“I have a plan.”He groaned. “I was afraid of that.”“My plans are not terrible.”“Isabelle’s plans are terrible.” He pointed a finger at her. “Your plans are suicidal. At best.”She sat back, her arms crossed over her chest. “Do you want to hear it or not? You have to keep it a secret.”“I would pluck out my own eyes with a fork before I would give away your secrets,” Simon said, then looked anxious. “Wait a second. Do you think that’s likely to be required?”

“I have a plan." He groaned. "I was afraid of that.""My plans are not terrible.""Isabelle's plans are terrible." He pointed a finger at her. "Your plans are suicidal. At best.”

“No' is a magical word," he told her. "Here's how it goes. You say, 'Simon, I have an insane, suicidal plan. Would you like to help me carry it out?' And I say, "Why, no.”

“And then what are your plans?” Annwyl frowned. “My plans?” “Yes. Your plans. You take your brother’s head, your troops are waiting. What is the next thing that you do?”Annwyl just stared at him. He realized in that instant that the girl had no plans. None. No grand schemes of controlling the world. No plots to destroy any other empires. Not even the plan to have a celebratory dinner.“Annwyl, you’ll be queen. You’ll have to do something.” “But I don’t want to be queen.” Her body shook with panic, and he could hear it in her voice. “You take his head, you’ll have little choice.”“What the hell am I supposed to do as queen?” “Well . .you could try ruling.” “That sounds awfully complicated.”

“Unbelievable," I said. "First you wanted to hide her away to keep you alive. Now you actually want her out in the world to use her compulsion for your own psycho plans.”

“You must never check for a person's pulse using your thumb, or you'll feel your own heartbeat. Actually, I plan on doing that if I'm the one who's here when Ruth dies. I plan on giving her my heartbeat before I let her go.”