Isolde looked up.
Halson stood in the center of the dining hall. His blond hair was damp with snow, and the cold night air had slapped colour into his cheeks. He was dressed in a black jacket that plunged down to his waist, revealing a slash of pale skin; the silver collar curled around his throat like an enormous scarf. It was the sort of jacket, Isolde thought, that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but it looked good on Halson.
She suspected anything would look good on Halson.
He took a step forward. Servants dropped their gaze as he passed. One woman spun to face the wall, her hands trembling slightly.
Halson picked up an apple from the table. Wiped it on his shirt.
"What are we celebrating?" he asked.
He bit into the apple. The crunch was thunderous in the silence, and Isolde forced herself to breathe. She clasped her hands.
"Your return," Isolde said.
Halson turned to face her. His smile was genuine.
"Darling," he said.
Halson chucked the apple aside, moving to kiss her on the cheek. His mouth was sticky and sweet. He smelled of night air and smoke, of salt air and peppery cologne. Isolde forced herself to smile.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
Halson raised an eyebrow. "You did all this for me?"
"Of course," Isolde said.
She was lying through her teeth. Halson's eyes were clear arctic waters. For a terrible moment, Isolde felt that he was seeing right through her, cutting into flesh and bone; then the young emperor turned away.
"Adore it," Halson announced. "I'm so lucky to have such a thoughtful wife." He squeezed her waist, then held out a hand. "Jules."
Julian's face was solemn. "Halson."
The two men clasped hands. Halson's face was relaxed, but his knuckles were white, as if he was crushing Julian's hand in his palm.
"How was your meeting?" Julian asked.
"Fruitful." Halson released his hand. "We'll discuss it more tomorrow." He looked around the dining hall. "Is there any wine? I'm parched."
A servant appeared, eyes lowered, her tray trembling slightly. Becca, Isolde thought; she'd recently started in the kitchens. Halson didn't look at her as he plucked a glass of red wine from the tray, steering Isolde towards the head table.
"Everyone, please." Halson flapped a hand. "Be seated."
Everyone sat.
Halson reclined in his throne. Isolde made to sit, but Halson's hands snaked around her waist, pulling her on to his lap. His sharp belt buckle dug into her thigh. When he spoke, she could feel his voice reverberate through her back.
"I'd like to make a toast to my lovely wife," Halson said. "Darling, your compassion inspires me every day. I'm so proud to be married to such an exceptionally thoughtful hostess." He raised his glass. "To Her Holiness!"
Movement rippled through the room. "To Her Holiness!"
Halson's smile was the flash of a knife. "Well, don't stop on my account." He clapped his hands. "Musicians?"
The fiddle music swelled. Conversation began, melting into laughter like butter in a hot dish. Wine flowed freely. One of the servants gave a tentative smile as she refilled Halson's glass, and he murmured a thank you. Platters of lemon-roasted potatoes and slabs of roasted meat appeared, and Halson dug into his steak greedily, red juice dripping down his chin. Isolde shifted on his lap.
"Is everything alright?" Isolde murmured.
Halson's breath was warm on her neck. "Better than alright. I've missed you."
Surprise flitted through her. "You have?"
Halson squeezed her waist. "It was cruel to abandon you on our wedding night. I've spent the last month thinking about all the things I'm going to do to make it up to you." He lowered his voice. "You look ravishing tonight."
Heat pooled in her cheeks. "Thank you."
"Come here," Halson said.
He turned her face with gentle fingers. His mouth was warm and sour, sweetened by cherry wine. The flush spread down her neck. Isolde was vividly aware of people cheering, of Julian's heavy gaze, but when she looked up, he was calmly cutting into a pork cutlet.
Halson squeezed her waist. There was something possessive about the gesture. Isolde raised her wine to her lips and watched as Tilda spooned strawberry pudding into a young lord's mouth; the other girl's face was flushed with drink.
Eventually, the dinner plates disappeared, replaced with sweet wine and candied almonds. Halson stretched his arms.
"To bed?" he murmured.
Isolde sensed it wasn't a question. "Sure."
They made their way down the corridor. Halson paused occasionally, stopping to ask a lord about his new gelding or a viscount about his wedding. Servants turned to face the wall as they passed. Halson's face was flushed with wine, and he swung their hands as they walked. He was in a good mood, Isolde realized; possibly even a great one.
Now was the time to ask.
Isolde turned into her bedroom, and Halson followed. He leaned against the wooden dresser, watching as she removed her shoes. His blue eyes glittered in the candlelight. Isolde unfastened her necklace, keeping her voice light.
"That was fun, wasn't it?" She set the snowflake amulet on the dresser. "I thought Tilda was going to be sick after all that strawberry pudding. Do you know the name of the lord that she was flirting with?"
"You'll never do that again," Halson said.
Halson's voice was very calm. His rings flashed silver as he began to unbutton his jacket, and Isolde paused. Surely she couldn't have heard correctly.
"What?"
Halson started on his rings next. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to run an empire? The only reason that I still have a throne to sit on is because people respect me. They hold me in great esteem." There was a plunk sound as the ring struck the dresser. "And now I return from my travels to find you cavorting with servants and slumming it in poorhouses?"
Isolde prickled. "I wasn't cavorting."
"They love you," Halson observed.
Her throat felt thick. "They could love you, too."
"I don't want them to love me." Halson's eyes were dark. "Love inspires intimacy. It inspires friendship. Where is the power in that?"
"Halson..."
He took a step forward. "You will never go to that poorhouse again. You will never speak with a servant informally again."
Isolde stilled. Of course Halson knew about the poorhouse; she'd been an idiot to think he wouldn't find out. Her heartbeat picked up. She was suddenly painfully aware of how far they were from the party. Nobody could hear her.
"They're scared, Halson," Isolde said. "All of them are scared."
His mouth flattened. "Good."
Halson turned for the window. The words were out of Isolde's mouth before she was fully aware of what she was saying.
"These gassings have to stop."
Halson paused. "What did you just say?"
"You can't just go around killing people." Blood pounded in her ears. "And I want to transform a wing of the palace into a home for people that can't afford to go anywhere else. A charity, in a sense."
"Why?" Halson's voice was a sneer. "So people like you? You want to buy their love and devotion?"
"No."
"You'll never win them over," Halson said, bracing his hands against the windowsill. "And even if you do, they'll never respect you. They'll never listen to you in the same way that they listen to me."
An unpleasant realization struck her. "For gods' sake, Halson, this isn't a contest."
"Get out," Halson said.
His shoulders were stiff. Isolde crossed her arms. It felt ridiculous to leave her own bedroom, and anyway, she could feel something burning in the pit of her stomach. Her fear was thawing, evaporating into anger.
"I'm going back to that poorhouse," Isolde said. "You can't stop me."
Halson's knuckles were white. "I said, get out."
Isolde started towards him. "And I'll speak to the servants however I'd like. You can't dictate how I—"
There was a smack.
Pain exploded across her face. Heat stung her cheeks, and her eyes felt hot and itchy. He'd hit her, Isolde realized, raising her hand to her cheek; he'd actually hit her. A mix of hot shame and anger and mortification curled in her chest. Halson was breathing hard, his chest pumping up and down.
"You stupid little bitch," Halson spat. "Let me make something very clear: I am emperor of the Loxian Empire. I am the one in charge." He seized her shoulder. "You'll do exactly as I say, or life will be very hard for you. Do you understand?"
She shook her arm. "Get off me!"
Halson's grip tightened. "Do you understand?"
Isolde stared at the ceiling. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she could feel a lump rising in her throat. I will not cry, she thought. I will not cry.
Halson sighed. "I only ever wanted to help you." He removed the final ring. "You've brought this on yourself."
He struck her.
The pain was sharper this time. More painful. Hot liquid trickled down her face, and her hand came away red. Halson struck her ribs next, and the wind was punched from her lungs. She doubled over. The third blow came to the back.
Isolde closed her eyes. I will not cry.
Halson's fist smashed into her cheek. She hugged the bed.
I will not cry. I will not cry.