THE BOY-KING and the prisoner sat in silence—an endlessly long table separating them—for what seemed like an eternity.

Maarit stared down at her full teacup—it had long since cooled—with a glassy-eyed, faraway look. More than anything else, she longed to return to her lonely, quaint little home in Fribois. She wanted to leave behind this grandeur and these people, both of which left a raw feeling in her stomach.

But nothing will ever be the same, even if I do return, she reminded herself.

She had revealed her true identity as a soothsayer to the entire village before being abducted. It was very likely that if she ever went back, she would be shunned—or worse—for her curse.

And then there was Keion.

The strident sound of a chair screeching against the dining hall floor startled her out of her very skin and caused her to nearly drop her teacup. When she looked up, her curiosity getting the better of her, King Theodoracius was rising from his place. He strode over to an ebony cupboard on the far end of the room with his robes dragging on the floor behind him in a serpent-like fashion, opened it, reached inside and pulled out a second wine glass.

Without looking at her, he walked back towards the table and scooped up the wine bottle in his free hand and his own full wine glass in the other. As he walked over to the opposite side, where Maarit was sitting, she cringed away from him at first.

But he still would not look at her.

He carefully placed the empty wine glass in front of her and muttered very quietly, like the whisper of the summer breeze, "Perhaps you'd like something a bit stronger than tea. Would wine suffice?"

Maarit was so shocked at the tenderness in his voice that whatever words were on her tongue failed her. She gritted her teeth, and, even while hating him with a burning and unparalleled passion, her heart involuntarily clenched. All she could find the strength to do was will the muscles and bones in her neck to move so that she could nod. She felt an unexpected jolt of pain from the bruises and one of her hands rushed to her throat to massage it.

Without a moment spared, she heard the sound of the wine being poured out into her glass. Pushing her teacup aside, she grasped the wine glass with both hands and raised it to her hesitant lips.

The expression on the face of the king was one that could not be deciphered by one single glance. Maarit stared at his handsome face, seeing all at once the guilt and pain that, for some reason, tainted it and twisted it into something less than perfect. He took a long sip from his glass, holding so tightly that it could have shattered in his grasp.

And then, words unbeknownst to any evil king took form on his lips and revealed themselves in the form of a chagrin-filled murmur and flushing cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

She could not retain her gasp. Her brown eyes—though still holding the dismay she had felt earlier that night—widened with shock at the first human emotions she had seen on this man's face. Oddly enough, as he continued to speak, she momentarily lost the ability to be vexed with him.

"I don't know if this is even worth it."

Theodoracius swirled the wine, tilting the glass again to his lips. Then he changed his mind and put it back down. He dropped his head, his slick hair falling out of place and the ruby-encrusted crown slipping.

"You must know that I never intended for something such as that to happen. Tonight, I lost sight of why exactly I am holding you prisoner here. It might seem unclear, but I've known why all along. As much as I dislike this particular fact, I am human. I fear the inauspicious promise of my own death, most likely because I have no one else left to worry about. I don't want to be murdered the way my father was, but I've already gone too far. I cannot possibly let you go—I know you'd kill me. And I know you're capable of such a thing. I can see it in your eyes."

At long last, he glanced at her. His shoulders straightened and he fixed his crown absently, but his gaze was deeper and more profound than ever. For once, Maarit could see that the man before her had layers—he had lived and hurt and been hurt, and she knew nothing about it.

"There is a mirror in them. In your eyes. Sometimes, in your anger towards me, I see myself. I've felt such hatred before. I know how consuming it is. And I know how it can drive you to kill. But does killing a monster undoubtedly make you one? Or must it be someone innocent in order for it to be a truly monstrous action?"

Theodoracius bit on his bottom lip and sighed, his nostrils flaring. He was rambling on and on, as though he had forgotten Maarit was in the room at all. It only piqued her ever-growing curiosity—she hated that she found him so incredibly intriguing.

But she did.

And he was.

It distracted her from her despair.

So did the wine, which she then downed, trying to stop her limbs from their incessant trembling.

"I regret this," he said. No elaboration. No explanation.

I regret ever having mentioned your name to the people of Fribois. I should have put my nobility and yearning to be a hero aside. I should've left the country rather than trying to stir up a revolution.

"I almost wish I could let you go back."

I'm not sure I'd have anything to go back to. I'd be lying to myself if I said everything could be as it once was. They'll kill me if I return. They had no problem burning Faye Tibon at the stake to rid the soothsaying evil from Fribois.

King Theodoracius rose again and walked over to the window, where the smell of flowers wafted in through the space. A gentle wind flicked at his brown hair, caressing it lovingly. "There's a storm coming. I can almost smell the rain." He lifted his hand to the window pane, causing his sleeve to slip. "A storm—and along with it, an impending war. That was what your prophecy insinuated, isn't it?"

Her voice was still stuck somewhere in her swollen throat; she opened her mouth, then closed it.

"I'll escort you to your new room," he told her, twisting his body away from the window overlooking the village. He was not fazed by her sudden silence. "I have many guest rooms and I can spare you a second one. And I will make sure that you never cross paths with Obed again."

She bit the inside of her cheek in a feeble attempt to keep tears from slithering down her face. A single one escaped nonetheless. She nodded, wiping at it with the back of her hand. She hated crying in front of people. All she needed to do was to remain strong until she was alone.

King Theodoracius strode to her side and waited for her. She stood up, limping slightly. As they made their way through the corridors, he walked beside her, leaving some distance between them. They walked on in silence and in the dark, with nothing to light the way but the intermittent bursts of starlight from the windows. She shivered, feeling a fear of the dark that she had never experienced before.

Involuntarily, she found herself taking a step closer to the king she loathed.

Other than the occasional guard standing along the corridors, a sword at his hip, the castle was empty to the point of eeriness.

For a fleeting moment, Maarit found herself wondering if King Theodoracius, the prophecy's Infernal Prince, ever got lonely. But she shook her head and allowed the pondering to roll off her back.

When they reached another room—one that didn't have bloodstains on its floor—he opened the door for her, as though he'd forgotten he was the king and that doors were supposed to be opened for him. Maarit swept inside and collapsed on the bed, pulling the blankets over her shivering figure.

There was another pause, tangible and awkward, hanging in the air alongside a myriad of unanswered questions. He broke it with a whisper too gentle to possibly belong to him.

"Once again," he said softly, "my sincerest apologies. I accept your blame. It was my fault. It will not happen again. I will be sure of that."

Her lungs were empty—whatever air they'd held was instantly stolen by his words.

Who is this man?

He lingered hesitantly. Twice, he turned to face her and then turned away again. The third time he did this, his silhouette disappeared from the doorway and the door swung shut.

It was only when he was gone that Maarit allowed herself to succumb to tears. They fell fast, soaking into the soft silk pillowcase.

The dawn would come welcomingly.

With an intrinsic desperation that burrowed under her skin, she needed the light of day to return.