The Prince sat at a wide writing desk at the far end of the room, a quill in hand, his eyes focused on the letter he was writing. He did not look up when Katherine entered; he simply continued his work. She drew closer, then sank into a deep curtsey, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

At last, he set the quill aside and turned his gaze upon her. For a moment, he seemed to assess her; then he rose, straightening to his full height. Slowly, he moved around the desk. The only sounds were his measured footsteps and the crackle of the fire. Then those footsteps ceased.

"Lady Katherine," he said finally, offering his hand in a courteous gesture.

Katherine took it and rose. "Your Grace."

"I trust you are well, my lady," he said, releasing her hand.

"I am, your Grace," she answered, noticing that her voice wavered more than she had hoped.

He held her gaze a moment longer, then stepped back, as if attuned to her unease. "Tonight, I shall meet with the state council and tomorrow I shall set off to Poenari castle." Clasping his hands behind his back, he crossed to the window. "I wish you to accompany me."

A chill traced down Katherine's spine. So this was the price for his mercy—and she had little doubt what it might be.

"When I last saw you, your Grace, you took my father's life. If it is my heart you wish, I shall never be able to give it. If it is my virtue you demand, then know that I shall never give it willingly. My favours are not for sale, not even in return for my life."

He laughed softly, turning his gaze back to her. "My lady, you must think very poorly of me." He extended his hand once more. "Please, Lady Katherine, allow me to show you something."

She hesitated, then laid her fingers in his. Wordlessly, he guided her from the study, through a series of lofty arcades, and then up the stairs leading to the top of the north tower. As they stepped onto the broad, snow-laden platform, an icy wind stung her cheeks.

He led her to the snow-dusted balustrade overlooking the courtyard. Hundreds of soldiers were gathered within the castle walls, and she knew thousands more waited outside.

"What you see down there is a battalion. Eight hundred men. Your father commanded ten such units. When he betrayed his country to the Ottomans, he sacrificed his men. He led them into an Ottoman trap and watched them perish. Eight thousand souls." He paused, pressing his lips together, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. "The water of the Argeș River ran red with their blood. This is what he died for, Lady Katherine."

"My father was a good man. He served you loyally and your father before that. And yet, he chose to betray you because, whatever secret you entrusted to him, was too much to bear for his conscious."

He regarded her with an emotion she could not name. Then he said, "Love is a precious gift, Lady Katherine, but it harbours its own dangerous, for it makes us blind to the flaws of those we love."

"No. You left him no choice. You made him betray you. And then you sentenced him to death."

"There are none so blind as those who do not wish to see, Lady Katherine. But do not delude yourself. We create our own hell, it is the sum of all our decisions – we are not sentenced, we condemn ourselves."

"Are those the words the devil whispers into the ear of men, when they find themselves in hell after following his call?"

He laughed softly. Yet beneath that muted amusement lay a reluctant admiration—and something else, something cold and calculating, as though he were weighing her, not as a man might weigh a woman, but as a warrior might gauge a worthy foe.

"Only the truly brave dare to look the Devil in the eye and tell him that he is the Devil." He said softly, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on her cold skin, his eyes never leaving hers. "You should return to your rooms, it is cold outside. We will continue this conversation tomorrow."

When his lips brushed her skin, Katherine shivered. The kiss felt like a gust of winter air, and its faint touch made her tremble—not just with fear and revulsion, but with another emotion she dared not name. Striving for composure, she lifted her chin, pretending a calm she did not feel. For a brief instant, their eyes locked again; then he strode past her, his cloak billowing behind him like a river of blood.