactly as Aric had described. “By the Lady, I can’t believe I’m talking to a horse. This had better not be a joke at my expense.”

“Murdered?” I cut in. “They found the assassin, then?”

“Not exactly.” Marya grimaced. “From what I’ve gathered, there was a commotion, and someone alerted the night watch. When they gained entry to Aric’s chambers they found a broken window, a knife of Damarian make, and blood staining the bed and floor. Lots of it.”

I frowned, trying to parse the events in Aric’s bedchamber. “Well, we broke the window getting out, and I suppose the assassin could have dropped the knife. But the blood—that doesn’t make sense. I cut my hand, but it was only a few scratches—”

-It’s a setup,- Aric cut in. - Someone wants to make it appear that the assassination attempt succeeded.-

I turned on him. “You’re saying that someone wants to make it look like you’re dead.”

-Exactly.-

“Then they must have a reason.” I grasped on to the politics of the situation as something I could comprehend. “Claiming the throne, perhaps, or pinning the blame on someone—”

“You,” Marya interrupted. She’d apparently managed to follow the conversation’s turns, despite being unable to hear Aric.

I turned back to her. “What about me?”

“You did it,” she repeated. “That’s the general conclusion. Most of the castle thinks that you murdered Aric.”

The earth swayed under me. I didn’t want to believe Marya, but it made perfect sense. As far as anyone knew, I was the last person to have seen Aric alive. A wedding night was the perfect opportunity for a would-be assassin—or a regicidal wife—to get him alone and unarmed. Especially if the Gilden court believed, as Aric had, that the Council of Nine had demanded our marriage and a number of other concessions besides… the evidence began to pile into mountainous proportions. The irony—to my parents, I was a weakling excuse for a daughter, but to the Gilden court I’d become a queen ruthless enough to murder my own husband.

I hadn’t killed Aric. He wasn’t even dead. But no one knew that—no one aside from Aric, me, and now Marya. And maybe the assassin, if they had seen Aric transform. But I somehow doubted they were going to come forth and say so publicly.

I struggled to focus my thoughts. “So I’m being framed for a murder that didn’t happen. Where does everyone think I am?”

“The most popular theory is that you’ve fled back to Damaria,” Marya said. “No one knows for sure. Aside from me, of course. Your retinue has been taken in for questioning.”

Catalina. Julieta. My throat tightened at the thought of them thrown into a prison cell, perhaps even tortured for information. Especially after how cold I’d been to Catalina the last time we spoke. “We have to get them out. We’ll go back to the castle, explain what happened—tell them that Aric isn’t dead, he’s just… a horse…”

I trailed off. I’d had enough difficulty convincing Marya—Aric’s own lover—of his identity. If I showed up in a bloodstained dressing gown claiming that I’d turned my husband into a horse, the court would think me insane at best. At worst, I would confirm their suspicions that I had actually murdered their king. I would be an invader trying to claim the Gilden throne after dispatching its rightful heir on my own wedding night.

-It won’t work,- Aric said, echoing my thoughts. - They won’t believe I’m alive unless you can turn me back into a man. They’ll just arrest you, too. Or worse.-

I set my jaw. “Then we have to turn you back. Immediately.”

-Be my guest,- Aric said, sardonic. - Anytime you like.-

“Isn’t there something you can do?” Marya asked. She was toying with the hilt of her saber again, in a manner that made me itch to take it out of her hands. Not that I would be foolish enough to try. “Anything you haven’t attempted?”

There were plenty of things I hadn’t attempted—as many as stars in the sky. Turning cartwheels, for instance. Beating on pots and pans while chanting hymns to the Virtues. Dressing Aric in human clothing, sticking a crown on his head, and pretending everything was normal until, perhaps, it was. All of those seemed equally as likely to succeed as me continuing to try magic—since, after all, I knew how this curse worked as well as a birdfish knew the waltz.

But I knew someone who did understand it. Someone who had crafted the spell in the first place.

I closed my hand around the locket.

“Marya. I have an idea, but I need your help. I have to get a message to my sister.”