By the time a pair of soldiers led me into the arena the next morning, everything was numb.

My legs felt as though they were only being propelled by some primal part of my brain, something that had kicked on automatically, much like my breathing or my heartbeat. Steady, sure. Not at all commanded by me.

Evander and I walked together, my hand limp in his arm as the king presented us to the crowd. I couldn’t feel my fingertips against his coat, against his arm. The applause from the onlookers sounded like a buzzing hive to my ears, and the king’s announcements were dull. Quiet.

Nothing could drown out the deafening emptiness in my chest.

I hadn’t asked if there had been any developments during the night. Whether the bargain could be broken. It didn’t matter, really, because Cinderella was loose. I had kissed her prince, and it didn’t matter if he chose her over me, if the bargain was broken and they lived out their happily-ever-after together. She would always remember that he had kissed me after he had loved her.

One day, probably sooner rather than later, she’d drive that dagger through my heart.

My days were numbered. I could only hope that by then I’d grown wiser than to lay bare my heart, to leave it unprotected.

Hearts were too easy to stab.

I’d hardly slept at all. Guards had been in and out of my room trying to figure out how Cinderella had managed to sneak into the castle yet again, even after the king had ordered double the number of guards to be stationed at entryways for the ball.

They still didn’t know how she’d made it into the castle, but they figured she slipped into my room during the ball and waited there for me to return.

All the keys to my room were accounted for, and when the guards berated Imogen and Blaise about whether they locked my quarters before the ball, neither of them could remember.

I’d wanted to come to their defense, but I’d been too distracted by Evander’s reaction to the perfume that I hadn’t paid attention.

For all we knew, Cinderella simply tested the doorknob and found it opened without resistance.

The crowd applauded again, tugging me back into the present, and I noticed two large black boxes in the center of the arena. Evander and I would complete our parts of the trial alone, separately. That much I remembered from my discussions with the queen this morning, when she’d snuck up to my rooms and given me as much vague information that she could afford.

I searched for her and found her seated next to her husband, her face twisted into a mingled grimace of concern and serenity.

She’d be rooting for me, this much I knew. Probably rooting for her son, too. I wondered how she would feel, how her intentions might shift, if she knew what had gone on just a few hours ago. If she knew her son had allowed my attempted murderer to go free. If she realized he still loved Cinderella.

Would she still root for me? Would she take my side, acknowledge my pain and fear? Or would the fact that Evander was her flesh and blood override the fair female’s sense of justice?

I’d probably never find out.

From what I remembered, this trial was supposed to measure whether my and Evander’s love for one another was pure.

But love was a funny thing. In its molten state, it ran hot and pure and unstoppable. But when it cooled, when it hardened… Well, then it resembled love about as much as stone resembled lava.

And whatever was in my heart for Evander had gone cold. Static.

It didn’t matter whether Evander eventually found a way out of our bargain. Because I was going to die during this trial. I was sure of it.

Evander lead the way, and my feet followed until we reached the looming boxes. The king’s voice rang, and someone—a guard—took my arm and led me toward the left box. My hand slipped from Evander’s arm and fell limp against my side.

The door to the box opened, and the guard nodded for me to enter without him.

The door slammed behind me. Utter darkness surrounded me.

For a moment, all was silent. The box blocked out any noise from the crowd, any outside light. Perhaps this would be one of those tests where they saw how long one could stand being deprived of one’s senses before the hallucinations set in.

A few minutes passed in silence. At first, I welcomed the reprieve. But after a few more, my mind began to race with all the thoughts and anxieties that had seemed stunted since last night.

In the darkness, there was nothing to distract me from the warmth of Evander’s lips on mine, from retracing the path of his fingertips as they’d slid from my cheek to my ear, my ear to my back, my back to my shoulder, before caressing my arm and settling into my interlocked fingers.

Over and over I played it back, relished in that fraction of a moment when my world had been okay again. When I hadn’t been scared at all. When my senses had flared up within me, coating my blood with heat and setting my senses on edge.

But then Evander’s words would play over in my mind.

You have my heart, Cinderella. Don’t you understand that?

We could have been together.

Did you think I wouldn’t have accepted you?

I’d crush the thoughts out with silence before finding myself trapped in the same loop.

“My lady,” a small voice piped up from the box. I jumped and let out a short scream, though it occurred to me that no one from the stadium could hear me.

“I apologize for frightening you,” the voice said.

I shuffled, dysregulated. “Isn’t that the whole point of a lightless, noiseless box?”

“I only enforce the trial. I did not devise it,” he said, somewhat disapprovingly. “Though I am grateful for the anonymity it provides.”

“Who are you?”

“The enforcer of your intentions.”

Ominous, much? “What in Alondria is that supposed to mean?”

He paused. “I suppose that depends entirely upon you.”

I waited for him to speak again. For him to tell me what sort of trial this was or to provide me with a riddle, but nothing came.

“Well?” I asked. “You’re here for a reason, aren’t you?”

The voice sighed. “Ah, yes. I suppose I am. Though I count myself unlucky to have been chosen.”

The hairs stood up on my arms, not from any malice in the creature’s voice, but from the regret tinting the edges of his words. What kind of trial was this?

“As you know, this trial is meant to certify that your love for the prince is pure, and that his love for you is likewise. I am tasked with giving you a choice to prove such.”

He paused again, his intentions impossible to interpret in the dark.

“What choice?” I finally asked, disturbed by my inability to read the male’s expression.

“It has been judged by the committee that you, as one of little power and few riches, might be motivated by such to marry the prince. This would be considered an impure motivation.”