"Ooohh, Samantha!" Raquelle knew her mother wouldn't approve of the new girl. She stifled a grin of pleasure at the chance to gossip her complaints. "Well first of all she's dressed in some horrendous carnival outfit, and her hair is a complete wreck, and she smells like she's never heard of perfume. She's always talking to the Marshal -- and I mean always -- and I think she's a witch and she's put some kind of spell on him, because he talks to her. You know the Marshal, he never talks to anyone he doesn't have to, but I caught him smiling. She's got him bewitched. And I think Dorothea likes her, which worries me, Mother. Samantha is a double agent, isn't she? I knew it. Well, I've already set to getting rid of her, don't worry. I've put a few drops of pataliss potion in Liam's drink -- and come morning I'll say I saw her do it, and she'll be exiled if not executed on the spot. And the spell on the Marshal will be broken and all your plans will be as smooth as silk."
Sam. August stared after her, unsure how close he could get without trapping himself as well, horrified at the vacant look on her face -- as if she were already halfway gone. How could he have let this happen? He'd promised to protect her, to take her home to her family, and he'd failed. He'd already begun to rely on her for his sanity, to carry on hope that the queen could be destroyed without war -- hope, in the simplest of terms, was Sam herself. And now --
His sword flinched when a voice spoke, and he watched the fae girl warily, instinctively distrustful of anything that wasn't mortal -- but her words struck a chord in his chest, and rage seethed up from his stomach. She was chosen by a malevolent fairy! As if she were simply a toy that could be plucked away, a new shiny thing to be played with! He glared out at the floating blue lights, and the tears in Sam's eyes that might just be the remnant of her own mind screaming, and he wouldn't, couldn't allow anyone else to die or disappear.
August took a step forward, seething with anger. "How do I help her?" he demanded in a snarl to the fae girl -- but he was impatient for an answer, and the girl talked too slowly. "Sam!" he roared, trying to be heard over whatever it was she was dancing to, whatever possessed her and pulled her through the veil. He rushed around the edge of the circle, but he still dared not step over the edge. He stretched his hand in, reaching for her. "Sam, get out of there! Listen to me!" He glanced, enraged, at the fae. "What do I do!"