Elias slumped in his chair, staring into the fire as he listened to the sound of the revel outside. Laughter and music swelled up from the greensward behind Malitech's mansion, the smell of bonfires sharp in the wintery air.

The library was dark and quiet, a refuge for his throbbing head from the whirl and clamor outside. Elias knew he was supposed to be enjoying himself. As Malitech had put it, this was a celebration for both of them. For the new alliance and the turning of wheels into motion after a long and anxious wait.

He couldn't ignore the vague feeling of dread that had plagued him over the week since he had met Malitech's "secret weapon", as he called the death maiden. Igraine, she said her name was though a creature such as she was seemed...beyond something as common and mortal as a name, somehow.

Malitech practically revered her. Indeed he was more courteous and respectful to her than he was to anyone. Elias couldn't tell if it was because he feared her, or if the prince was simply so enamored of the power she wielded and offered that he was willing to set aside his pride to please her. Either way, Igraine's word tended to be law and she acted more like the lady of Malitech's house than a counselor or even a mystic.

She was the reason behind the festivities. They had been her idea and in her honor, though Elias had yet to actually see her join in the merrymaking. 

The pop of a log in the fireplace startled him. He glanced at the clock and swore, realizing he had lingered overlong in the peaceful confines of the library. Downing the last of a glass of water he'd had brought by a servant, Elias stood and stretched. His body ached from the many hunts and rides the prince had hosted over the past few days.

Briefly, he wondered about the consequences of slipping quietly to his room and sleeping for the remainder of the week.

He dismissed the notion with longing and turned to leave the library. The heavy door groaned as he pushed it open, the sound reverberating through the entry hall. It was nearly as dark as the library, only illuminated by a few sconces along the walls. Elias' boots echoed an uneven rhythm as he limped across the marble, heading slowly toward the main door and the awaiting winter night.

A sudden chill stole over him, frosting his breath and setting his bones to aching. A footstep overlapped his and Elias turned, his eyes sweeping the hall before following the stairs. There, halfway to the top, Igraine stood watching him. Elias met her misty eyes, which glowed silver in the twilight of the room.

"Come," she said, the black silk of her gown rustling as she turned and ascended the stairs. 

Elias didn't move. Igraine did not look back, obviously confident that he would follow.

And he did, after glancing once more at the doors that separated him from the life outside and trapped him with the death here. It seemed better not to provoke her ire, even if he would rather face down a hurricane in a rowboat than be alone with her.

With a sigh, Elias limped up the stairs, turning to the left and following her down a hall leading deeper into a wing of the mansion. He slowed again when she pushed open the door of the rooms at the very end of the hall. Her personal rooms.

Like she could sense his hesitation, she called, "Come, Elias."

His lip lifted in a sneer. Would he always be someone's dog, called to heel?

The sneer died when he realized that, yes, he would. Unless something changed. Unless he forced something to change. With that thought, Elias strode through the open door, repressing a shiver as he stepped into the dark confines of Igraine's rooms. 

No fire warmed the space and all the windows were open to the winter night. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Death and cold went hand in hand. He lingered just inside the door, squinting into the gloom. By the grace of a full moon, he was able to see the dim outlines of the furniture, but he could no longer see Igraine. 

"Light a candle," he said. "If you would."

A chuckle came from the far side of the room, silvery and sinister. "Malitech does not mind the dark."

Malitech doesn't have the sense to fear you. He very nearly blurted those words aloud, but managed to bite his tongue. Instead, he bowed, sure she could see him in the dim light coming from the hallway. "I'm afraid I do, my lady."

A soft hum came from her, followed by a rustle. "Afraid," she said on a sigh. "Yes, you are."

There was a rasp and a flare of light as she struck a match—one of the sulfur-covered sticks imported from Soria—and touched it to a candle sitting on a table in the middle of the room. The light grew then dimmed as the flame settled upon the candle's wick, throwing a circle of illumination upon a single armchair before the hearth.

"Sit, Elias. I wish to speak with you."

"I would rather you didn't." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he stood frozen, astonished by himself. Elias closed his eyes, waiting to be struck down by a wave of her icy power, but it never came.

Instead, the witch laughed.

The clear sound, filled with mirth, surprised him enough to force his eyes open. Elias' brow furrowed as Igraine stepped into the pool of light from the candle and sank into the chair. She propped her sharp chin on a fist, leaning forward to stare at him with those unnerving eyes.

Slowly, she bit her lip. "Is this form not pleasing to you?"

"I...what?"

Igraine waved a hand over her slender body, gestured to her beautiful face, her long, raven hair. "Am I not beautiful to you, Elias?"

Elias balked, unsure of how to answer. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was beautiful and terrible like an oncoming storm. Finally, he settled on the safest answer.

"I've seen few to match you, my lady."

She smiled, revealing those sharpened canines. "You have such nice manners, Elias. I do adore that in a man." She snapped her fingers at him. "Come closer."

Sensing that any hesitation would not be met with pleasure, Elias approached her, unable to speed his steps no matter how hard he tried. The light was little comfort in the presence of a monster indifferent to it. When he stood just on the other side of the table, she stood. He froze, wary as a rabbit beneath the gaze of a wolf.

Igraine walked around the table. When she stretched out a pale hand, fingers grazing the line of his jaw, he couldn't stop himself from flinching away. A smile played at the corner of her mouth. 

"Handsome," she murmured, lightly gripping his jaw and turning his head first one way, then the other. "Noble blood and..." she hummed—a contented sound. "Hungry."

A shudder rippled through him, and she dropped her hand. Elias' mouth was dry, something hot and slippery churning in his gut. He wanted to leave, but didn't know how.

She turned, crooking a finger at him in a silent order to follow. Elias did as he was bade, balking only when he reached the door to her bedchamber. This room was even darker than the last, with not even the grace of moonlight. He could hear the soft sounds of her movement across the room.

"Do you know what it is that you want, Elias?"

The question startled him. Light flared as the witch lit another candle, casting illumination over a messy bed and clothes scattered on the floor. He blinked in the sudden brightness. "My lady?" he asked, all other words failing him.

Igraine looked at him, one dark eyebrow raised. Then, she lifted her hands and began to loosen the stays at the front of her dress. Elias averted his eyes just as the silk slipped from her shoulders, hissing softly to the ground.

He heard the soft pad of footsteps on stone. His shoulders slumped in relief when they went past him, heading for what he hoped was the dressing room. For a long time, the silence of the room was interrupted only by the soft rustle of cloth.

"Help me."

Elias glanced in the direction of her voice. She smiled at him, then turned, pulling her long, black hair over a shoulder to expose her back. When he didn't approach, she said, "With the buttons, Elias."

He clenched his hands into fists, taking a moment to master himself. "Surely you have maids for such a task?" He licked his dry lips, desperate for any excuse to not approach the witch.

Igraine shook her head, combing slender finger through her hair. "No."

"I'm sure I could find some."

"No."

The steel and command in her tone sent ice rushing through his blood and he darted to her side. His fingers shook as he started on the bronze buttons traveling up the back of her dress. The blue velvet was soft against his fingers, but cold to the touch.

"Thank you," she said, voice once more soft. A laugh shook her, shuddering through his fingers. "If you're really that curious, I'm no longer allowed maids."

His curiosity warred with his horror, and won out. "Why is that, my lady?"

She tittered, turning to face him. "I killed the first pair when they refused to warm my bed." Her face became thoughtful. "The second when one of the girls pulled my hair while dressing it. The third..."

Nausea churned Elias' stomach as she frowned, looking puzzled. Then, she shrugged her thin shoulders. "I forget, but it matters not." She waved an airy hand. "All I remember is after the third set, Malitech refused to give me more."

That surprised Elias enough to make him ask, "Why is that?"

Igraine blinked slowly, a scowl settling on her pale lips. "Apparently, the bodies might draw attention. Ridiculous."

Struggling to master his rising horror, Elias gave a stiff bow. "If that is all?"

The death maiden shook her head, giving him a coy look. "Not quite." 

Her cold fingers clasped his wrist, and she jerked him with startling strength toward the dressing room. Elias tried to pull away gently, worried he might snap her delicate wrist, but to no avail. She released him only after they had crossed the threshold. Again, she struck a match, lighting a small candle sitting on a vanity piled with jewels and precious metal.

"Do you know how to at least braid hair?" she asked, sitting on a stool before the vanity, peering at herself in the dark glass of the mirror.

He actually did—a result of having three sisters—but he wasn't about to say any such thing. Intent on making his escape, he started to shake his head but froze when the witch looked at him over her shoulder.

Her silver eyes flashed and narrowed with menace. "Don't lie to me, Elias. I do not suffer well liars or fools. You seem like neither. Do not prove me wrong." She turned back around. "I don't like to be wrong."

Unfortunately, you already are. Elias took a steadying breath, then stepped up behind the maiden, gathering her hair in his hands.

Silky and full as it appeared, it was strangely brittle against his skin. Keeping his eyes trained on the dark strands, he said, "I'm not very skilled. If you want anything complicated, I will have to disappoint you."

She shook her head and he immediately loosened his fingers, remembering why she had killed her second pair of maids. The strands slithered in his palms, feeling like stalks of long-dead grass. 

"Not complicated." She bit her lip, staring once more into the mirror. "Soft. Make me appear...young. Sentimental. Foolish and in love."

His hands went slack again, and he blinked at the witch's reflection. Her lips were pursed in thought, then she nodded, her face smoothing with confidence. She met Elias' eyes in the mirror, laughing at his confusion.

"Didn't the prince tell you?" She tilted her head. "He intended to tell you."

Elias looked down at Igraine's hair, then leaned forward to grab a boar-bristle brush. 

He had a vague recollection of Malitech speaking to him the night before last. However, at the time he'd been more preoccupied with reaching his rooms and the bronze-haired noble's daughter who'd promised she'd be there waiting for him. That, plus the perhaps over-large quantity of wine he had consumed that night had made him less than attentive.

Igraine sighed softly when he began to section out her hair without answering. "Forgetful boy," she murmured, leaning back toward Elias as he braided her hair over the crown of her head. "Did you not wonder what all the pageantry was for?"

Truthfully, he hadn't. Not deeply, at any rate. Malitech was in a rare, fine mood and he didn't need a reason beyond that. Elias had just been relieved that the bloodiest entertainment Malitech had ordered were a few gladiator fights. 

Igraine clicked her tongue, tilting her head to the side as Elias finished the braid and pinned it into place. Gently, he plucked a few tendrils free so they curled softly around her face. The change was rather astonishing, turning her from a wild thing of the north to any maiden you might find sitting in her mother's parlor.

"Of course you didn't wonder," she finally said, voice heavy with disappointment. She turned her head back and forth, looking at herself in the glass. "But it would seem you have other uses."

Elias stepped back as she rose from her seat. He couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "Why in love?"

Black gems sparkled like stars as she lifted a pair of onyx earrings from the pile of jewels on the vanity. She held them to her ears, eyed herself, then shook her head.

"Pearls," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the door.

Igraine lifted a slim, dark brow.

He shrugged. "You wanted to look soft. Pearls have no edges and a delicate color, and they're often the first jewels given to a young lady."

"Other uses indeed," she said, poking through her jewelry. "For that, I shall answer your question, Elias." After a soft sound of victory, she lifted a pair of pearl earrings from the glittering mess. She turned to face him after the earrings were securely in place. "All of this, it's not a simple fete to assuage the prince's fey mood. It is an announcement."

A chill slid down his spine, gathering in his gut. But he had to ask. "An announcement of what?"

Igraine straightened the long sleeves of her gown, smiling a secret sort of smile. "Should I keep the surprise?" she mused.

"After I've served such purpose?" Elias said dryly, then flinched. It was most dangerous to forget himself with this woman.

But Igraine simply laughed, sitting back down on the vanity stool. She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. Still with that coy little smile, she said, "A betrothal announcement."

For a moment, the words bounced around Elias' head, meaningless and transient. Then, they hit bedrock and he staggered back, mouth gaping. "B-Betrothal?" he stammered. "To who?"

She gave him a droll look. "You know the answer to that, Elias. Don't be dull. I don't believe it suits you."

The sudden compliment took him by surprise, backhanded as it might be. Struggling to keep his breathing even, Elias bowed his head. "I should offer congratulations, yet I am compelled to ask why?"

That silver, icy laugh issued forth again. "Why does any woman get married?"

"Begging your pardon, my lady," he swallowed hard against a dry throat, still thoroughly blindsided, "but I doubt you do things as any ordinary woman would."

A deep hum rippled the air, pressing against him. Elias stood stock still, certain if he looked down, he'd find himself wreathed in that black magic of hers. Then it withdrew and Igraine turned back toward the mirror, grabbing a cosmetic pot from the edge of the vanity.

"Perceptive, when you wish to be," she said, again startling him. She began to dab at her lips, turning them to a deep, living pink. "A child, Elias. I wish for a child and have deemed Malitech a suitable partner in that pursuit."

"Really?" Elias asked, unable to conceal his disbelief.

Igraine smiled slightly, applying a brush to her high cheekbones, sweeping color into her face. "I do not require him to raise the child. But his proximity to the throne is rather...alluring."

Elias kept his face perfectly still. Just what does a witch from the north need with the Metian throne... Aside from the obvious?

Igraine put the brush down, evaluating herself in the mirror. Apparently pleased, she turned and stood. "Well?" she asked, gesturing to herself.

Elias' gaze flickered to hers, then away, something black and oily filling his chest.

"Is there anything else you require from me, my lady?" he said, only managing a whisper.

After a long silence, Igraine walked past him. "Yes," she said as she slipped from the dressing room. "I believe I might."