Theresa enjoyed dancing tremendously. It was easy because Wildwood led her through the movements with quiet competence. She had danced before, of course, but it was better when one had a competent partner that one cared for. She danced once with Thomas but it was not the same.

It also helped when one was not enslaved with their aunt's coercive magic. She brushed the depressing thought aside.

She danced and forced her worries away from the center of her mind.

Then she saw Francine.

Francine was watching her and the thin lipped expression was frightening. Theresa suddenly recalled Francine's command to keep Wildwood at a distance.

Her aunt had threatened him. Theresa stopped suddenly. Another couple of dancers nearly stumbled into her. She muttered her apologies.

"What's the matter?" asked Wildwood.

Of course her change in behavior had not escaped him.

"I need air," Theresa explained, because it was the first excuse to jump into her mind.

"I'll escort you," he offered.

"No!" she gasped. He looked surprised. "I just need a moment to myself."

He frowned and they walked away from the dance floor. He whispered. "I thought that you did not want to be alone. It's safer if someone stays with you."

"I don't want to be alone, but I just need a moment. Please," she begged. Hopefully he would assume it was some female thing and leave her be.

She had to think of some way to pacify her aunt and keep everyone safe.

He still looked puzzled, but he let her go. "I'm going to speak with Her Majesty for a few minutes," he told her.

Theresa nodded and walked the other way on shaky legs. A glance backward showed him go over to the queen. There was an attractive confidence to his steps, probably because he did not know entirely know of the threat hanging over him.

Apparently the queen decided she wanted to dance, because Theresa saw them move towards the crowd of elegant dancers. It was a world that could not be hers.

Theresa turned her gaze away and strode for the door that lead out into the gardens. She walked along the lightened path until she found a bench against some small trees and she collapsed onto it. She propped her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees.

It was not the proper pose of a lady, it was the position of a young woman who had no good options left to her.

She did not know what to do. The path was dark but for the lighting of the path. The sun was nearly gone for the day and the sky was varying shades of rich blue.

She could hear crickets chirping somewhere outside of the gardens and she tried to find some sort of order in her mind.

There were a few facts that she could grasp on to.

There was no doubt Francine was vindictive enough to do whatever it might take to keep Theresa in line. Theresa cared about her sister and more surprisingly she cared about Wildwood. She knew that Francine would be willing to hurt them.

She could not pretend that everything was going to be fine any longer. The look in Francine's eyes frightened her. Francine was surely plotting something and she was afraid for the others as much as for herself.

It left her with only one course of action. She would go to Francine and surrender. At least she could live with the knowledge that they were safely away.

Theresa felt nothing but grim acceptance as she rose from the bench. Perhaps if she was compliant, her imprisonment would not be as bad as it had been.

She would not wait another moment. Theresa put her hand on the arm of the bench to help push herself up.

"Don't move, my lady," said a rough voice behind her. His voice tugged at something in the back of her memory. Was he one of the many people at court?

Something sharp was against her back, almost cutting her.

Theresa's heart pounded frantically, her throat was thick, and her stomach was lead.

"Come back slowly," he said, pulling her arm with one hand and keeping the other on the weapon he was holding against her. Again, she had no good option as she moved slowly backwards. All too soon they were out of sight of the ballroom and out of sight of potential help.

"Move quickly now. Don't give me a reason to use my knife. I would be all too happy to, my lady."

"Why? Who are you?" she whispered shakily.

"That's none of your concern, though we've met before," he said smoothly as he steered her along the wall of the castle.

"What do you want with me? Where are you taking me?" she demanded in a voice low enough he would hopefully not feel the need to harm her.

"Keep your mouth shut," he hissed.

And then she placed his voice, the man who had been searching for her and Daphne on the roadway. He was her aunt's thug, and he had Theresa in his grasp.

Theresa could feel herself shaking, but she kept her back arched as far from the threat at her back as possible. She could feel sweat beading on her forehead. "Did Francine tell you to do this? It's a mistake, she would not want you to do this."

He chuckled. "That's where you are wrong." They came to a door and he wrenched it open. He pulled her back inside the castle. It did not make sense, but nonetheless he shoved her inside.

"Please! I need to talk to my aunt! I've decided to cooperate with whatever she wants me to do!" she cried.

"You'll get to talk with her soon enough I dare say." His tone was mocking. "Go up the stairs."

Fear clutched her and she obeyed. "Please, don't do this," she begged and turned her head to meet his gaze.

His face was harsh. It was not a good sign that Francine had ordered him to abduct her. She would probably be lucky to only be under Francine's compulsion spell once again at the end of it. "Please!" she cried, looking into the eye that was not obscured by his eye patch.

His expression changed to rage. "You would beg for mercy after what you have done to me?" he asked furiously and he shoved her hard against the wall. The breath was knocked out of her and she struggled to regain her balance on the spiral stairs.

"I've never done anything to you!" she protested, suddenly afraid that he would throw her down the stairs on purpose. She grasped the railing behind her.

"Never!?" he raged and he savagely ripped the eye patch off his face. "Look at this! Look at what you have done!"

The eyeball under the patch was yellowed and the iris was milky. There were four deep scratches running along the skin around and a notch across his eyelid.

Theresa stared in horror at the gruesome sight.

"I would never—" Theresa tried to say, but he dropped the patch back into place and slapped her full across the face.

"I never did that to you!" she yelled and hoped that someone heard her. He slapped her again and Theresa sagged against the stairs. The side of her face where he hit her throbbed.

His glare was frightening. "If you scream again, you will die the next moment," he hissed.

"My aunt would not want you to kill me," she said raggedly.

"Maybe, but I'll deal with that when the time comes. She knows what you did and how much I want revenge. Perhaps I should destroy your eye as you did mine," he hissed.

Theresa was torn between cowering in the hope he would not assault her further and the desire to claim her innocence again.

Then Theresa understood. "You were the dog?" she asked quietly in an attempt not to make him angrier.

She already knew the answer. She still remembered the dog's unnerving gaze and could see it reflected in the man before her.

"Lady Francine transformed me in order to track you. I agreed, little did I know you would destroy my sight," he said in an oddly even tone.

Theresa decided that she should keep him talking and calm. She hoped help would arrive in time.

Perhaps even Francine would be a marginally more welcome sight than this monster. "I didn't know. I was afraid and the cat took over. You were lost in the mind of the dog. You would have killed me if it had not."

"If it had not?" he asked, and his voice was rising again in anger.

Theresa slid backwards carefully until she had no more room to go.

"I was an expert archer and you have rendered me nearly useless! You've destroyed my sight. You destroyed my means to pay my debts. Now I have to rely on the mercy of people who have none," he growled and Theresa was reminded of the dog that he had been.

His rage and hatred were palatable. Would he  She could not count on mercy from this beast in human form.

Theresa slowly dragged herself to her feet. He still held the knife in his hand and she could see that he also had a bow and a quiver strapped to his back. She was above him on the stairs, he blocked her way down. She would have to go up.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her mind working frantically.

"Not as sorry as—Hey! Stop!" he growled as she pushed him and he teetered backwards. The knife slid across her arm drawing blood, but she barely even noticed.

She ran up the stairs, hoping that there would be an exit to the parapets somewhere above. A moment later he regained his balance and was chased her.

Her memory kept reviewing the terrible night in the woods when the dogs, when he had chased her. She was almost to a door when she felt her skirts caught in his grip. She kept rushing forward and they ripped, but he had her and dragged her back towards him.

She struggled and then there was a sudden painful pressure that radiated out from the back of her skull.

Everything went still and black.