Branwen stared at the table in front of her. They were in that shop. The horrible sounds of someone sobbing distracted her. Slowly she registered that they weren't her own.

"There, there," Ivan said, dropping smoothly into his seat. "I've brought you a slice of your engagement cake."

She blinked, not fully processing the reddish-brown treat in front of her. The muddy color reminded her of blood.

"It should still be fresh from yesterday," Ivan continued calmly. When she sensed him waiting, she managed to raise her eyes up to meet his.

"No appetite?" he asked, head tilted. She still couldn't find the words she wanted to say. "Shame," he shrugged, taking a very deliberately tiny piece for himself. As she watched him chew and swallow, humming to himself happily, she felt a prickling in her skin. For a moment she wondered if he'd poisoned it. The cake. What an odd sense of macabre, poisoning an engagement cake. That way he wouldn't have to deal with the scandal of his future bride housing a wanted criminal or dirty his hands by killing her himself.

She tentatively used a spoon to pick up a piece for herself. It smelled strongly of chocolate and cherries but felt like dirt going down her guilt-ridden throat. Ivan's eyes gleamed with pleasure as he watched her.

"Tasty, my sweet?"

She licked her lips to clean off the remnants of crumbs. Her voice cracked, so soft she was barely audible. "I don't know yet."

"Well I hope you find it easier to swallow as you take another bite. I've worked very hard on this. I've been waiting…for the right combination. You have yet to formally accept my proposal, but since you have not protested I take that as a certain complacency to be queen? And seeing as you just tried the cake—" he grinned, gesturing towards the spoon still clenched in her hand. "That signals you are willing at least to try."

Her eyes widened and narrowed as she tried to focus on his meaning. "Try…?"

His eyes flitted down to his lap where his half-eaten piece of cake lay. "To be mine. You said you liked me, after all."

"Ivan…" Branwen felt her throat close up, horror overtaking her. She hoped it was poison.

"It wasn't a guarantee that you would, seeing as I'm a Prince. It's a very delicate situation. Our engagement was so rudely interrupted by that man—"

"Dominicus," Branwen managed, tears welling up in her eyes.

Ivan smiled kindly, brushing a gloved hand along her cheek. She gasped at the contact, horrified that the dark form would emerge upon it. "There's no need to cry for him. He was drinking himself half to death in an attempt to join his sister and now he has. It's ended happily for him. And it will go on happily for us." Ivan gazed tenderly at her, making Branwen want to squirm. It took all of her self-control not to run. She'd probably try to stab him if she had anything other than a spoon. And yet…it wasn't his fault. She should have been executed.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, eyes closing as hot tears fell down her cheeks.

She felt him stiffen, almost removing his hand before the tears could touch him. Instead she felt something familiar—his handkerchief?—dabbed against her.

"He was a friend," she said quietly.

Ivan tenderly tilted her chin upwards until she opened her eyes to look at him. His eyes were flaring, the pink giving way to an almost red glow behind them.

"He will rot," he said quietly. "You will not. You…are perfect." She shook her head slightly, then winced as he gripped her chin harder. "Sacrifices had to be made, Branwen. But you will never be one of them. Do you understand?"

She blinked, processing. He didn't want her dead or punished…his words came back to her. "Nothing you do will make me love you less." With his fingers on her chin, she realized he was never letting go.