Nagivv took down half a dozen guards before they finally succeeded in clamping it on her.

Iron mesh forms the muzzle, so technically she can still drink, but it hardly allows room for her tongue to move, and she quickly wearies of the effort it takes to drink, much less eat.

Only because I cried to Az had he commanded the kitchen staff to beat Nagivv’s food into a puree that she could lick from the holes in her muzzle. I try to clean it for her between meals, but the holes are small, and a pungent odor has arisen from the patches from which I can’t seem to remove the bits of food, no matter how hard I try.

I don’t know what I’ll do if Nagivv dies. It hurts badly enough to watch her mistreated in this way. Especially since, over the past week, the fight inside her has seemed to sputter out.

It’s not something I would have ever imagined I’d witness in Nagivv, but I understand.

I understand, because the flame is dying inside of me, too.

It’s been a month since the coronation, since my wedding to Az.

I’ve waited so patiently for Kiran to come back for me. Of course, he would have needed to regroup, rally allies who would help him sneak into the palace or overthrow Az, or whatever he’s planning.

But every day that Kiran doesn’t come for me, I begin to wonder if he ever will.

Sometimes, I find myself angry, petulant. Like a child unable to wield her own anger, allowing it to bubble over rather than simmer.

Just yesterday, I punched a hole in the mirror in my room. The pinprick wounds on my hand have yet to heal.

I didn’t know I had it in me to punch things.

I had to lie to the guard stationed outside my room and tell him I tripped. That when I reached out to catch myself, my hand had gone straight through the mirror.

The guard seemed to believe me, but later that day, when I returned from my visit with Nagivv, I found my quarters stripped of anything that could potentially be made sharp.

I’ve already been moved to a windowless room.

That happened the night after the coronation. Az had me moved to quarters adjacent to his, ones with an adjoining wall, with a door between the rooms that locked from one side only. Apparently, my room once operated as servants’ quarters. Previous fae royalty used these rooms should one of them fall injured and need a servant nearby at all times to tend to their wounds.

Az says he enjoys having me close by. Likes the comfort of knowing I’m safe.

My theory is that he likes that my quarters don’t contain windows.

I’m not sure if he thinks I’m at risk of jumping or climbing, but he’s barred almost all the windows in the palace just the same.

I’ve developed a strange habit of hiding unimportant things from him. Bits of food underneath the mattress. Bars of soap behind the dresser. Amity’s survival kit is even stuffed in the back of the closet—Az has been careful not to undress me, so I was able to hide it under my robes—and though I’ve considered faking my death with that ressuroot of hers, I can’t figure out a way doing so would help me.

If Az thought I was dead, he’d probably just stuff me in a marble coffin, and then I would suffocate to death.

Not ideal.

As I ponder my fate, my will to fight back slowly being chipped away from me, I nestle my head into Nagivv’s dry coat and fall asleep to the hum of her gentle purr.

Az frequents my quarters at night.

Tonight is no exception, though I always hope it will be.

He never stays for long, never goes so far as to force himself upon me. A small kindness for which I thank the Fates.

But just because that threshold hasn’t yet been crossed doesn’t mean that Az hasn’t been toeing that line.

“The guards said that you had a better day today,” Az says, striding into my stuffy room. He locks the door behind him, stuffing a key into his belt.

I blink, trying to remember how I’m supposed to respond. When I first came back to the palace, I’d been playing the role of a confused girl, mind muddled by over a year of magical manipulation. I reinforced the ruse with fits of anger, coupled with long bouts of silence.

I cry myself to sleep every night, sometimes allowing Az to hold me as I drift off to sleep.

As I pretend to drift off to sleep.

But over time, I’ve played the part so well, infused it with so much of my own fury, my own apprehension, I fear I’ve forgotten where I end and this weakened version of myself begins.

I wonder if there’s never been a difference.

The tears are real, after all. The darkness that sweeps over my very soul, unfaked.

“Did I?” I force a faint smile to my lips. The faint part is the easy bit, the smile itself feeling like I’m trying to lift a fallen beam off my leg at too strange an angle to fully get a grip on it.

Az nods at my plate of food, which is almost empty. “I’d say that’s an improvement of its own.”

I forced the food down today, only at the pestering of my magic, who refused to stop screaming in my head until I finished my meal.

It will help nothing to starve yourself, he’d told me.

I know that well enough. But it’s something I can control. A simple act of defiance that even Az can’t take away from me.

I’m not sure what, who that makes me, that I would harm myself just to spite him. Just to remind myself that I am my own, and not simply a pawn in his games.

It’s difficult to remember when I’m too busy reminding myself to act as if I love him.

I do so now, examining the face I’ve memorized over the years.

Az hasn’t been sleeping.

I can tell by the faint bruises that have formed underneath his eyes. I hear him pacing all hours of the night on the other side of the wall that separates our quarters.

Even in the daytime, he acts strangely. His hands have developed a tremor, his eyelids a strange twitch.

“You look ill,” I say. It’s effortful, but I manage to infuse my voice with concern.

Az takes in a deep breath. I don’t miss how he clenches his hands to steady the tremors. “The Others are more difficult to control than I expected. It takes extreme focus to reign over their minds. I’ve found when I sleep, the control slips.”

My heart beats wildly, and I can’t decide if it’s out of hope or fright. On one hand, this will be the first weakness Az has revealed. On the other…

“A pack of mere attacked a group of Meranthi citizens a few nights ago when I dozed off,” he explains.

Pain swells in my throat. “Anyone we know?”