That night, Midsummer's Eve, the King came to her yet again. She waited for him calmly, seated near the window. She was fully dressed, a goblet in her hands and a plain travelers flask and pouch on the windowsill beside her. Her dress was deep red, a scarlet cloak pinned at her shoulders, and a fire burned bright in the marble fireplace.

She stood and walked to him, looking up at him steadily, something dark and burning in her eyes. She gave him the goblet and he drank the bitter wine without a second thought, the icy draught going straight to the core of him in the heat of the room.

"My daughter is not in the palace," he said, a dangerous edge in his voice.

"No, husband, she isn't. She has gone to foster and serve at the Deep Woods Monastery. She'll learn a great deal there, I suspect, that she would never even begin to know by simply living in the palace. She'll be a better queen for it, after you die."

"You assume she will outlive me. I did not authorize this, my Queen. How did you force her to leave?"

"Oh, it was quite her own idea, my King. I'm sure you're aware that Janette hates me far too much to be forced into anything by her dear stepmother." Bronwyn stepped closer, and as she came within reach he raised his hand to hit her. For the first time she did not flinch away. "I assure you, sir, if you touch me again you will regret it."

He laughed at her. "No, little Queen, you are the one who will regret this. If I have to beat you til you're half dead every night for the next year you will learn to fear and respect me."

"Like you've beaten and raped me every night for five months? You would risk the life of your unborn son if you follow that path." She smiled cruelly, and the humor drained from him like water, chilled by the look in her eyes.

"A son? My son?" His jaw worked, the powerful muscles bunching and relaxing as he stood before her, trying to process what she had told him. He felt paralyzed by the shock of it, his legs and arms heavier and heavier with each breath.

"Yes. Isn’t that what you wanted? Or did forcing yourself on me have another point?" She turned a little away from him, looking deep into the fire. It seemed to wink at her, but surely, thought the King, it was his imagination. "It's really too bad that you've declared that I'm not a witch. There are consequences, you know, for bedding a witch unwilling." Dizziness gripped him, and as he fell she stepped aside, letting his head strike the stones of the hearth. Blood flowed freely from his temple.

"What have you done to me, woman?" His speech was slurred as cold spread from his belly to his limbs and face.

"I've given you a great gift, my King. I am healing your kingdom, cutting an abscess from its very heart and placing a cleaner heart in its stead. As for you? You will die, of course. You will die knowing that Janette is out of your reach, that you could never own me, and that you will never, never see your son."

His breath became labored. "You will pay dearly for my death," he gasped.

Bronwyn feigned mild surprise. "I've already paid for your death, my King. Again and again, I've paid, and I have earned it." She looked into the hearth and spoke to something crouched there. "You gave wishes and healing and forgetfulness for a witch's tears, what will you give for the blood of a king?"

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"There is great power in the blood of a king," the fire flowed out of the fireplace, licking at her face and then coming to stare with blue-hot eyes into the king's face. "You will live almost forever, sorceress, and I grant you that your powers shall only grow and never fade in all those years." The burning tongue lapped the blood that spilled onto the hearthstones and then the fresh blood from the king's wounded head. When it was done, as the king turned blue from lack of breath and lay dying, it delicately touched her face again, a faint steam rising as her tears fell into its mouth.

"What is your final wish, lady? Memory can no longer be held from you, not any memory I have taken from you, at least."

Bronwyn thought for a long moment as the king's eyes glazed over in death. "You have made my power immortal, or at least as long lived as I am. Let me never forget the sweetness that comforts me in my worst hurts. Give that a life as long as mine, whatever its source."

"As you say it. Would you fly away with me, then, ride a dragon as only one of your kind can?" It unfurled fiery wings, growing as she watched. Its tail shattered the diamond paned window as it coiled and uncoiled, stretching its length.

She smiled and glanced at the wardrobe where the dog cowered, hiding from the fire elemental. "No, dragon, I have other obligations to tend before memory steals away my sanity. Thank you for your service. Be free and live long." She stood, dusting the ashes off her hands, and stoppered the witch's flask, gathering her pack and dog from the wardrobe. She tucked the long body of the dog beneath her arm as he hid his face in her bosom, short legs kicking until he was comfortably wedged in the crook of her elbow. The salamander flew out the broken window, followed by those of its brood who had also supped too much on a witch's tears to ever be content living in the fireplace of a mere palace.

The guards followed her without question as she went to the offices of the Lord Chancellor. He looked up at her, astonished, as she entered.

"My lady Queen," he exclaimed, seeing something of trouble in her eyes, seeing the facade begin to crumble as memory crowded her and her control began to slip.

"Listen carefully, Lord Wilham, I haven't much time. The King is dead. Princess Janette is fostering with the monks at Deep Woods Monastery, and you are Lord Regent until she comes of age." The Chancellor glanced at his secretary and gestured impatiently for the man to begin writing. “The Princess will grow in beauty and kindness and wisdom, and when she is ready, she will be Queen. The kingdom will prosper under your guidance until she is ready.” Her words resonated as the spell took hold in the bones of the castle and swept through the halls and down the streets and alleys of the town, running out the city gates like wild horses to scatter into the wilderness.

"And what of you, Your Highness? Even if you are not Queen, you are still a duchess, so surely you will remain at court?"

She laughed, a little breathless as the power left her body trembling. "No, my Lord. I must leave. I've lost myself somewhere along the way, I think. And I've done quite enough as it is."

"Then give me an hour, then, or half an hour, so you may at least say goodbye to my lady wife." Bronwyn nodded her consent, and there was a flurry of activity as the Chancellor gave instructions to the secretary and orders to the guards and a passing maid. The dog was fed, a better pack prepared for the Queen, and Lady Wilham fussed over Bronwyn like a hen with a single chick. In the end, Bronwyn was presented with a parchment and a quill. She took it awkwardly and made a scrawling mark at the bottom, glancing at him apologetically when she was finished. "I'm sorry, I never really learned much of writing."

"Perhaps you'll find the time, away from court." He didn't comprehend her bitterness as she laughed again.

"Time is the only luxury I do have. Thank you, my lord, for all you've done for me."

He kissed her forehead as if she were his own daughter. "I think in time I shall thank you, Lady Bronwyn. Not just for what you've done, but for the sacrifice you made to do it."

She left quickly, tears on her cheeks and the ghost of a king who was a monster hounding her footsteps all the way.