The cell stank of blood and burnt flesh.

Philippa had long since stopped screaming. The pain was a living thing now, a writhing, molten creature nesting in the hollows where her eyes had been. The roughspun bandage—stolen from some dead guard’s tunic—was already soaked through, clinging to her face like a second skin. She sat slumped against the damp stone wall, her fingers tracing the grooves between the bricks, counting them like prayer beads.

One. Two. Three.

The footsteps outside made her pause.

Heavier than the gaolers'. Slower. Purposeful.

A key turned in the lock.

She didn’t lift her head.

"Come to gloat, Radovid?"

Her voice was raw, stripped of its usual honeyed menace. The words scraped out of her throat like broken glass.

The door creaked open. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of torch smoke and the faintest hint of lavender soap—ridiculous, that he still bothered with such niceties.

She heard him step inside. Heard the rustle of his embroidered coat as he crouched before her.

"Or perhaps you’ve come to finish the job?" She tilted her chin up, baring her ruined face. "A knife across the throat? A hot poker to the heart?"

A beat of silence.

Somewhere in the darkness, a rat skittered across the straw.

"No. You always did prefer... creative solutions."

Her fingers twitched in her lap. She could feel his gaze on her—studying, assessing. The way he used to watch her during lessons, back when she’d been the one holding the spoon.

"Tell me," she murmured, "do I look as pathetic as you imagined? Or does reality pale next to your fantasies?"

The straw shifted as he leaned closer. She caught the scent of wine on his breath—Toussanti red, unless her nose deceived her.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance."

A whisper now, almost tender.

"But you didn’t. And now here we are."

Her hand shot out, grasping blindly. Her nails found wool—his sleeve, perhaps—and dug in.

"You think this changes anything?" A cracked laugh. "I don’t need eyes to see you for what you are. A frightened boy playing at king."

She released him, sagging back against the wall.

"Run along now. Your court awaits."

Her smile was a red and ragged thing.

"We’ll talk again. Soon."