In the torchlit stone examination room, Magnus Nightingale's precise hands have commanded the castle's wounded for years, but nothing tests his control like the servant who now lies on his examination table. Imogen holds still for the leather restraints he fastens at her wrists and ankles. She is wary of him and comes back anyway. Every examination strips away another professional boundary, and his touch grows more possessive each time.

If the castle discovers the sounds from behind the closed door, Magnus stands to lose his position, his infirmary, and the trust Imogen has begun to offer him.