The following evening, the Emperor returned. She invited him to sit at her table.

  “How fare thy days?” he asked suddenly, as if nothing were amiss.

  Taken aback, she lowered her gaze and stared at her hands.

  “Um… they’re fine. Owen seems well, and that’s all that matters to me.”

  “Art thou content?”

  She sensed the question was far from innocent. How could she answer? She was certainly not happy, yet neither could she confess the truth nor lie, fearing the consequences.

  Her frightened gaze met his, and after a few moments of thought, she closed her eyes and drew in a steady breath.

  “I… I have nothing to complain about. My son’s happiness is enough to make mine.”

  She paused, then added:

  “Does my answer satisfy you?”

  “’Tis a beginning. Be grateful for that which is granted thee.”

  He studied her for a long while, neither speaking a word. Then he asked:

  “What dost thou desire?”

  “I—I beg your pardon?”

  “Since thou art not fully content, it followeth that thou desirest something else. What is it, then?”

  She blinked, incredulous. She was about to answer sharply, but checked herself. There must be a hidden motive behind so direct a question. She gathered her thoughts.

  “I… I simply want to understand. I want answers.”

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  “Concerning what?”

  She hesitated, then spoke:

  “What am I truly, to you and to Owen? In what way am I different? Where do I really come from? Who are my parents? And… why keep me confin—”

  Realizing she may have spoken too freely, she stopped abruptly, eyes fixed on him in fear. The smile upon his face sent a chill down her spine.

  “I see. Naught in life cometh freely. What wilt thou offer me in exchange for these answers?”

  “I… I’ve already given you everything. I have nothing left to offer…”

  “Truly? A pity. Then I fear thy questions shall remain unanswered,” he said, rising as if prepared to depart.

  “Wait! What do you want from me? Give me at least a hint!” she cried, standing as well, panic rising.

  He paused for a moment, then approached her with a casual, almost leisurely step.

  Slowly, he extended his hand toward the girl, who remained frozen, her heart pounding. His hand came to rest upon her cheek, gliding gently along her skin, his thumb brushing her lips with an almost tender touch.

  Then his hand descended to her neck, where he seized her with a firm grip—discarding all delicacy—and squeezed hard.

  Caught off guard, she widened her eyes in shock, struggling to breathe, but failing. His gaze remained fixed upon hers as he tightened his hold further, cutting off her air. She grasped at his hand, desperately trying to loosen his grip. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she forced out:

  “P-Please… spare me… I… don’t want to die… anymore…”

  The Emperor leaned close, his mouth near her ear, and whispered:

  “Thy life is mine. Submit thyself.”

  Dizziness overtook her as she began to suffocate, her legs no longer able to bear her.

  Just as she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, he abruptly released her. She collapsed to her knees, coughing, painfully drawing in air.

  Towering above her, the Emperor gazed down with cold indifference. Motionless, offering no hand to help her rise, he waited in silence for her response.

  After a moment that stretched into eternity, she finally spoke, her voice trembling, eyes fixed on the floor:

  “Very well… Your wish is my command.”

  He smiled in satisfaction and departed. Remaining on the ground, alone and shaken, she broke into sobs.