Albrecht had not forgotten his first ride out of the woods on the back of a were. He’d been a boy in pain, humiliated by his fall. Once again, he was astride a were. But this time he was bringing home a queen. He felt neither pain nor humiliation. In his father’s stories, this would be a moment of triumph for what was good and right.

When they arrived at the stable, Albrecht left Jutta behind. A groom could tend her wounds. Greta was surly and silent. Her bare feet were dirty, her soles rough. There hadn’t been time for her to get shoes, of course. But he wouldn’t have let her put them on anyway. Shoes only make it easier for a girl to run.

He wrapped a rope around her and tugged to remind her who was the hunter and who was the quarry.

Then he lifted her chin. “You might express some gratitude that you’re still alive.”

“Or I might not.” She pulled away.

This was far more spark than she’d ever displayed in the kitchen. He loved it. She was worthy. His people would be elated at the prospect of a beautiful new queen and—shortly thereafter—an heir. If any resistance or doubt remained alive among them, this would crush it, bloodlessly.

“Did you know,” he said, “that this finger is filled with a poison? I can use it to take away your pain. I can also use it to kill you.”

“Why would you kill me after going to all this trouble to steal me?”

He laughed. She was right, of course. Beautiful, fiery, and smart. His plan had been brilliant. As they made their way to the tower, Albrecht couldn’t resist pointing out his inventions. “If you wind the duck’s key, its beak opens, and you can feed it morsels. It’s very lifelike; it even defecates afterward. I was just a boy when I made it. Here we have iron ravens that can fling stones the size of plums. Their accuracy isn’t perfect, but they are certainly terrifying, which is enough for me.”

Greta said nothing. He thought she perhaps might resent being tied up, especially because the servants kept staring as they passed. He’d have to speak with them about this rudeness.

“If you promise to behave, I’ll untie you,” he said.

She gazed straight ahead.

“I cannot read your mind,” he said.

“I’m quite sure you can guess what I’m thinking.”

He paused in front of a clockwork man made of steel. It didn’t do everything he’d hoped, but it had one amusing trick. “That one will kick you if you touch it. Would you like to see?”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

“You won’t always find it so difficult to be good,” he said. “I am certain.”

He led her by the rope into his workroom. The forge had not been lit in days, so it was not sweltering. He’d also emptied the rat cages, flinging rat after rat out the window, so she wouldn’t be able to see his progress there. Several of his best stuffed specimens were on display, though. A boar, an eagle, and a collection he thought she would like best: a family of ducklings, some of which he’d fitted with tiny shoes. He might make a wedding gift of those.

He watched her take in the room. Noticed the way her gaze rested on his cabinet of mechanical devices. It filled him with pride.

He picked up a small one. “This one crushes thumbs. Your brother didn’t like it very much.”

He held up a metal mask shaped like a rat. “Would you like to see how this works?”

She didn’t answer. Still, the line of her jaw was pleasing when it was set like that. Strong and shapely. He smoothed a strand of hair that had come loose from her spectacular braid, tucking the end behind her ear. It was a perfect ear, small, full of detail, lit pink by the sun at the edges. If only he were able to build something so fine.

He felt an urge to bite her. He didn’t. But he desperately wanted to make her cry out, to make her beautiful face twist in pain. To remind her that she was alive. That they were alive, together.

“Please, sit.” He guided her into the chair in the middle of the room, removed the rope that bound her, and strapped her right wrist to the armrest before she realized what he was doing. She stood, struggling, and that made it easy for him to secure her left ankle too. He considered fastening all four straps, but she wouldn’t be going anywhere. There was no need for such effort.

As she strained against the straps, he pressed the mask to her face, tightening the bands against the back of her head. He stuffed a spiked ball through the mouth hole and sealed a little door over it.

“I know that it’s difficult for you to breathe,” he said. “But there is a point to that. The point is for you to keep still.”

She blinked through the eye slits. Her deep blue eyes were like gems.

“This is called a scold’s bridle,” he said. “It’s designed to keep a nasty woman quiet. If you try to say anything, your tongue will be sliced open. But perhaps you’ve already discovered that.”

She gagged. Blood dripped down her chin.

“Careful now,” he told her. “If you vomit, it will be unpleasant for us both.”

He went to his desk, knowing she could still see him. He lifted the metal box that had taken his finger.

“This device kills rats,” Albrecht said. “When it’s working properly, the head comes clean off.” He showed her his hand. “Other things too.”

Then he set down the trap, unlocked a cabinet, and removed a small box.

“I was dismayed at first to lose my finger, as you might imagine. But I’ve since come to realize I can design a much better finger than nature can. And that is my ambition. To be a great king by doing what men do best. We build.”

He pulled the wrinkled remains of his finger from the box. Then he returned to Greta, holding it close to her face. It had gone soft and smelled of the alcohol he’d soaked it in. “Look at this. Pathetic, is it not?”

Behind the mask, her eyes grew shiny. He set the severed finger on her lap. Her left hand, still free, batted it away. Then he took both of her hands in his.

“Would you like me to remove the mask?”

Greta nodded, a tiny gesture.

To show her that he was a merciful man, he removed it. And then he wiped the blood from her chin.

“You will be good,” he said. “You will do as I ask. All will be well.”

She swallowed. Blood, he imagined. But also pride and all manner of other things that would only cause them problems. She had learned her first lesson. She had earned a prize. He took her to her chamber, which was across the hall from his.

And then he locked her inside.

The kitchen staff grew quiet when Albrecht entered. It had been this way since he was a boy. But, unless he was imagining it, they were quieter than usual.

He cleared his throat. “I will be requiring food. Prepare a tray.”

“Of course,” the cook said. “For one?”

He could never remember her name. In his head, he called her Haddock Face.

“For two.” Word of Greta’s return would have made it to the kitchen. Haddock Face was testing him, but not as slyly as she thought. Hands shaking, she arranged bread and meat and cheese while he watched. She filled a pitcher with cider.

“Will that do, Your Majesty?”

He examined the arrangement. None of the usual delights was present. He supposed burning the farms had led to some scarcity. A shame but it had to be done. Ursula and her talk of treaties made it clear she would never agree to the reunification of the kingdom.

He grunted and brought the tray to the place his parents took their morning meal when his mother was still alive. He unlocked Greta’s door and brought her in. She stepped away from him, moving near the window.

“It is a very fine view,” he said. “A fine view and a far drop.”

His heart quailed at the thought of falling. It always did. What a stupid thing, beating hearts. He hated having one. If he could have swapped in a reliable clockwork mechanism to keep himself alive, an iron heart, he would have in a moment. “We should eat. You are hungry, I am sure.”

Greta looked at him impassively, crossed her arms, and then returned her gaze to the kingdom below.

“You’ll do as I say,” he said. His heart was still pounding, and her disobedience filled him with a rush of desire, not to have her, but to show her who was in control.

“I did, and you locked me into a room.”

“Your room,” he said.

“If I am locked into a room, what does it matter whether it’s mine?”

“You left me once before. You will not do it again. You will do as I say.” He wanted to punish her.

She narrowed her eyes. “I do not wish to.”

“You do not wish to.” As if she were in a position to make wishes. He grabbed her arm. “Do I look like some sort of wish-granting hobgoblin?”

“Do not ask me what you look like,” she said. “You will not like my answer.”

He laughed. Now she was being ridiculous. He knew full well the measure of his beauty as a man. He was the fairest in the land. Even a missing finger could not diminish his appeal.

“You’ll wish a long time before encountering a better man than I. Come with me or I’ll bring you myself, the way I carried you to the kingdom.”

She looked at his hand on her arm. “I go nowhere with you willingly.”

“You say that now,” he said. “You will not say it always.”

She pulled away again. Strands of hair had escaped her braid, and he wanted to touch them, to sink his fingers in deep and then tug. Spun gold itself was no more beautiful. He brought her close. She trembled. So much for the bravado she was showing. She reminded him of a snow-white dove.

He led her from the window, a firm hand on her elbow. He brought her before a little metal maiden standing on a lily pad. He twisted the maiden’s arm and the pond filled with water. He twisted her other arm and a toad rose from the deep, opened its mouth, and revealed a cake of soap.

“You will wash before you eat. I cannot abide uncleanliness.”

He could tell the device impressed her. She submerged her hands tentatively. Her fingers were long and graceful, like his. Yes, they had been roughened by the labors of life, but that was something that could be overcome. Something he was saving her from.

She dried her hands on the towel he offered, and then he brought her to the table, his hand tight enough around her arm to mark her flesh.

“Sit.”

She hesitated. He held her gaze and saw her expression shift the moment she decided to obey.

He poured her cider. “Your gown will be blue with gold threads. It was my mother’s.”

“My gown?”

He caught a glimpse of her injured tongue. The scar it left behind would match his own. “For the wedding.”

She blanched. “What wedding?”

“Ours. The people need one,” he said. “Something to celebrate after the sorrow of war. That you are one of the vanquished will be seen as proof that I am just and merciful. The prince you will bear will be even more welcome news.” He gestured at the table. “Eat. I’ve already been so kind as to pour you a drink.”

She turned away.

“I’ll not ask twice. Would you like me to fetch the bridle? A scold’s bridle for the bride?”

She turned back. “I do not wish to marry you. Please.”

“Eat.” He smeared butter on a slice of bread and took a bite.

“You would take a bride who does not want you?”

“My concern is not what she wants. My concern, as always, is my kingdom.”

There was a long silence between them. Better that than a complaint.

“If I marry you,” she said, speaking gingerly, “you will spare my brother and the rest of the survivors. You will leave them alone.”

“You are in no position to bargain if we marry. It is when we marry.” And it was true. She had nothing to offer, no leverage to use. Her life was his.

“I will marry you only if you declare a truce. If you allow weres to live in peace. There are children in the woods. They should not be harmed.”

“Why do you care about the fate of frissers? You aren’t one yourself. They are an abomination. As for your brother, well, I have long made exceptions for him.”

“Those are my conditions,” she said.

Albrecht recognized his error. Ursula never would have asked the opinion of someone who had nothing to bargain with. She would simply remind her opponent who held the better hand of cards. With this, Greta had left him in the position of refusing her offer. Well then. That meant she was clever, another credit to him and the choice he’d made.

“Fine,” he said.

She looked satisfied. That was her error. Fine meant nothing. The word did not signify the agreement she thought it did. He would honor her understanding of it for as long as it cost him nothing. After that? They would be married. Bound. There would be nothing she could do about it. Then he would do what he wanted when he wished.

She accepted a slice of bread. A small one, the heel. She ate it in tiny bites without a scraping of butter, as if the less she ate, the less his ownership of her would be. Everyone was hungry for something, though, and he already knew her weak spot: the frissers, her brother especially.

“We marry tomorrow night,” he said.

She eyed him warily. “What if my brother comes for me? Will you ensure his safety?”

He smiled. She didn’t realize he’d shot her brother. He had no plans to tell her.

“Of course. If your brother does, you will send him away yourself. If you do not, he will die. Either way, your choice is to marry me and bring about peace. Refuse, and his death is on your hands.”

He put meat on her plate. “You should eat more.” Animals that did not eat well did not breed well.

“I’ve had enough.” She pushed the plate away.

“You need to nourish your body to keep it healthy.” He laid his hand on the table, his poison-filled not-finger pointed at her.

She slipped the last of her bread in her mouth and chewed. Seeing pain on her face, he smiled.

“You should rest after this. You didn’t get a good night’s sleep.”

Her expression—just a flash. She wanted to blame him for her rude awakening, but she did not. This was progress. She was trainable.

“Where will I sleep? With the maids, as before?”

“No,” he said. “In your chamber. The one with the lock on the door.”

She blinked. She had very fine eyes. She clasped her hands in her lap and kept her gaze there. He ate, slowly growing full, watching her all the while. Eventually she looked up and he felt himself harden.

“I would like to get a message to my brother. A message to leave me here, to stay away.”

“Of course,” Albrecht said. “Jutta will deliver it.”