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She pulled away so she could see his face.
He deserved to know the truth. She was going to have a baby—and he was the father. The king wanted to keep it for his own. He wanted to bring Perchta back from Verloren, and he wanted to gift her the newborn child that was growing in Serilda’s womb.
Their child.
But she thought of the children with the holes in their chests. How much they’d already suffered.
If the king ever found out she had not lived up to their agreement, those children would be made to suffer for it. He would never let their spirits be free.
She chose her words carefully, watching Gild’s reaction, hoping that he might be able to see the truth hidden in her lies.
“I managed to convince him that I cannot spin gold anymore, but that … my child, when I have a child, will inherit Hulda’s gift.”
His brow furrowed. “He believed that?”
“People believe what they want to believe,” she said. “Dark ones must not be so different.”
“But what does that have to do with …” His eyes darkened with dismay. When he spoke again, there was a new edge in his voice. “Why does he wish to marry you?”
She shuddered at the implication. At the lie she needed him to believe. “So that I can have a child.”
“Hischild?”
When she didn’t answer, he snarled and started to pull away. Serilda tightened her grip on his shirt, clinging to him.
“You cannot think that I want this,” she snapped. “I should hope you know me better than that.”
He hesitated. The flood of anger gave way to hurt. But then, finally—horror.
Understanding.
“He’s already trapped you. Hasn’t he?”
Biting the inside of her cheek, Serilda pulled away from him so she could lift the sleeve of the dressing gown, showing him the hole where the arrow had pierced her.
His expression crumbled. “Part of me feels like this should make me happy, but I don’t … I don’t want this for you. I would never want this for you.”
She swallowed. She’d hardly had time to think of what it would mean. To be the queen, locked always behind the veil in this soulless castle, her only company the undead, the dark ones … and Gild.
He was right. A part of her might have found some comfort in that, but it was buried so deep it was hard to know for sure. This would not be a life, not one she would ever have chosen for herself.
And she had to assume it would be short-lived. Once the baby was born, and the king saw that Serilda still had no magic, he would rid himself of her without hesitation. He would take her newborn, and if he was successful in capturing a god and wishing Perchta back to this world, he would give that innocent little life to her. The mistress of cruelty and violence and death.
Except?…?
Strangely, unfathomably, this child was already spoken for. She had already promised her firstborn to another.
What did that mean for her bargain with the king?
What did her bargain with the king mean for Gild?
“Gild, there’s something else I have to tell you.”
His eyebrows lifted. “There’smore?”
“There’s more.” She took his face into her hands. Studying him.
He tensed. “What is it?”
