Dylan clenched her cutlery, and her manicured fingernails bit into her palms. She couldn't understand how Sir Pennel remained so unaffected. He had a relaxed expression on his face, as if somebody's life was something he could gamble with.

"That was delicious," he said, setting down his utensils. He glanced at a grandfather clock up against the wall. "I'm afraid I must take my leave. There are so many things that I must do today."

Dylan bit her lip, anxiously scanning Sir Pennel's face. Should she feign ignorance for a while and hope things would sort themselves out? But at what cost, at what price? Here she was, gambling for the highest stakes—Edwin's life—in a situation where she was at a disadvantage.

"Sir Pennel, I'll see you out," she said as she stood. She held her hands behind her back, hoping to hide the fact that she was trembling.

His smile widened slowly. "Thank you, Lady Dylan."

They walked along in an uncomfortable silence until they reached where he had left his carriage. The harnesses of the horses had the Imperial gold crest as did the doors of the coach. The sight of it nearly made her sick.

"What do you want?" she said, staring at him dead in the eyes. "Are you going to play with someone's life who has done nothing wrong?"

"Very good, my lady." He smiled as he adjusted his top hat. "You made the right choice. For a moment there, I thought you were going to let him die."

Dylan flinched as the words struck home. He saw it and his smile widened. Sir Pennel had complete control over her, and he wanted her to feel it. He needed her on her hands and knees, literally crawling in desperation to save that old man.

"What do I need to do?" she asked him.

He reached out and twirled a curl of her hair around his finger as he drew his face close to hers. "You need to convince your adoptive father to get married."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"

"Well, as you already know, my lady is only an heiress presumptive." He brought the curl to his lips and kissed it. "Your position can be displaced by the birth of a new heir with a better claim to the Duchy of Beaumon."

Dylan flinched and edged away from him, stopping only when her back hit the carriage wall. If a legitimate child was born to the Beaumon household, then her rights as the next Duke would disappear. After that, of course, the best thing would be to get her married off as soon as possible.

'This is all to force me to become the next Empress.'

Emperor Katil was a power-hungry man. He wanted to have everything he desired. A man poisoned with the desires of avarice—extreme greed for material gain. A treacherous man, a sinister collector.

"You people really are bastards, aren't you?" she spat. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. "What did you do to him? Was it poison?"

There was something creepy about the way he smiled. "It's a very special poison," he said, his tongue sliding over his lips. "It only exists within the Imperial Palace, so there's no way for any other doctor to acquire the antidote."

He reached his right hand into the fold of his coat and came out with a small bottle. He held it in his hands as he sloshed the strange purple liquid back and forth. It was almost as if Sir Pennel were teasing her.

"Do as I say," said Sir Pennel, the bottle dangling inches from Dylan's face. He clenched the bottle tight in his fist. "And your little grandfather figure doesn't die."

A dark look passed over her face. "And if I don't?"

He leaned forward, his face inches from hers. "Then you murder that old man."

"You're despicable. I hate you, I really do." She trembled as she spoke. A tear slid down her cheek. "How can you even call yourself a human being?"

"You're pretty when you cry." Sir Pennel smiled, wiping the tear from her cheek. "Convince your adoptive father to remarry. You have as long as that old man can hold on to his life."

Finally he climbed the steps to the carriage and got in. Dylan remained standing there, silent, watching the carriage pull away. She was faced with a difficult choice: her freedom, or Edwin's life.

'I need to see Edwin.'

***

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, as Dylan remained silent. "You've been quiet all this time."

Dylan kept her eyes upon his pale complexion for a few strained moments, then, regaining her composure, looked away and shrugged her shoulders.

'He looks worse than before.'

She intentionally avoided eye contact with him, slowly flipping through the pages of her book. It was a book compiling and presenting information about toxic plants within the Empire of Oberon. She was desperately searching for some sort of answer.

"You always scolded me because I missed meals." Edwin sighed, trying not to sink into a depressing tone. "Now you're hardly speaking. Something must have happened."

"Nothing's wrong," she muttered, eyes locked on the book. She flipped the page. "Just close your eyes. You should rest."

"Dylan," said Edwin. "Talk to me."

Shaking, she tightly clenched a pen in her hand as she tried to think what to say. Dylan wanted, foolishly, to collapse into his arms and beg forgiveness for the hurt and pain she had caused him. But how could she face him?

"I'm sorry," she muttered. A tear ran down her cheek and dripped onto the book she had in her lap. "I'm so sorry."

Then she began to sob. Her cries sounded like a person being tortured—an awful sound, a mix of heartbreak and grief. She wondered how she would be able to live if he died, knowing his death would be her fault. The pain, the hurt, the guilt of it: it was killing her.

"Dylan," he said. He reached out his hand to her. "It's okay, my child. It's not your fault."

Dylan turned and looked at him through tear filled eyes. "I just want to be free someday," she whispered. "Is that really so wrong?"

"You're free to travel on," he said. "Away from here or just away from me. Any time you want."

"You're like this because of me," she told him. Her voice was filled with grief—a grief that was hopeless. "You were poisoned."

She expected him to react, but he didn't. He simply looked at her. "I know."

"You, you know?" The heavy red book hit the floor with a thud as she stuttered. "And you're still willing to let me go? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't—"

"Please, Dylan stop what you are doing and listen to me, please."

Looking at him now, she wondered how he was ever able to love her like she was his own child. She didn't deserve Edwin—didn't deserve his kindness, didn't deserve the fact that he cherished her like a daughter.

"I am not your father, but I still love you like you are one of my children," he said. He smiled at her warmly and reached for her check, as she frowned. "I want you to be free, Dylan. I want you to escape the hell you live in."

"What are you saying?"

"Don't let it upset you," he said, wiping tears from her face with his thumb. "But you have to let me go, Dylan."

"Grandpapa," she said, her voice breaking, "how can you say that?"

"Don't trade your freedom for my life." He pulled his hand away and dropped his voice almost to a whisper. "I won't let you."

He was the only family she had left. He'd been her anchor and one of her only sources of happiness. He was willing to trade his life for her freedom. But she couldn't let him go, couldn't let him die. Not now, not when she needed him the most.

"No." Dylan's voice trembled as she spoke. "I won't let you die." Her hands trembling, she took several deep breaths before she spoke again. "I don't want to bury another person I love."

"Dylan."

"I said no." She stood up and walked over to the door. But paused with her hand on the doorknob. "There has to be another way," she said, looking over her shoulder. "I will find a way."

'I need to meet with Caspian.'

Their eyes met and held for a second, then she left the room.