The Countess Morgana, she was a sight to behold. Her black hair flowed over cream--white shoulders, apple-sweet lips always slightly open, like that of a curious child. Her eyes were a dazzle of green.

No one knew he’d made her from clay. It was his secret. The sorceress wouldn’t tell, under threat of execution. She had no need to tell anyway. He’d paid her enough for a lifetime of silence.

The Countess was the perfect wife. When the Count had come of age, all thoughts had turned to marriage. His advisors urged him to marry a proper girl of good family, who would provide an heir with blood as blue as the Sapphire Sea. But all the girls they’d put before him? There was something wrong with them.

The first one was the daughter of a duke. She sneezed every time he...

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