Marlowe gasped, hands flying to clutch the dagger jutting out from his stomach. His eyes went wide for a moment, and then, with a low grunt of pain, he fell against me, twitching. The weight of him dragged me nearly to the floor.

His warm blood cascaded down my hands and onto my dress, irrefutably staining me with what I had done. My heart in my throat, I untangled myself from him as best I could, gritting my teeth as I stepped out from in between his arms.

He twitched one final time, and then fell still.

I stared at him—at his body. I had done it.

I had killed him.

I had killed the man who’d killed me.

But I couldn’t afford to stay here and relish my victory; I needed to escape before someone came upon the scene and found us. My mind swirled. How frequently might this room be in use? Even now, could someone already be on their way up the stairs?

No, I told myself, that was unlikely. And even if they were, the door was locked.

Still, I needed to get away. But first, I had to pull the dagger from…from his body.

I kneeled next to Marlowe’s lifeless form and, sucking in a breath, pulled the dagger out of his flesh. There was very little resistance, but a good deal of blood surged up from the wound. I resisted my sudden impulse to slow the bleeding. He wouldn’t be needing that.

Wiping the dagger clean on his cloak, I then dragged his body a few paces from the door—no easy feat, muscled as he was—and rifled through his pocket for the key. My fingers closed around cool metal, and I unlocked the door.

The hall when I peered out was still dark and vacant, and when I listened for the sound of someone on the stairs I heard nothing but the dim echo of the tavern below. I took one trembling step out from the doorway.

Looking down, I could see that my hands were still stained red with his blood. Quickly, and with a strange and sudden sense of shame, I wiped them on my dress, wrapping my cloak tightly around me to hide the stains. I started down the hall.

I had left the door unlocked.

Still shaking, I turned back and locked it behind me, then headed downstairs. I moved as slowly as I could to avoid tripping down the rickety staircase.

Keeping my head bowed low, I worked my way to the front of the tavern, and this time the crowd paid me little mind, even as I clutched the dagger in my hand. Snatching at the doorknob, I burst outside, sucking in great gulps of air.

I needed to stop shaking.

After taking several more deep breaths, I felt steady enough to retrieve my horse, Apple, from where she had been tied to a nearby post. Even so, it took a couple of tries to fully mount her without stumbling.

Riding back towards my estate, the fullness of what I had done began to sink in.

I had never killed a man before, and I had thought I would feel gleeful—after all, I’d killed the very man who had caused me to be cursed!

But if I were truly free, then why did I feel so awful?

I was lost in my thoughts when Apple snorted, and I realized we had already crossed into the bounds of my estate. I dismounted, and returned my horse to the stable boy, careful to shield the blood from his gaze. “Will you be needing Apple again today, milady?” He asked.

But I was already on my way up the path towards the main house. I headed straight for my room, avoiding Faewin and any uncomfortable questions, locking my door behind me. My bloodied dress came off, stuffed into a chest until I could dispose of it later.

Moments later, I remembered the dagger and the key—both incriminating evidence. Into the chest they went, as much blood wiped off as possible beforehand. The bloodstained cloth I had been using followed them, and I pulled a robe on, covering my neck before calling for one of my lady’s maids to draw a bath.

I waited in my dusky pink velvet-backed chair, staring blankly out the window and picking at a hangnail, images of Marlowe’s shocked face fixed in my mind’s eye. I shook my head, trying to dispel the vision. How could I have explained that his betrayal was what had made me do it? It wasn’t my fault! It had been either him or me.

And besides, explaining anything to Marlowe in that moment would have taken time I could not have afforded; I would have lost the advantage of surprise, which, with an assassin involved, was paramount.

With my bath ready, I slipped in, letting out a little sigh of pleasure as the steamy water closed over my body. I could feel the horror that had so paralyzed me converting into something like giddiness.

Yes, it had been awful to have no other choice than to kill him. But now that it was done, the curse was broken.

I was free.

I shifted my limbs in the bath, causing the water to splash, and I laughed, wondering when the mark might disappear. Would it go as suddenly as it arrived? Would it fade with time?

A knock sounded on the door. “It’s Faewin.”

I slipped below the waterline, careful to hide the mark under the soapy water. “Come in.”

My cousin stuck her head into the doorway, eyebrows furrowed. “This is an unusual time for you to bathe. Are you feeling alright?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, “I just felt soiled after riding into town on business.”

Faewin looked satisfied enough with my answer, but it was still probably a good idea to change the subject, just to be safe. “Did you respond to the prince’s wedding invitation?”

“I hand-delivered it myself,” Faewin told me.

Gone were any trace of her prior objections to my acceptance. My cousin had always been the type to move beyond our disagreements. “Thank you,” I said, and then, “Let’s have dinner together this evening. It’s been a couple of days since we really spent time together.”

Faewin smiled, eyes crinkling. “That sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.”

She closed the door, and I sighed, rising from the tub. It was going to be such a relief to stop hiding things from Faewin.

I toweled off, feeling refreshed. I had done the impossible. Was I the first villainess out of legend to ever break her curse? I had no idea what that could mean as far as the prince’s wedding went, but I had nearly a month to figure out what to do—plenty of time to put a new plan in place.

Maybe this time I’d even be able to stop the wedding before the happy couple could exchange vows.

As evening descended, I changed into yet another gown with a high collar (what a relief that soon I would be able to wear my favorite gowns again!) and joined Faewin in the dining room. “You’re in a far better mood than I expected,” Faewin mused, once the servants had set the fish course in front of us, “I had thought the news of the wedding would upset you.”

I took a bite of my red snapper. “I refuse to worry about the wedding,” I said, feeling the truth of the assertion seeping into my bones, “anything can happen between now and then.”

Faewin set down her glass of wine and looked at me, all seriousness. “Are you planning something?” she asked, in low tones.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. She really had no idea. “The future’s not set in stone, is it?”

After dinner, I took a stroll through my garden in the setting sunlight, admiring the graceful arrangement of flowers and fountains as though through new eyes. Freedom was a wonderful thing.

My favored knight approached me from the main path. “Good evening, Sir Garnier” I called to him, heedless of the impropriety of raising my voice in public.

Society should count itself fortunate that I was not inclined to make more of a spectacle in my happiness. “Milady,” he said, upon drawing closer to me, “Did your…meeting…go well?”

A sudden flash of Marlowe’s dead face floated up in front of me once again, but I banished the image before I could lose my cool. “I decided to follow your advice, and canceled it.”

Genuine relief settled across Garnier’s expression. “I’m glad to hear it.”

That night, I slept soundly, not even a dream to disturb my equilibrium. When I awoke to sunlight streaming through the half-open curtain, I jumped up from bed and rushed to my vanity mirror, ready to greet the reflection of my unblemished neck.

Instead, I screamed.

Not only had the mark not gone…

It was spreading.