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I concentrated on the chains.

Stellan stepped to the left edge of the dais. The wrist restraints allowed his arms to lower but not reach beyond the carved stone. The chain at his waist stopped him half a metre before the red line on the floor.

He tested the right side next, then moved behind the throne until the ankle restraints locked.

“That’s my reach while the court is calm,” he said. “It may shorten the chains again if you touch the throne or offer blood.”

“I’m doing neither.”

I traced a route with the torch. I could stay near the outer wall, pass behind the last pillar and reach the plinth without coming within two metres of him. If the chains moved, I had open space and a heavy metal torch.

The plan wasn’t perfect. It was better than sitting under the house until someone arrived with their own agenda.

I stood.

Stellan moved to the far side of the dais without being asked. He turned his face away from my injured hand and braced both hands against the stone behind him.

He was still dangerous, but moving away earned him some trust.

“If the chains change, tell me before I feel it through the bond.”

“You’ll hear the iron first. Move away from me, not towards the gate. Harrowmere has sealed it, and getting trapped against it would remove your best weapon.”

The explanation made sense.

I started around the room.

The room reacted as I moved. Red light followed my boots. The black roses worked into the pillars opened as I passed, their metal petals turning towards me.

I ignored them and kept my attention on Stellan’s restraints.

The closer I moved to the throne, the more of him I felt. Hunger pulled at the cut in my palm. Desire followed, hot and blunt. An image of my coat on the floor flashed through my mind, followed by his hands on my waist and his mouth at my throat.

I stopped behind the pillar.

Stellan’s fingers tightened on the stone. “Shit. That wasn’t deliberate.”

“It was specific.”

“I’m keeping it from becoming action.”

I looked round the stone. His fingers had dug into the edge of the dais, and every muscle in his arms was tight with the effort to stay there.

The sight didn’t help.

“Keep it on your side of the room.”

“I’m doing my best.”

I believed him. That was becoming its own problem.

The metal case waited on the plinth. It was smaller than the box Arthur had given me, with a narrow handle and a raven stamped into the lid. No hinges or lock showed until I held Edith’s key near it.

A keyhole opened in the raven’s chest.

“Subtle,” I muttered.

The old key turned without resistance. Several catches released, and the lid lifted on its own.