Aurora opened her mouth to speak, but then, as if the event had come from their speaking of it, the red mists parted, and Balthazar vanished from her sight, as did the Throne, and the entire realm that was both the lich's prison and kingdom.  She opened her eyes, and she was in her own bed, in the pavilion, and bolted upright, a scream on her lips.  The nightmarish qualities assaulted her waking mind, the things she'd done, the things she'd said. . .only her pillow, bit, kept her from shouting aloud the horror and revulsion that she felt bathed in, contaminated in.<br/><br/>She looked at her sheet, certain that she must have left a sea of blood. . .but just the clean, white linens.  Her back, she felt, was whole, unmarked.  There was no soreness between her legs. . .nothing at all to prove that what had just happened had not been in her mind.<br/><br/>Except. . .the bloodstone pendant had been left carelessly atop the trunk holding her riding gowns.  Did the jewel seem more vibrant, glow a bit brighter, than it had before?  Aurora thought that it had, but couldn't be sure.  She couldn't think too much more on it, for her maids entered, calling her name and bearing a pitcher of water and a chamber pot for her morning ablations.  The princess put on her best face (she was so good at pretending, sometimes she wondered if she was who she even thought she was, any more), and began the routines of the day, though her mind was filled by questions, by doubt, by horror, and, beneath it all like a deep current, the hopes of her ambitions that would never die.