Greta had been up all night. Her tongue throbbed. Surely once she was the king’s wife, he wouldn’t subject her to more torture. That was the trade-off she was counting on, being close enough to the danger that it could not harm her, like being in the eye of a storm. She was also counting on being able to protect others, her brother most of all.

The new day was blindingly beautiful, as if the world cared not that her life was forfeit. She’d probably never see Hans again, but if her bargain kept him alive, so be it. She was doing the right thing. She had to be.

Lotte and Susanna arrived to help ready Greta. She had known the maids for years. They’d worked in different parts of the castle, but they’d shared quarters, as all maids did. They’d been friendly, insofar as Greta was accessible. For the most part, she’d kept to herself and her thoughts.

They treated her differently now, and they kept looking at each other, as if they were having a private conversation through their gazes.

“You can talk to me the same way you always did,” Greta said, taking care of her tongue.

Lotte lifted Greta’s braid. “I’ve always wanted to touch it. It’s so long and pretty.”

“The prince—the king—he always stared at it,” Susanna said. “All of us noticed. Do you think that’s why he chose you?”

It was true that her hair was long. She’d never cut it. Her happiest memories were those in which her father braided her hair and her stepmother called it lovely as new butter. Greta wouldn’t admit to being proud of it, though she knew she was. Was it such a bad thing for a girl to think something about herself was beautiful?

“I don’t know if that is the case,” Greta said. “I never—”

Lotte began undoing the braid. “Oh, it is. Everybody used to talk about it. We never thought he’d marry you, though. We thought it more likely that he’d—”

“Lotte! Don’t say it.”

“Toff, Susanna. You know he’s plucked his share of flowers. And you started it—”

“I did no such thing. Look what you’ve done to Greta. She’s crying.”

Lotte blushed all the way down her neck. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. And forgive Susanna for talking that way about your future husband. We know he’ll always love you best. How could he not?” She took a comb to Greta’s hair, gently scuffing out the tangles. Greta swallowed hard, trying to stop her tears.

“The bath will be ready soon,” Susanna said. “Not that we’re saying you need it.”

Greta gave a bitter laugh. “Lotte just combed a branch out of my hair.”

“Only a small one,” Lotte said. “More of a twig.”

“Cook pitched a fit when you left. Said you’d probably run off with a traveling merchant and left her all the birds to break down,” Susanna said. “Where’d you go? Wait. No. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just that—”

“It’s all right.” Greta didn’t mind the question. She might have been curious too, were their positions reversed. She was struggling to say the word for where she’d been. It stuck in her throat like bread.

“Home,” she said at last. “I was home.”

“But isn’t this your home, with the rest of us?” Lotte asked.

“It hasn’t always been.”

“Well, look at you now,” Susanna said. “You’re back with us and you will be the queen of all. It’s like something out of a story. It’s wonderful and we are so happy for you.”

As they were helping Greta into the tub, Lotte gasped. “What happened to your feet?”

“I walked a bit without shoes,” Greta said.

“We can fix that right up,” Susanna said. “And you’ll always have the softest slippers when you’re queen. You’ll never have to worry about sore feet again, that’s for good and certain.”

They gently scrubbed her with soap and then patted her dry with warm linens before rubbing scented oil into her skin. She dressed in a robe and they saw to her hair, combing in front of the fire until it was glossy and dry, chattering as they worked. She felt utterly alone, even more than if she’d been the only one in the room.

She would not cry again, though. She didn’t want to give them anything to gossip about. What’s more, she didn’t want to look like a grieving bride. She didn’t want to be pitied or mocked. No one need know the truth; it would be better for them to believe she’d entered into this marriage with a happy heart.

Once they’d finished with their combs, Susanna and Lotte set about braiding Greta’s hair again, tucking in sprigs of tiny white berries as they went. The style was more complex than anything she’d worn before. They held it with pins that dug into her skin. She didn’t mind the pain. It kept her from sinking into her sorrows.

Then the maids set about lacing Greta into her gown, which was the same insolent blue as the sky and decorated with a pattern woven in gold thread. The seams at the waist tapered in, while the sleeves flared like wings. It was lovely, the sort of thing Greta had dreamed of when she was a young girl hearing stories of kings and queens. It was the sort of thing she would have wished for, had she not known the price of wishes such as those.

They put matching shoes on her feet, slippers so delicate and lightweight they felt like nothing at all.

“This was Princess Ursula’s room,” Lotte said. “If you want to see your reflection, there’s a tiny mirror inside the dressing table. She wasn’t much for looking at herself.”

“There’s no need,” Greta said.

“Don’t be silly,” Susanna said. “Of course there is.”

“You look like a queen,” Lotte said.

Greta felt like anything but.

“There you are,” Albrecht said when Greta entered the room. She hadn’t seen him at first. He was sitting in a chair facing the window. He stood and approached, taking her chin and moving it this way and that in the light, as if she were livestock at the market.

“You’re looking well,” he said. “Much better with the filth of the forest washed away.”

“Thank you.” She tried to smile but found she could not. Her lips felt not her own.

“My people will love you,” he said. “Everyone loves a beautiful queen. Everyone loved my mother.”

Greta didn’t respond. She knew enough of him to know he meant no kindness. For Greta, beauty had turned out to be a trap. It had made Albrecht notice her and want her. She’d rather have been seen as ugly.

“I have a gift for you,” he said.

She felt wary even as she suspected such a thing was traditional. Albrecht opened a metal box that had been lined with velvet. She braced herself for another monstrosity like the severed finger. Inside was a necklace of round white stones. He fastened it around her neck.

“This was my mother’s,” he said. “The stones hold the light from the day and give it back to you at night. You will never know the sorrows of darkness as long as you are my queen.”

The necklace was heavy and felt cool against her skin. It was beautiful. She would have given anything not to have to wear it.

“And what do you have for me?” He sniffed her hair and sighed.

She stiffened.

“I know what you have to give.” He looked down on her with his strange, pale eyes. “You may refuse me,” he said. “We are not yet married.”

She finally grasped his meaning. She hadn’t expected this request until they’d exchanged vows. She’d dreaded it utterly. She wasn’t ready. Her mouth went dry. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Then she opened them and found her voice. “In that case, I refuse. Lotte and Susanna took care in dressing me. It would not do to diminish their efforts.”

For a moment, he looked hurt. She’d forgotten that he had feelings like anyone else. She would try to remember this when she was his wife.

Then the skin around his lips turned white. “Are you not grateful that I rescued you from a life that was more suited to animals? Are you not grateful for these jewels?” He grabbed her wrist. His false finger bit into her skin.

“I asked for none of it.”

“It’s more than most have.”

With his free hand, he reached for her hair, threading his fingers through the loops of her braids. He held tightly enough that she could not turn her head. Her heart went wild as if it were an animal inside her, transformed not by the light of the moon but by his shameless cruelty. If she could have uncaged it, she would’ve. Let her heart do its worst to him. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t even escape his grasping hand.

“Your hair is very nearly as fine as mine,” he said.

He released her arm and lifted her dress and pushed her undergarments aside. He inserted his false finger into her most private area. She gasped. She wished she were made of something harder. Impenetrable. It hurt. It hurt.

“You are the only creature I’ve ever hunted who lived.”

Her legs went weak. She wanted to vomit and to weep. His false finger was cold, and the rivets holding it together tore at her most delicate parts. Perhaps the worst part was the smile on his face. He couldn’t even feel what he was doing to her. Not with that false finger of his. But he was smiling. He liked that he was hurting her. That power was his source of pleasure.

There was only one thing she could do: imagine she was no longer in her body. She was elsewhere. Floating above. Staying safe. Staying alive—for despite everything, she still wanted to, still needed to, for the sake of those she loved, for the hope of living in the woods again, hope she could not abandon after all.

At last he removed his finger. There was blood on it. Hers. He’d cut her, and he didn’t even notice until he rearranged the bulge in his trousers.

“Ach, look what you’ve done to me.” He pointed at the blood. “Clean it up.”

He handed her a linen, and she wiped her blood away as well as she could. He was hard beneath her hand, and when she rubbed the blood out, he moaned. At first, she thought she was hurting him. Then she realized the opposite was true.

She let herself weep, let him think the blood on his clothes was the cause of her regret.