"And you should be ashamed of yourself for not knowing such a thing already," Marie-Fey replied simply, reaching across the table to collect her glass again, taking a sip.

Zahir watched her for a moment, then looked back at the servants. "Stand outside until our meal arrives for you the serve," he ordered, and the servants vanished with a whisper. Zahir returned his attention to Marie-Fey, then picked up his own drink. "I was quite content to ignore you forever as a way to spite my mother, but I see you could have been some entertainment."

"The past tense that you use is hardly going to make me comfortable," Marie-Fey pointed out and Zahir smiled. A carbon copy of his young brother, without the warmth.

"Let's see what we know about each other," he said instead, his voice low and soft. "A fact for a fact?"

"By all means, after you."

"Well let's see. You are the middle daughter of the illustrious Leigh Family; world-renowned, beloved, formidable and confounding."

"Common knowledge," Marie-Fey said, waving it away, "You are the eldest child of the Rais Family, relations of The Sultan on your mother's side and one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the empire. You have a younger brother. You were mostly raised in The Sultan's court alongside your father while your brother was raised within the ladies' palace back home alongside your mother. You assumed the responsibilities of your state young due to your father's untimely death – a successful assassination, I believe." She glanced at him before tilting her glass to him. "Did you kill your father to rid an obstacle from your path?"

Zahir smiled, leaning back. "Well informed and astute," he said, "That has a way of leading to trouble. Why would you choose to ask that upon first meeting?"

"It gives me more of an impression of you. Your turn."

He leant forwards, folding his arms on the table. "You're a Leigh Lady which makes you impossibly difficult to be married to in my position."

"Why?"

"Your turn."

"You did not wish to me married to me but were forced by your mother. I'm an inconvenience because of my relation to my family, you cannot afford anything to happen to me due to the trade war that my father could bring to your door. Your turn."

"I cannot afford anything to happen to you due to the war your younger brother could bring to my door."

"You're concerned because my brother is in the army."

"I'm concerned because your brother has some very powerful companions."

Marie-Fey opened her mouth and Zahir pointed towards her throat.

"It's still my turn. You are in love with my brother."

"I am not in love with your brother," Marie-Fey replied simply, her hand drifting to the necklace he was pointing at.

Zahir smirked. "But you are fond of him."

"He is one of the few people I trust above all else in the country."

"Hmm," Zahir mused absently, resting his cheek on his knuckles. "My last wife was completely in love with him," he said and Marie-Fey raised an eyebrow. He smiled. "I understand, he's gentle and sweet, the opposite to me. He can make almost any lady fall in love with him if he tries. And he tried. My last wife was half-way obsessed with him... and then the one lady he loves doesn't love him back. That is a lovely bit of irony that I cannot help but delight in."

"What happened to your last wife?" Marie-Fey said, her voice hard.

Zahir smiled. "She drowned. Where did you find that old key?"

"On the floor in a hidden tunnel. What happened to your first wife?"

"She fell from a top floor window of her palace. Did you find the door that key fit?"

"I found the door. Why is it that no one remembers those first wives and my personal palace appeared unused for years?"

"I made sure no one remembered them once they served their purpose. And I never let them make use of that palace because I knew they would not live long enough. I only gave it to you because Zaydan made such a fuss before he departed and I conceded that, after two years, you really should have access to it. What did you see behind that door?"

"The bodies of women who died horrible deaths. Who have gone missing from my palace and who died centuries before. What is your connection to Blue Beard that requires the death of so many women?"

"What do you know of Blue Beard?"

"The original story."

"From marriage to death?"

"From marriage to death."

Zahir just smiled, glancing away as a knock at the door proceeded the servants arriving with a rich, aromatic collection of dishes, setting them out and serving neatly before withdrawing, waiting for new orders until Zahir waved them out.

They fell into silence for a time as they sampled the dishes and started to eat.

"My brother tells me Nabeela has died," Zahir said eventually as he poured himself another glass.

"She killed herself," Marie-Fey replied. "I had planned to exile her, but when she discovered that you knew why she was being punished, she chose to kill herself."

"Hmm," Zahir mused, more to himself, "She does this time and time again."

"Excuse me?"

"You're remarkably difficult to kill, Lady Rais," Zahir replied, "Zaydan brought me up to date on Nabeela's antics and I must say, I'm impressed. Ignoring the scorpion, which most could handle, surviving poisoning and an ambush in the middle of nowhere is quite remarkable."

"Considering what Nabeela said before her death, I'm assuming you really did not have anything to do with those assassination attempts – despite the uncomfortably high death rate of those under your charge."

"No, as I said, your death would cause me more hassle than I care to face."

Marie-Fey considered that for a moment, then pointed at her glass. Zahir smirked but refilled it. "Did Nabeela kill your first two wives?"

"No, she didn't have the time to try."

"Yet she was willing to wait over two years before she tried to end me."

"I suppose her unease grew too much."

"Why did you kill your wives?"

"You're not even going to pretend their deaths might have been tragic accidents? Ignorance is bliss, they say. I said I wouldn't hurt you; you can go on not knowing anything."

"You said you would not kill me because it makes things awkward, not that you wouldn't hurt me."

"I won't hurt you if you sit on the side-lines as a good wife should."

"No," Marie-Fey said bluntly, looking at him. "I forced my way here because I have a duty to the women of my palace. They may be your property, but they are my women. No one else seems to care for them, least of all you. You are a hinderance to my ladies, I want to know why."

"If I gave you a good enough response, would you leave it be?"

"Depends on the response."

"I would rather you did not become a problem for me. But, while I would rather you did not become involved so I need not deal with your family, if you force my hand, I will have no choice."

"While your argument is certainly compelling, I'm sure you must concede why I might take issue with it. So rather than a good enough response, it's better to settle with the truth."

Zahir sighed like she was really interrupting his day, tapping a finger on the table as he thought. "Very well, we are caught in a loop."

"I beg your pardon?"

Zahir snapped his fingers and Marie-Fey's jaw dropped as she looked around them. In a second, they were in another land, another time and place. They were sat at the head of a grand banquet hall, stone walls hung with tapestries and vines, candles lighting the towering ceilings, sheltered in corners where the wind from the glassless windows. She looked down at herself, studying the body that was not hers, dressed in a loose, layered gown and soft shoes. She touched her hair, the intricate plaits styled below a hennin, the cone-shaped headwear distressingly high, with streaming fabric pouring from the tip.

She looked to her right and stared at the man beside her.

It was Zahir. Only it wasn't Zahir. The person beside her was a handsome young man with dark beard and closely cut hair. His skin was pale, but his eyes were as black as the man she knew she was married to.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice not her own.

"A little jaunt into the past," he replied, "Do keep your voice down. You and I no longer speak in the same manner as these people, centuries have evolved this language on for us, but we are eight-hundred years out of time."

Marie-Fey stared at him, then looked around the hall again.

"Where are we?"

"This is the land that now belongs to your family's home," Zahir replied, "Long before the Leigh Line existed, of course."

Marie-Fey looked at him, then looked around the stone walls of the keep again, studying the guests who talked and laughed and danced. At the huge, fully roasted game pieces placed in full displace on the long tables. At the wine and the lack of any cutlery asides from single knives used for tearing food from the central dishes. She peered past Zahir and jumped.

She recognised Zaydan, even if the person sat on the other side of Zahir didn't look like him. But again, he was so similar to his brother, it was impossible to mistake them. His hair was longer, his face clean shaven, but he had the same sunshine smile as he spoke to the pretty young lady at his other side.

"It really is a loop," she muttered, staring at Zaydan until he felt her stare. He turned and smiled at her.

"Are you well, Acelina?" he asked.

Marie-Fey blinked, then straightened. "Quite so," she replied before falling quiet.

Zaydan looked at her for a moment, then returned to the woman at his side. His current wife? Or another family member?

"It really is a loop," Zahir confirmed. "Honestly, I don't remember where or which life it started it now. I have lived so many. This was just one of my lives. Come, let us move on."

He snapped his fingers and Marie-Fey was knelt on a golden cushion at a low table, small ceramic cups and tea pot before her.

She looked down at herself.

She knew this dress. What was it called? Mr. Yang had explained the fashion to her once during a tea sitting. He had sketched the design for her, and this was it in colour, yards of silk made out of whites and pinks and blues. A hanfu? What that it? She touched her hair, feeling the ornaments trickling from silky hair set in place by a wax.

Zahir appeared at her side and moved past to take a seat on the opposite side of the table, dressed in white and blue to match her. A servant hurried over and poured his tea before bowing away.

"Another early one," Zahir said simply, in a language she should not know. Marie-Fey looked around, studying the silks and opulence.

"Brother, are you attending dinner this evening?"

Zaydan breezed in, his clothing black and red. His were cut differently to Zahir's, easier to move in, a sword at his side as he bowed his head to Marie-Fey, smiling at her.

"Of course," Zahir replied, lifting his cup in greeting to Zaydan.

"The Emperor has arrived!"

The call echoed through the rooms and Marie-Fey's body moved on its own, rising to leave the table and kneel in greeting.

"Let us move along, my uncle was always so unpleasant in this life," Zahir muttered.

Marie-Fey blinked and they were in a garden bursting with flowers and fruit. She was mid-way through waving away a monkey that was nosing around her food and a servant was rushing over to chase the animal away. Her dark skin, styled in henna patterns, gleamed in the sunlight and she felt jewellery hanging from her ears, a chain attaching the earrings to a nose ring, her neck adorned in diamonds. She wore a sari, a dazzling pink, which she automatically adjusted as she watched Zaydan stroll past, dressed in white, the fabric at his legs wrapped to resemble loose trousers, with a long white top over them, laughing with another young man, glancing her way and smiling.

"That's enough, I understand. This loop has a long history," Marie-Fey said, not even bothering to look at Zahir though she knew he was close by.

"Just one more stop," Zahir replied and Marie-Fey blinked. They were in a beautiful, pale blue morning room. Fine china was laid out on the dainty table before them, also blue.

She wore a huge dress, the hips wide and dramatic, blue fabric made of ruffles and lace. She could pinpoint this fashion era. Some two hundred years before, at a change of fashion tastes, women's clothing growing larger and more dramatic.

There were six guests at the little gathering, all laughing hysterically. She glanced to her right, to see the man Zahir was in this era, theatrically stroking a fine beard that was stained a startling blue.

She stared at him.

A blue beard...

She jumped at the gentle hand on her shoulder and looked around to see Zaydan's recreation looking down at her in concern, his tailored coat and britches made of the finest quality fabrics, powered wig and fashionable makeup out of sorts with the man she knew but fitting this version.

"You look unwell, Madeleine," he said.

She just waved him off and looked at her husband again as one of the ladies teased about his beard being a fantastic accessory for the next costume ball and the company followed along with laughter.

She softly cleared her throat and he nodded and the next second they were back in The Sultan's palace, at their dining table, the food still hot before them and a silence settling around them, deeply quiet after the laughter and business of so many lives in so many seconds.

"Are you the original Blue Beard?" she asked slowly, "That's your connection to the fairytale?"

"I can die many, many times, it does not matter. I will always come back," Zahir said simply.

"What are you?" Marie-Fey whispered, looking at her food, then pushing the dish away.

"I am a human favoured by enchantment," he said simply.

"Why?"

"During my first life, I found myself in possession of a young god's treasure. We made an agreement; they have not failed me yet."

"I cannot believe it was a simple as that. What do you mean, in possession? What was the agreement?"

He let out a breath. "I caught a falling star," he said, "And a young god desperately wanted it back."

"One star? Despite all the stars in the sky?"

"A billion stars in the sky and, to the right person, we are each as precious and unique as the next," he said simply. "That star meant everything to that little god and so I took it home with me."

"And what happened next?"

"The little god followed me home and promised me the world if I gave it back. Young gods are not very good at making the promises older gods cause chaos with."

"But you didn't take the world," Marie-Fey said.

"I did not."

"Why?"

"I do not want the world," he said simply, "I want power, I want prestige, I want to do as I wish, when I wish, where I wish. I wish to answer to no one but not hold the responsibilities of gods or kings or sultans. I wish for the power to do whatever I want. And the little god granted me that wish and I returned to him his star."

"So how do the women play into this?"

He smiled. "I drew to the end of my first life, situated in a position of power. I had everything I wanted. And then the gods attempted to take my dearest younger brother from me and that simply would not stand. Here is the problem about promises with gods though—"

"There is always a catch," Marie-Fey murmured and he nodded.

"Just because I can do as I wish, it does not mean I can deny the will of gods. God greater and older than the little one I'd met years before. I was informed that for my brother's soul, another must replace it. But that was not the end of it, because, like that little god before, now I was at the mercy of others who held something I wanted back. I could have my brother back, if I returned my gifts. If I did not return my gifts, then I had to exchange someone else for him. If I wished to be reborn with my gifts, I needed to keep exchanging others for us. It was not a hard choice. I do not remember the name or face of my wife of that lifetime, but I felt nothing much for her and so she was given up for my brother. And so, the cycle began. These sacrifices do not mean anything to me, they are a means to an end."

Marie-Fey let out a breath, rubbing her forehead before he started to speak again.

"Overtime, I began to bring others with me and my brother, pulling them through lifetimes. Nabeela, for example. Overtime, our lives blur and weave. She has killed herself or been killed in fifteen different lives attempting to stop me. She does not remember why she does what she does, she just does it. She has died again, and she will return to my side eventually in our next life. The only ones who never return are the lives of the women who died for the cause, but they do not matter in the grand scheme of things."

"I really do bloody hate magic," Marie-Fey muttered and Zahir laughed. "All the drama and distress it causes. Because, whatever your reasoning is, my stance remains the same. The women you collect to slaughter are under my rule and protection and your sacrifices are not acceptable. It seems I am going to have to continue the family tradition and get involved with enchantment to put an end to this."

"You think it is that simple? Do you think you are the first wife who tried to stop me? Remember, in the Blue Beard fairytale, my wife survived me and her brothers killed me. Yet here I am today. I brought that wife into the next life with me and she now sits trapped below the palace, in that chamber of death. That was the reward for her bravery. Is that what you want?"

"Certainly not, but her brothers were not my brothers and she was not I. You kill your wives, but I have proven to be difficult to kill and you do not care to kill me."

Zahir looked at her, his expression calm. There was a knock at the door which they both ignored.

"I do not care to kill you," Zahir agreed, "I do not wish to do so because it will cause my Sultan issue with your family. And you have a brother connected to powerful gods. He is not an enemy I would have against me, and you are not an enemy I would have against me. But I have tied up many loose ends in the past. I will merely continue to do so."

Marie-Fey looked at him and the movement was almost too fast to see. As she turned, his hand closed around a knife, and he swung.

The arc was directly to her throat, the serrated edge and wicked point would have torn straight through her jugular, leaving her to bleed out at the table.

"WAIT!"

The cry and collision came from her right. A hand flashed between her and the weapon, and the knife drove directly through the palm, ripping past muscle and flesh and burrowing out the other side.

Zaydan screamed in pain, recoiling backwards, gripping his wrist as blood poured from his ruined hand.

Marie-Fey gaped at him as he collapsed to the ground beside her and Zahir let out an irritated huff.

"Zaydan," he snapped.

"Sorry," Zaydan ground out through grinding teeth, his eyes clenched against the pain, "Sorry, but please don't kill her. Please don't. I've barely had any time with her. I still love her, please don't kill her. I've been looking for her for such a long time."