That night Brand wore the face of a handsome man with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes—not a face that looked related to him and so one she chose to ignore. The spell took a little time to set up, and he hummed as he got it ready.

“This will be like last time,” he said. “You and I must both consent to the spell, or it will not work. However, there are a few things I must tell you.”

“What are they?” Seri asked.

“First the enchantment is limited to this room. That’s one of my stipulations—it makes the spell easier to control. Outside this room, you and I may lie our heads off. But in here, we will be honest.”

“Very well.”

“The second thing you need to know is that the truth spell is subjective.”

“Subjective?” she asked.

“It’s tied to what we believe.”

She blinked. “So… it’s not actual truth?”

He sighed. “Well, here’s the thing. If the spell were tied to the actual, unquestionable truth, then anyone who used this spell may well be God. You can ask me, for example, about what happens to our souls after we die, and I will answer as I think to be true—but that doesn’t mean it is true. My answer is subjectively true, but not factually true. Does that make sense?”

“So there isn’t really any way to be certain?”

“Nothing in life is certain, my dear,” he said. “But in general, the more direct the question is, the more truthful the answer. Yes or no questions are pretty accurate, whereas open-ended philosophical questions will get you, at best, a truthful opinion. Keep that in mind.”

Seri nodded. It just meant she had to be very careful what she asked. She had to be clear, precise, and direct. She straightened in her chair and folded her hands neatly over her skirt.

“All right. The spell is set. You are going to say, “I, Serihilde of Castle Staghome, do swear and consent to tell the truth, to the best of my knowledge, to Brandeis of Tower Abnoba, as long as we are in this room.”

“You go first,” she said.

“No,” Brand said. “I need to make sure you say the words precisely. Shall I repeat it?”

She nodded and he said the phrase again. She repeated it. He stated, “I, Brandeis of Tower Abnoba, do swear and consent to tell the truth to Serihilde, to the best of my knowledge, as long as we are in this room.”

Seri felt the magic go through them and lock. She felt both relieved and a little nervous.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we can relax and talk.” Brand walked over to his tumbler of wine. “I know you have questions. Go ahead and ask them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. I may not answer all, but you may ask. Would you like some wine?”

“No,” she said. “Are you really a surviving member of Castle Satyros.”

“Yes,” he said, pouring the wine.

The answer so startled her that for a moment she was speechless.

“How did you survive?” she asked at last.

“My mother was declared dead.” He sipped his drink. “My birth was concealed.”

“Did you kidnap us for revenge?”

“Yes.”

“But why us? We didn’t hurt you. What do you hope to gain?”

“That is a complicated series of questions.” Brand drained his wine. “I don’t feel like answering them. Ask your next question.”

Seri clenched her hands over her skirt, crushing the red velvet. “Did you hurt Ida?”

Brand opened his mouth but stopped. He poured himself another glass of wine.

“Aside from capturing her, I caused Ida no physical harm.”

“Did you make her sleep with you?”

“No.”

“Did you make her steal?”

He thought about it. “Yes and no. The item she offered belonged to my family.”

“Did you return her home?”

“Yes.”

“Do you return all the girls you capture?”

“So far, yes,” he said. “Once they agree to terms.”

“You keep your word to them?”

“Yes.”

“Do you hurt their families?”

“In what sense?” he asked.

“Do you attack, maim, stab—”

“I do not physically assault individuals. Not in their own castle.”

“Will the spell actually turn us into dragons?”

“Yes.”

“Do you undo it before you return the girls home?”

“Yes.”

“If you die, does the spell break?”

“No.”

“Can someone beside you break it?”

He thought. “That depends.”

“On what?”

His eyes narrowed. “Next question.”

Seri swallowed. “Did you sleep with Berta?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep with Rilla?”

“Yes.”

“Do you intend to sleep with Lotte?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to sleep with me?” she asked softly.

Brand leaned against the mantle place. “I wouldn’t say no if you offered.”

“I’m not offering.”

“Not yet.”

Seri looked down. So he meant to have her, then. Her whole body felt hot and stinging, and she was short of breath. It was not a pleasant feeling. His eyes were on her, watching, always watching. She hardly dared imagine the thoughts that ran through his mind.

“Any more questions?” Brand asked.

“Not at the moment.”

He nodded. “So now that we’re being honest, I have a question for you.”

Her stomach knotted. “What is it?”

“Do you like the face I’m currently wearing?”

She blinked. “That’s your question?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“Not on you.”

“I can change it, if you like.” Brand set the goblet on the mantle. “Tell me your preference. I’ll try to accommodate you.”

“I have no preference. These illusions are all masks. Pick whichever one you like.”

He tilted his head and peered at her for a long moment. Then he smiled.

“How about this?”

Seri uttered a cry.

The man before her was a clean-shaven youth, with brown hair, long and wavy, neatly combed. He was fair-skinned, but not pale, and he had a strong jawline, a long, thin mouth, and a nose slightly rounded at the end. Mostly, though she noticed his eyes. They were a plain brown with nothing remarkable about the shape, but they were fiery and intense. They drew her to them, and she could not stop staring.

It was not an illusion. This was his true face.

“You seem shocked,” Brand said.

“That’s… is that really you?”

“Yes. Good God, you’re pale.” His smile widened, showing a flash of teeth, but his eyes lost none of their intensity. “Trembling, too. Am I so horrifying to behold?”

“No. You’re—no.” Seri squirmed. “Why show me what you look like?”

“Why not? You’ve decided to be a dragon.”

“No. My father will find my uncle. He’ll tear you apart.”

“Either way,” Brand shrugged, “knowing what I look like won’t make any difference.”

“I suppose not,” she said in a shaky voice.

Seri took a short breath. Brand had meant to disarm her, and it had worked. But now that she knew his true face, she felt more curious than anything. Standing, she stepped over to him. His skin was clear and had a glow of health. He looked young. He had faint furrows in his brow, but few wrinkles beside that.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Twenty-two.”

“I’d guessed twenty-five.”

He put his hands behind his back and leaned over her. “You’ve been guessing at my age?”

“And your general appearance.”

“Really?” He took a step closer. “Do I look as you imagined?”

He was too close now, his bearing, his attention too much to take. Seri was forced to look to the side and glance at him from the corner of her eye.

“In some ways, yes. You resemble your ancestors, but you’re also different. I’d guessed you would have an ordinary face, maybe even handsome, but—”

She stopped. She’d said too much.

“Do you think I’m handsome?” he asked.

No, she wanted to say.

“Yes,” she said out loud and felt her face heat.

“Thank you for the kind compliment.” She could hear the smug smile in his voice.

“I didn’t mean to compliment you.”

“Of course not. To do so would be fundamentally against your code of conduct.” He took another step forward and her shoulders tensed, but he stepped around her and put a hand to the board table. “Admit to one good quality and you might have to admit to others. And if you admit to too many, who knows? You may even start to like me.”

Seri said nothing. She burned. This remark cut too close to her own thoughts, her firm decision to mark his every action as malicious. For him to read her so easily, so flippantly, made her feel small and foolish. She crossed her arms.

“Why do you care if I like you or not?” she asked.

She heard him draw a breath as if to speak, but the words didn’t follow. Seri risked a glance in his direction. Brand frowned. He opened his mouth and quickly shut it. He did this once more. His eyes flickered around the room, and his fingers idly tapped the back of his neck.

Brand sighed. “Because I like you,” he said at last.

Whatever Seri was expecting, it was not that. Such a short, simple answer—surely, that couldn’t be it. Most likely, the truth was a complex web of ill-intent. He wasn’t going to tell her his machinations and manipulations. Hence the pauses. Hence the careful word choice. What had she expected? Even when he told the truth, he lied.

Brand tilted his head. “You don’t believe me, do you? Even with the spell. Incredible. I’ve never known anyone quite so stubborn as you. You are dead set on hating me, aren’t you?” A flicker of hurt went through his face, and his voice softened. “Nothing I do will be good enough for you.”

Was the pained expression real or just good acting? Brand had a theatrical quality about him, so she felt sure he could put on a show. Still, it was one thing seeing illusions react—another to see his real face. It was easier to believe his expressions might be real.

“How can I believe you?” she asked. “You kidnapped me. I don’t trust. I don’t know what your true intentions are.”

“Then ask.”

“You won’t tell me.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Some, perhaps. Not everything. You’ll hide the truest part.”

Brand let out a sigh. “Everyone hides the truest part of themselves, Seri. You hide yours from me all the time. If I were to ask your favorite color, you’d hem and haw and ponder how I might possibly use the answer against you. Yes, I kidnapped you, and I might have done worse—but I haven’t. I’ve given you what you need, I’ve kept my promises, I’ve been honest. Why is it so hard for you to talk to me? What are you afraid of?”

Where to begin? That he would hurt her, use her, force her into bed with him? Seri had several retorts, but when she tried to answer, she found her tongue unable to move. She kept opening her mouth and nothing came out. Because it wasn’t true, she realized. Yes, she was afraid of all those things—but it had nothing to do with why she wouldn’t talk to him. That answer was far simpler.

I’m afraid I might like you.

She did not say it out loud, though, for the answer, plain as it was, was somehow too big, too weighty, and she couldn’t process it. Of all the things to be afraid of, it was this that frightened her. Why?

She looked at him and realized that without his illusions, it was hard for her not to see him as, well, human. He was a young man—powerful, it was true, with evil deeds to his name—but still, just a man. The shifting masks of illusions had obscured this fact, made it easier to see Brand as a demonic presence, his every action calculated to break her spirit and corrupt her will. But now she couldn’t be sure. Maybe he was planning her soul’s destruction. Or maybe his motives were much simpler.

“Brand,” she said quietly, “was all this—the truth spell, answering my questions, showing your real face—was it to get me to like you?”

“Yes!” he blurted. “Did I not make that clear?”

“You… you want me to like you because…” Seri swallowed. Her heart was thumping. “…because you like me?”

Brand nodded. “It’s not so complicated, really.”

But it was. Seri leaned against the board table. The room was spinning.

Every action he took, she’d judged as though he were a master manipulator, skillfully demanding one concession after the other, until he broke her. Knowing this, it was her duty, her moral obligation, to resist. And as hard as it was, at least it gave her clarity. At least she knew what was right.

But this new way of thinking, seeing him as a young man trying to impress a girl… it only confused the matter. Brand wanted to be liked because…. well, he wanted to be liked. Because it was the nature of people to crave the approval of those they respected, those they admired. Did he respect and admire her? What was happening?

It shouldn’t matter, and yet it did. He’d kidnapped her. The act was evil. But was he? Because if not, then did it make it right to defy him? Should she expend so much energy being sullen and silent and trying to understand the nefarious intent behind his every advance? Or was such thinking only obscuring the truth?

“Seri,” he said, and his voice was low. “Do you like me?”

She stared at the board and could not look at him. But she could hear him breathing, shallowly beside her. He was standing so close her skin prickled. She could not answer. She did not know. Two different interpretations, and she did not know which to believe. Which was right? Which was true?

“Seri?” he said again, and there was a tremble at the end of his voice.

Her head was spinning. “I need to leave.”

“It’s a simple question.”

“Please,” she said. “I feel ill.”

She felt like she was going to faint or throw up, but she knew it was not the fault of her body, but of her mind. The thoughts, the emotions, bearing down on her, became a relentless pounding in her ears. Brand was speaking, but she could not hear. She tried to step away from him, tried to get back to her chair, but her knees wobbled. She swayed and grabbed his arm.

He caught her and held her upright.

“You… you really aren’t well, are you?” Brand said.

“No,” she whispered.

“I’ll take you to your room.”

She let go of his arm, but he did not go of her. He took her arm firmly in his as they made their way through the dining room and up the stairs. She found she needed to grip his arm as they climbed—if he wasn’t there, she felt sure, she would have fallen down the staircase. It was humiliating. To have held up for so long and then fall apart over this. Seri was furious at herself. Why did she have to break down now?

He opened her door. “Good night, Seri. I hope you feel better in the morning.”

“Good night, Brand.”

She had avoided looking at him up until then, but as she turned to close her door, she could not help but see his face. He looked… sad. Almost wistful, actually. Like he wanted to say something, like there was a question building in his lungs, and he was holding his breath. She closed the door. From the other side of the wooden frame, she heard him sigh, his footsteps tap down the stairs.

Seri pressed her forehead to the door.

Two interpretations, and she knew which one was true—and that was the problem.