She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Unable to comprehend how the Erlking could have gone from intending to cut the child from her womb to intending to raise it as his own in so short a time.
But then she thought of what he had said, that little hint that had slipped through.
When she returns.
Approximately eight months until the baby would be born.
Eight months would take them nearly to the end of the year.
Nearly to … the winter solstice. The Endless Moon. When he intended to capture a god and make his wish. Was it true then? Did he mean to wish for Perchta, the huntress, to be returned from Verloren? Did he mean to use Serilda’s unborn child as a gift for her, as one might bestow a bouquet of forget-me-nots or a basket of apple strudel?
She frowned. “But I thought the dark ones could not have children?”
“With each other, we cannot. The creation of a child requires the spark of life, and we are born of death. But with a mortal …” He shrugged. “It is rare. Mortals are beneath us, and few would abase themselves to lie with one.”
“Of course,” Serilda said, with a snarl that went ignored.
“The ceremony can take place on the summer solstice. That should be adequate time to prepare, though I hope you aren’t one of those brides who fancies elaborate festivities and ridiculous pomp.”
She gasped. “I have agreed to nothing! I have not agreed to be your prisoner, or to tell anyone that you are the father of this child!”
“Wife,” he snapped. His eyes brightened, as if this were a shared joke between them. “You will be my wife, Lady Serilda. Let us not tarnish the union with talk of imprisonment.”
“Whatever words you attach to it, I will be a prisoner, and we both know it.”
He approached her again, graceful as a snake, and took her hands into his. The touch almost affectionate, if it hadn’t been so very cold.
“You will do as I say,” he said, “because I still have something that you want.”
Tears prickled at her eyes. Gerdrut.
“In exchange for the little one’s freedom,” he continued, “you will be my doting bride. I will expect you to be very, very convincing. The child is mine. No one is to suspect otherwise.”
She swallowed.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t.
But she pictured Gerdrut’s smile, missing her first milk tooth. Her squeals when Fricz tickled her. Her pouts when she tried to braid Anna’s hair and couldn’t quite figure out how.
“All right,” she whispered, a tear escaping her eye. She did not bother to wipe it away. “I will do what you ask, if you promise to let Gerdrut go.”
“You have my word.”
He beamed and lifted a hand, revealing a gold-tipped arrow in his fist.
It happened so quickly. She barely had time to gasp before he plunged it down through her wrist.
Pain tore through her.
Serilda fell to her knees, her vision going white at the edges. All she could see was the shaft that jutted from her arm. Her blood dripped along its length, down the gilded tip, splattering drop by drop onto the floor.
Still gripping her hand, the king began to speak, and Serilda heard the words from two places at once. The Erlking, devoid of emotion as he recited the curse. And her own story, told in the empty throne room, echoing back to her.
That arrow now tethers you to this castle. Your spirit no longer belongs to the confines of your mortal body, but will be forever trapped within these walls. From this day into eternity, your soul belongs to me.
The agony was like nothing she’d ever known before, as though poison were leaching into her, devouring her from the inside. She felt her bones, her muscles, her very heart crumbling to ash. Left behind was just a shell of a girl. Skin and fingernails and a golden arrow.
She heard a quiet thump as something fell behind her.
And—the pain vanished.
Serilda sucked in a breath of air, but there was no satisfaction to it. Her lungs did not expand. The air itself tasted stale and dry.
She felt empty, wrung out. Abandoned.
The Erlking released her hand and her arm dropped into her lap.
The arrow was gone. In its place, a gaping hole.
She was almost too afraid to look back. But she had to. She had to see it, she had to know.
And when her eyes fell on her own body sprawled out behind her, Serilda surprised herself. She did not cry or scream. She merely observed, as a strange calm overtook her.
The body on the floor was still breathing. Her body. The blood around the arrow shaft had begun to clot. The eyes were open, unblinking and unseeing—but not lifeless. The golden wheels on her irises glimmered knowingly with the light of a thousand stars.
She had seen this once before, when her spirit had floated up over her own corpse on the riverbank. It would have kept floating away if she hadn’t held tight to the ash branch.
But now there was something else tethering her here.
To this castle. This throne room. These walls.
She was trapped.
Forever.
The pain she’d felt had not been death. It had been the sensation of her spirit being torn from her body.
Not letting go so much as being ripped away.
She was not dead.
She was not a ghost.
She was merely … cursed.
She rose to her feet, no longer trembling, and met the Erlking’s gaze. “That,” she said through gritted teeth, “was not very romantic.”
“My sweet,” he said, and she could tell that he took pleasure in this act, this mimicry of human affection, “were you hoping for a kiss?”
She exhaled sharply through her nostrils, glad that she could still breathe, even if she didn’t need to. Her hands patted down the sides of her body, testing the sensation. She felt different. Incomplete, but still solid. She could feel the weight of her dress, the path of tears on her face. And yet, her actual body was lying on the floor at her feet.
Her hands made their way to her stomach. Was her baby still growing inside of her?
Or was it now growing inside of?…
She glanced down at her body, lying there still and stunned. Not dead. Not quite alive.
She wanted to believe that the Erlking would not have used this curse if it would hurt the child. What would have been the point? But she also wasn’t sure how much thought he was giving to any of this.
That was when she realized what felt so distinctly different. When it finally came to her, it was obvious, and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed before.
She could no longer feel her heart beating in her chest.
Chapter 55
Now then,” said the Erlking, taking her fingers and tucking them into the crook of his elbow, “let us announce our good fortune.”
Serilda still felt dazed as he marched her out of the throne room, through the great hall, beneath the overhang of the massive entry doors that overlooked the courtyard, where all his hunters and ghosts continued to mill about, confused as to what their king expected of them.
The children were gathered right where she’d left them, clutching one another, Hans trying to defend them from a curious goblin who had hopped closer and was trying to sniff their knees.
Serilda crouched down, arms wide. The children hurried into her embrace—
And passed right through her.