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The Virtues smiled upon me: the horse trader was still in town. I gathered up everything from our rooms that seemed like it might be useful—including, to my immense relief, the greenwitch’s peppermints—planted a few questions in fruitful locations, and an hour later was striding across town with all the force of my anger propelling me.

The tavern looked like any other on an ordinary afternoon: well lit, the noise of its customers spilling out into the otherwise quiet street along with the stink of overly crowded bodies and spilled fluids. I curled my fingers around the fireplace poker and yanked the door open. I had only a few hours until sunset, and I intended to waste none of them on hesitation.

A few people looked up as I entered, their eyes glazed with drink even though it was early afternoon. They turned away quickly at the expression on my face. I strode past them and headed straight for a table at the back.

The merchant, Pranto, was easy to recognize. The description I’d gotten from the hostler was a clear match: salt-and-pepper hair, a mouth as cruelly curved as a meat hook. He hunkered over a ceramic tankard, deep in argument with two companions.

I stopped a pace away from the table. Waited.

Pranto’s companions glanced up at me, then away. The merchant himself didn’t acknowledge my presence, though he must know I was there. I knew what a snub looked like: I’d seen it hundreds of times at court.

Very well. I was conversant in five spoken tongues and basic sign. I could speak a language he understood.

I raised the poker and slammed it down on the table, inches away from Pranto’s face.

Ceramic shattered. Beer sprayed, soaking the merchant’s beard and doublet. His companions made themselves scarce, their expressions avowing that they wanted no part of this. Pranto himself roared with anger and started to his feet, his face purpling.

I lifted the poker to point at his throat.

“I wouldn’t,” I said in Damarian, my voice like flint.

The tavern had fallen silent. All eyes were on us now. I sensed curiosity more than hostility, but my back still prickled a warning.

Pranto’s eyes flicked down to the poker, up to my face. He sneered. “That’s a fire iron.”

“Exactly,” I said. “If I’m unreasonable enough to confront you with a poker, just imagine how much damage I’m willing to do with it.” I flicked a shard of tankard towards his face, and he flinched.

Pranto swallowed and eased back into his seat. “What do you want? Be quick about it, before I call the town guard.” Despite the bluster in his voice, his brow shone with sweat. And maybe a few wayward drops of alcohol, thanks to my enthusiasm with the poker.

“You bought a horse of mine this morning,” I said. “A white stallion, sold to you at the inn. You will take me to him. Now. ”

I followed Pranto out of the tavern. The afternoon sun was momentarily blinding after the darkness inside, but I kept the poker aimed between his shoulder blades. A cascade of whispers followed us. But no one made a motion to pursue us or raised their voices for the town guard. Either they were all too drunk, or the merchant was even less popular than I’d expected.

Pranto led me through the center of town to a large wooden building that smelled strongly of horses. As we approached, a steady thud like a battering ram reached my ears. Along with it came a muffled equine scream.

Aric. My heartbeat quickened.

“Open the door,” I said to Pranto.

I kept the poker ready while he fumbled out his keys and unlocked the door to the stables. The door swung outwards, releasing the heavy scent of manure, the dry sweetness of hay, and the continuous thud of hooves against wooden planks. Pranto stood aside, waiting for me to enter. His lip was curled with scorn, his eyes echoing the sentiment.

I hesitated. I couldn’t turn my back to him or risk him locking me inside, and walking past him put me uncomfortably close to his meaty hands—

Pranto lunged.

I had just enough time to step back and bring the poker up. He swatted it aside and kept coming. I was good with a sword, but this wasn’t a rapier—it wouldn’t cut him; there was nothing preventing him from simply wrenching it away from me. Another breath, and he would have his hands on my throat. Panicked, I swung the fire iron like a bludgeon.

Just as Pranto reached for me. The poker slammed into his thick wrist with a sickening crack of iron on flesh.

The merchant howled, clutching his arm. His hand hung from his wrist at a nauseating angle. My stomach lurched, but I didn’t have time to dwell on what I’d done. Pranto glared down at me, teeth bared, face livid.

“You’ll pay for this,” he roared. “You and that stallion both—”

He lunged at me again.

This time I didn’t hesitate. I brought the poker down on his skull.

The merchant collapsed with a grunt, his eyes rolling up. Breathing hard, I prodded him once to make sure he was truly unconscious. Then I scooped the keys from his hand and stepped over his supine form into the building, holding the poker before me like a sword.

Inside, I paused to let my eyes adjust. My gaze ran over rows of stalls with curious heads poking over them. Horse ears swiveled towards me, some nervous, some eager. Dark and dun and piebald. None of them white.

Fear stoked my anger, turning it white-hot. If Pranto had lied to me about where he was keeping Aric, by the sea’s endless depths, he would think my first blow with the poker had been a mere tickle.

“Aric?” I called.

The thudding abruptly ceased, leaving a silence punctuated by the nervous shuffle of hooves.

-Bianca? What are you doing here?-

Relief extinguished my rage, leaving me weak-kneed. I shoved the poker through my belt and ventured deeper into the barn, equine heads turning to follow me. A few nosed hopefully at my elbows.

When I finally saw Aric, I almost wished for darkness. The white stallion was in a stall at the end of the barn, a space too small for him to even turn around. His eyes were wild, his sides sweat-streaked and swollen with welts. Even worse, a length of rope was tied around his muzzle, clamping his mouth shut and cutting into his jaw.

My vision went red. I’d rarely wished to murder someone, but now I burned with the need to not only kill the man who had done this, but then to resurrect him so I could do it again.

I ran to Aric. My hands shook with anger as I worked the rope free from his muzzle.

-You’re supposed to be safe in Damaria,- Aric said. He flinched as my fingers touched a tender point, and my ire flared again.

“The ocean can take Damaria. I’m here for you.” I flung open the stall door and threw my arms around his neck.

Aric shuddered. I pressed my brow to his neck, breathing in the scents of sweat and sawdust. His emotions washed over me—confusion, fear, but overall a bone-deep relief that made me want to weep. To think I had almost abandoned him. I truly was a coward.

Outside the barn, I heard the distant sound of raised voices. Blast it. Someone had called the town guard after all, and I was on the wrong side of the border for my rank to be an asset.

I disentangled my arms from Aric’s neck. “We have to get out of here. Are you well enough for me to ride you?”

-You’re here,- Aric said. - I’m well enough for anything. Once these hobbles are off, at least.-

I looked down. His ankles had been wrapped in leather hobbles, limiting his movements. Now I understood the source of the thudding I’d heard earlier: despite the muzzle, despite being bound, he’d tried to batter his way out of confinement.

My heart twisted. My poor, gentle husband.

My rage was incandescent, but I couldn’t afford to act on it now. The sound of voices drew nearer, and a groan notified me that Pranto was regaining consciousness. I knelt and unfastened the hobbles, throwing them aside, then looked for a stool to help myself climb onto Aric’s back.

A dozen pairs of eyes met my searching gaze: the ordinary horses, watching intently. I saw the hollowness of their faces, the welts on their flanks from relentless application of the crop.

A man like Pranto didn’t deserve to profit from their pain.

“A moment,” I said to Aric, and strode towards the nearest stall.

One by one I freed them. The first hung back in its stall, eyes wide with fear, but the second bolted towards the open stable door with a relieved snort. The rest followed. Someone else would pick them up before long—hopefully, someone more worthy than the merchant. Either way, I promised myself I’d return after this was through and personally ensure that Pranto never touched a horse again.

I returned to Aric and pulled myself onto his back. Moments later, we were riding hard towards Arnhelm.

We were miles from the village before I dared to slow. The escape of the other horses should have obscured our tracks, and I doubted the town guard would pursue us far, but I was taking no more chances. I had already lost enough in a single day.

Finally, Aric stopped, shuddering with exhaustion. I slid from his back, my knees nearly giving way as I hit the earth. I gripped Aric’s mane for balance as we stumbled off the path and into the trees. Then, when the road was out of sight, I turned to face him and assess our situation.

Aric’s eyes were wild and glazed. He was trembling, his sides damp with sweat and flecked with mud. Steam rose from his flanks, twisting into the shadows between the conifers where the late afternoon sun didn’t reach.

Worry soured my tongue. I didn’t know as much as I should about horses—I’d ridden plenty, but the details of their care had always been left to the palace hostlers. But anyone could see Aric’s condition was poor. And I knew that horses, despite their size, were delicate creatures: massive statues made of glass, breaking at the wrong touch.

Once again, I cursed Pranto. Being bashed over the head with a poker was better than he deserved. Even if Aric hadn’t been human—if he’d been a stallion in truth—what sort of man called himself a horse trader and treated an animal this way?

-I’m fine,- Aric said, catching the gist of my thoughts, or perhaps reading the murder in my expression. But even his words sounded dazed.

“You’re absolutely not.” I pointed to the ground. “Lie down. I’m not the only one who needs rest.”

I dumped out the contents of the satchel I’d taken from Tatiana’s chambers, not waiting for Aric to comply. A small tin rattled free, and I snatched it up. A tinderbox—I’d decided the inn wouldn’t miss it. If this succeeded, I would send them a replacement from Arnhelm, along with enough funds for Alicia and her brother to buy the inn themselves if they so chose. I set to work building a fire and within minutes had a small blaze going.

-It’s too visible,- Aric protested weakly. - It will be dark in less than an hour. Someone could see it.-

“Stop arguing and lie down. I already almost lost you once today. I’m not letting the cold finish the job.” I prodded the now-crackling fire with the tip of the poker.

I felt Aric’s hesitation give way to surrender. He settled to the ground beside me, legs folding under him, for once heedless of the mud. I kept working on the fire, building it hotter and higher. Once it had stabilized, I shucked off my coat and used it to rub Aric down as best I could. He flinched under my touch when I ran over the welts, though I tried my best to avoid them.

When I’d finished, quiet dropped over us along with the lengthening shadows. The fire crackled and spat as it devoured branches. The wind whispered rumors to the pines, and in the distance, the river murmured a reply. Aric’s head drooped as he slipped into exhaustion.

I fed more wood to the hungry blaze; the pine branches were mercifully dry, but they didn’t last long. At least I knew how to build a fire and keep it going, thanks to childhood lessons from Catalina. It was one of the things that would have been useful had I ever joined the royal guard alongside her as I’d once naively dreamed.

A needle of guilt pricked my heart. Julieta, Catalina, the rest of my retinue—they were still locked up in Aric’s dungeons. Soon to be Varin’s dungeons, if we couldn’t fix this by… seas have mercy, the coronation was at dawn. And now I had Tatiana to worry about, too. By now she would be well on her way to Arnhelm; we didn’t stand a chance of catching up before she reached the city. I had to believe that Varin wouldn’t dare harm her—she was too valuable a hostage—but he wouldn’t be pleased when he learned his soldiers had captured the wrong sister. And I could only imagine how he would express his anger.

An owl’s call jolted me out of my brooding. I looked up and discovered the sky was beginning to darken, the western horizon a syrupy honey-gold hue. Sunset was imminent.

“Aric,” I said.

Aric lifted his head. Seeing the colorful sky, he staggered to his feet—

And the sun set. With a flash of white and a sensation like silent thunder, the horse was gone and my husband had returned.

He stumbled, his face pale and drawn, but I was there to catch him. I wrapped my coat around his shoulders and pulled him close. Relief settled over me like a warm jacket of my own. I had my husband back.

Aric’s arm slipped out from beneath the coat and wrapped around my waist. I let out a startled breath as he pulled me against him, hard and vulnerable and shaking, and then I put my arms around him and held him close. My chin rested on his shoulder, his breath stirring my hair.

“Bianca,” Aric said hoarsely. “You came back.”

I opened my mouth—to protest, to deny, to excuse—but what was the point? Here I was, confirming his words with my presence. I nodded into his neck.

He drew back a few inches—just enough to look me in the eye, still holding me close. “Why? You were safe. You were supposed to escape, not run back into danger.” His throat worked. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

I allowed myself to fall into his gaze. His eyes were a summer afternoon after a heavy storm.

Because I love you.

I opened my mouth to say it. Then pressed my lips together, hesitating, as the cautions I’d heard a thousand times crowded my mind. I had never told someone else I loved them—not like this. I knew Aric wanted me, cared for me, but was it too soon to offer him the entirety of my heart?

I’d been silent too long. Aric drew back, his expression dimming. Resignation settled across his features, reverting him to the distant man I’d first met. “You came back for your sister.”

I shook my head. “No, Aric. I came back for you. ”

His eyes clouded with confusion. “But why? I’m… I’m not worth it. I’ve never been worth it. I only proved that to you again this morning.”

My hands curled tight around his collar, as if I could keep him from distancing himself that way. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m weak, Bianca,” Aric said, his voice bitter. “I can barely hold a sword the right way. I’m not fit to rule. Your life was in danger, and there was nothing I could do to save you. You could do anything, be anything you put your mind to. Why would you want to give the world up for me?”

“Listen to me, Aric.” I pressed my brow to his, meeting his eyes. “You’ve been cursed and threatened. You were nearly killed thrice over. You’ve risked your life for a crown you don’t even want, all to keep your country safe. Most people would simply give up, yet you’ve never wavered.” I traced his jaw with my thumb. “There’s more than one way of being strong—you’ve shown me that. And how is it giving up the world to choose the one thing in it I want most?”

Instead of answering, Aric’s arm tightened around my waist, crushing me to him. I tangled my fingers in his hair and dragged him down to me, meeting him in kind. He kissed me hard and desperate, his heat against the length of my body melting me at the knees. I kissed him like a fire, devouring whatever I could take, until I was forced to gasp for breath, only to surge into him again.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were flushed and breathless, Aric’s hair tousled thanks to my enthusiasm. Unable to keep my hands away from him, I reached to brush a lock out of his eyes.

He caught my hand and pressed his mouth to my palm, sending a dart of heat up my arm. It sorely tested my resolve to not rip the coat away from his shoulders and bear him to the ground.

“So,” Aric said. “What now?”

“We set things right,” I said. “We rescue my sister, stop the coronation, and undo the curse.”

“About that last one,” Aric said. “I think I have an idea.”

My hand tightened on his. “Tell me.”

Aric’s thumb traced pensive circles around my knuckles. “Tatiana and I discussed it at length, and… I don’t want to falsely raise your hopes, but we think she could use the coronation to undo the curse.”

Despite his caveat, hope immediately flared sun-bright in my chest. “How?”

“The crown itself is a powerful magical artifact. During the coronation ritual, it’s activated using blood magic—similar to what happened when you accidentally combined your blood with Tatiana’s enchantment. I won’t go into the theoretical details, but if Tatiana crowns me, she should be able to use my blood and the crown’s power to unravel the curse.” He saw the eagerness on my face and held up a finger in warning. “But it’s only a chance. And a slim one. And it would have to happen exactly at sunrise.”

“Then we’ll make it happen at sunrise.” It didn’t matter how small the chance was. It existed. We would have to somehow return to the castle—a journey that had taken us days—in a matter of hours, but…

“Wait!” I dove for the satchel I’d taken from Tatiana’s chambers. In it, I’d hastily packed anything I’d thought might be useful: the greenwitch’s tincture and bag of peppermints; a set of travel clothes I’d found in Tatiana’s luggage; the poker—and an enameled, enchanted cuspidor.

I held up the seven-league spittoon.

“Aric. How many leagues is it to Arnhelm?”