Camille looked around the room.

She'd expected it to be dusty, she thought, like a tomb. But Isaac's things were polished: a pair of black boots; a folded red jacket; a blade, covered in what looked like golden rust. A servant must have been cleaning the room. She crossed to the fireplace, running a finger over the mantelpiece; shadows flickered in the grate like ghostly flames.

"It's odd," a voice said. "To see it like this."

Camille didn't turn. "You might as well come in."

Ryne stepped forward. Moonlight flickered across his face, and Camille thought of a chessboard they'd once owned, all black-and-white with emeralds that glimmered on the king's crown. Ryne picked up the knife. Examined it.

"You put on quite the show tonight," Camille said quietly. "Our archery instructor would be proud."

Ryne set down the knife. "I've arranged to have another hat made for Eris. I'll present it to him publicly, along with an apology."

"Do you think that'll be enough?" Camille asked.

Ryne didn't answer. He crossed to the open window, resting his arms against the sill. He'd stripped down to a white shirt and waistcoat — his usual evening attire — and the sleeves billowed in the breeze.

"It's becoming worse." His voice was low. "My hands, my lungs, my heart... all of it feels like it's burning up. I find myself in the middle of the corridor at night with no memory of how I got there." The night breeze ruffled his hair. "It won't be long now. You must prepare yourself, Cami."

A lump rose in her throat. "Don't say that."

"This is what you agreed to," Ryne said.

She shook her head. "I can't do it."

"Yes, you can."

"They don't respect me."

"They will," Ryne said, turning. "Give it time." His face softened. Or maybe that was just a trick of the light, Camille thought, melting away the harsh angles. "You'll be a good queen, Camille. Kind. Fair. Don't let them change that about you."

A sour taste filled her mouth. Camille touched her necklace, feeling the cool stone slide between her fingers. You don't know, she wanted to say. The things I've done. The people I've hurt. She dropped her hand.

"And then what?" Camille asked. "What happens after you..." She swallowed. "After I take over? What happens when Eris challenges me? I have no legitimate claim, Ryne. No reason why I should be allowed to sit on the throne."

"No," Ryne said. "You don't. But our child will."

She stared.

Blood roared in her ears, and Camille had to grip the wooden bedpost to keep from swaying. Had Ryne just said... did he think...?

A child?

"Did I...?" Her throat felt dry. "Did I hear you correctly?"

Ryne's mouth quirked. "Don't worry, Camille. It'll be a child in name only. I don't mind who you choose as the father."

"You want me to...?"

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. Ryne's smile faded.

"Surely you knew that," he said.

She hadn't.

Camille sunk onto the bed. She thought of that chessboard again, of lazy summer afternoons in the garden when she and Ryne had sprawled on their stomachs in the grass and moved the pawns around the checkered squares. Ryne would always fetch a lemonade ten minutes before the game of chess ended.

"How do you know?" she'd once asked. "How can you be sure that the game will end soon?"

Ryne had appeared genuinely baffled. "There are thirty-nine nine possibilities, Cami. In every scenario, I win. Can't you see that?"

She couldn't.

Still couldn't.

Ryne's greatest strength, she thought warily, was how quickly his mind worked; his greatest weakness was assuming that other people's minds worked the same way.

Ryne picked up an iron poker. "Ah," he said lightly. "I've done it again, haven't I? I've been a presumptuous ass."

"No, it's fine," Camille said automatically. "I just..." She picked at a stray thread on the bedsheets. "You realize that means the Delafort line will come to an end. You won't have a legitimate heir. Not by blood."

Ryne's face hardened. "Good."

"They'll need to look like you," Camille said. "The person that I..." She cleared her throat. "The father."

"I know," Ryne said. "I have several candidates in mind."

Of course he did, Camille thought; she should have expected that. "Oh."

Ryne leaned against the poker. "I can show you the list, if you'd like."

"Ah."

"But only," Ryne added, "if you should wish to see them."

"Right."

He put the poker back in the bucket. "It'll have to wait until Eris departs. I had hoped to discuss it with you this morning, but I couldn't find you."

She waited for Ryne to ask where she'd been. But he didn't. Then again, Camille thought, Ryne respected secrets; he wouldn't expect you to share information unless you were getting something in return.

"Speaking of Eris," Camille said, "you bated him. Tonight at dinner." She folded her hands in her lap. "You dangled Anna in front of him like a piece of meat."

She half-expected Ryne to deny it, but he shrugged. "Yes."

"Why?"

His eyes were twin green flames in the darkness. "Have you ever seen a street magician perform a trick, Cami?" She shook her head, and Ryne's lip curled. "He waves something shiny in front of you as he slips the card out from under his sleeve. That's how he deceives you; you're not paying attention."

"And Anna is your something shiny?" she asked.

"Precisely."

"Ryne." She couldn't keep the wariness out of her voice. "What are you planning?"

"Do you really want to know?"

They assessed one another. Black knight against white rook. King against Queen. It was a game of chess, Camille thought tiredly; Ryne's whole life was a game of chess.

"We're meant to be a team now," she said.

"Is that what we are?" Ryne sounded wry. "A team?"

"Yes."

"I don't—"

He coughed.

It was a bright, sharp sound, like several piano keys struck with a hammer. Cold fear sliced through her. She rose, but Ryne held out a hand, gripping the mantlepiece for support. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Do you need a healer?"

"No—" The sound was a rasp. "No healer."

"Somnium?"

"No," Ryne gasped. "No more— no more somnium."

Camille waited, shifting her weight as Ryne coughed. She hated this. The standing around. The feeling of being useless. She'd spent the last few months scouring the library, searching for any sort of cure — any mention of goddesses and curses — but there'd been nothing.

Ryne sucked in air, and it was a terrible, wet, rattling noise. Camille dug her fingernails into her palm.

She waited.

Years of history filled the space between them. Ryne, wading into the stream to catch fish with his bare hands; Ryne, patiently showing Penny how to fold paper cranes that they threw from the highest tower on the Midsummer Feast. Please don't die, she thought desperately. Please don't leave me.

Not, Camille thought, that she would ever say that to him; Ryne hated displays of emotion. She pretended to study a painting of a horse on the wall, wiping discreetly at her eyes. Then she turned and changed the subject.

"Which guards will you choose?" she asked. "To escort Anna to dinner? They'll need to be trustworthy."

Ryne's voice was hoarse. "I'll escort her myself."

"Do you think that's wise?"

He was still gripping the mantelpiece. "I can handle her."

"If you say so," Camille said.

She kept her voice conversational, but Ryne went very still. A bad sign, as far as things went. Camille turned for the door; she was in no mood to argue tonight, and she suspected that Ryne wasn't, either.

"I should get some sleep," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She paused at the threshold, taking one last glance at the room. A knot formed in her chest. The air still smelled of him, she thought, all musk and vanilla and forged iron. Ryne's face was unreadable.

"He'll come back," Ryne said.

She looked away. "I know."

"Not for me," he added. "For you."

"Perhaps," Camille said.

She didn't believe that. Not really. Isaac would come back for Anna. Unbidden, the image of them kissing at the edge of the lake rose in her mind, and Camille closed her eyes. When Ryne spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

"Isaac thinks the world of you," Ryne said. "He cares for you like a sister. I've never seen him so protective of someone."

Camille swallowed.

"Yes," she said, feeling hollow. "Lucky me."