Chapter 4

• By rejecting Myriella as his bride, Corvo had shaken the very foundation of their dynasty.
• The blood of House Tar'us had been considered divinely blessed for nearly four hundred years, ever since their ancestor, Talos the Conqueror, had united seven kingdoms into a single Empire.
• Corvo's father, Emperor Kylset IV, had never been particularly beloved by the people. Like his son, he had been a stern and brooding man, more respected than loved.
• Myriella's father, Lord Adrian Tar'us, had been different.
• The Emperor's younger brother was admired by both the nobility and the common people.
• To prevent unrest—and to silence any rumors of a succession crisis—Kylset, with the support of the Council, had arranged the betrothal of Corvo and Myriella when they were still children.
• And now Corvo had betrayed not only their union, but his father's will.
• This was nothing like Corvo—the disciplined man who had always placed duty and the Empire above everything else, and, above all, who had been fiercely devoted to the memory of his father, Emperor Kylset.
• He was behaving like an entirely different man.
• A stranger.
• For the first time since Corvo's return, Myriella allowed herself to consider a possibility she had been too hurt to entertain.
• What if he had not chosen Ankreta?
• What if he had not chosen to humiliate her?
• The thought made her chest tighten.
• She had spent weeks telling herself that the man who had looked at her as though she were a stranger had simply stopped loving her. That he had come home from war and found someone else. That after fifteen years, after everything they had shared, he had simply decided that she was no longer what he wanted.
• It had been easier to hate him that way.
• But Raides's words would not leave her alone.
• He has changed.
• Not merely in his affections.
• His decisions. His moods. The headaches. The sudden shifts in his temper.
• And it had all begun after the battle.
• The battle where he found Ankreta.
• Myriella closed her eyes.
• She remembered his face when he had looked at her in the courtyard.
• There had been no anger in his eyes. No tenderness, either.
• Only something cold and distant.
• As if he truly did not know her.
• As if I were a stranger.
• Her breath caught.
• What if that was exactly what had happened?
• What if the man who had abandoned her had not been Corvo at all?
• Or, worse—
• What if he had been Corvo, trapped somewhere inside himself, watching helplessly while something else guided his hands and his words?
• Myriella pressed a trembling hand against her chest.
• No.
• She could not allow herself to believe it simply because it hurt less.
• Hope could be more dangerous than despair.
• And yet…
• If Corvo had been enchanted, then his rejection had not been a choice.
• The humiliation had not been a choice.
• Ankreta had not been a choice.
• The realization was almost unbearable.
• Because if it were true, then Myriella had spent all this time grieving a betrayal that had never truly belonged to him.
• And if it were true—
• then Corvo needed help.
• Not punishment.
• Not a crown taken from his head.
• Help.
• She opened her eyes.
• The thought should have frightened her.
• Instead, beneath the anger and the grief, something else stirred.
• Purpose.
• For the first time since the day Corvo returned, Myriella knew exactly what she had to do.
• She would find out what had happened to him.
• And if there was something inside him that did not belong there—
• she would tear it out with her own hands.
• She sat down at her writing desk and pulled a blank sheet of paper toward her.
• Corvo. Ankreta. The battle. The headaches. The sudden change in his behavior.
• She wrote each detail down in a neat, careful hand.
• Then she paused.
• There was one question she could not answer yet: why?
• If Ankreta had enchanted him, then she needed to know what kind of magic she was dealing with. And if the magic had begun on the battlefield, then someone must have seen something. A soldier. An officer. A healer. Anyone.
• Myriella folded the paper and slipped it into the drawer.
• She would not accuse anyone. Not yet.
• First, she would gather information.
• Not rumors whispered by frightened servants. Not speculation from grieving nobles.
• Facts.
• She needed to know what had changed, when it had changed, and who had been close enough to notice.
• And there was one place where she could find the truth without asking questions that might attract attention.
• The Imperial Guard.
• Myriella had spent years cultivating quiet loyalties within the palace. Not enough to threaten anyone, not enough to draw suspicion.
• Just enough to make sure that when she needed to know something, someone would tell her.
• She reached for the bell.
• Jenny brought her tea with a plate of sliced fruit.
• She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
• Myriella picked up a piece of apple and studied her maid's face.
• “Malok?”
• Jenny nodded and lowered her voice.
• “He says the soldiers are unhappy. Both the Guard and, especially, the army. They think the Emperor has betrayed them.”
• She hesitated.
• “They're terrified of the witches. They call them… northern demons.”
• Myriella placed the piece of apple in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
• “Northern demons, you say?”
• She swallowed.
• “Well. That can be useful.”