I’ve learned too much in the last hour, and my brain can hardly contain it all. I feel as though I’ve spent the last few years underwater, and Weston— no, not Wes, Prince Corrick—just yanked my head above the surface. If I hold absolutely still, I can almost imagine that this is a terrible dream that I’ll wake up from any moment.

But if I wake up, then Wes is still dead. I am still miserable. People are still dying. Kandala is lled with suffering. e prince and the king are still horrible men who do nothing to help their subjects.

Well, all of that is still true. Wes never really existed at all.

at’s almost harder to accept than his death.

e man who’s entered the room is the same man who rst caught me in the hallway. Quint. He looks to be in his early twenties, with red hair and enough freckles to make him look boyish. He needs a shave more badly than Prince Corrick.

I’m clinging to the wall as if I can somehow pass through it and nd myself on the outside, heading back to the Wilds and Mistress Solomon’s and my friendship with Karri.

I’m such a fool. I’m never getting out of here.

When the prince says, “Allow me to introduce you to Tessa,” the other man goes still, then sighs and runs a hand across his jaw.

“Tessa,” he says slowly, giving me a clear up and down. He looks back at Corrick. “Your partner?”

Corrick nods.

And just like that, I realize Quint must know about Wes.

I can’t decide if this is infuriating or a relief, to know that I wasn’t the only one aware of Wes’s existence, of the prince’s trickery. I suck in a breath to protest, but Quint puts up a nger. His expression has changed from one of

incredulity to one of thoughtful scrutiny. He gives me a slower, more appraising look as he walks toward me. I can feel the moment his eyes skip over the torn fabric at my shoulder, and I clutch it against my skin protectively. But his gaze isn’t licentious, just . . . assessing.

Quint glances at Corrick. “Arella is livid. She thinks you’re forcing the girl into bed this very instant.”

e words make my stomach clench. Corrick hasn’t harmed me—not directly—but that doesn’t mean he can’t, or he won’t.

ere’s one thing he said that keeps ickering through all my worries: e only place I can offer you safety is here, in this room.

I have so many questions.

Corrick is clearly not answering. He’s moved to the side table to pour yet another glass of liquor, as if I’m barely an aerthought. “Arella is livid about everything I do lately.”

Arella was the woman who spoke to me when I was chained. Before I knew who Corrick was. I don’t understand why he’d be so terrible in front of her—in front of his guards, even—when he’s made no move to harm me since I arrived in this room.

I open my mouth a second time, but Quint puts up a nger again. “Wait,” he says. “I’m thinking.”

He’s stopped in front of me, and his head is tilted slightly, as if I’m a baffling puzzle he’s been charged with solving. Even though he’s a bit disheveled himself, I feel like I should adjust my clothes and stand straighter.

“Be careful,” says Corrick. “She hits.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Only liars and villains.” He lis his glass to me. “Cheers.”

“Can you sing?” says Quint. I blink. “Can I . . . what?”

“Sing. Or dance? Perhaps you know some sleight of hand?” “I . . .” What is happening. “No.”

“Quint.” Corrick rolls his eyes.

“e king will never allow you to keep her here as some kind of . . . tortured concubine,” says Quint.

“I won’t allow it either,” I snap.

He’s not paying attention to me. “We’ll need to come up with something else. Something that will satisfy Allisander yet appease Arella.”

“I need to know why you were in the palace,” says Corrick, and his voice has gone cold again, the way it was when he grabbed hold of my hair and jerked tight.

I swallow. “I told you. It was a mistake.” “Try again.”

It’s easy to see why people are terri ed of him. It’s not just his reputation. When his attention is so focused, it’s hard to think of anything else. I want to rewind time to the brief minute when he was still Wes, unchaining my hands, letting me cling to him the way I’ve done so many times before.

I need to shake this off. Wes doesn’t exist. And Corrick is still waiting for an answer.

I glance between him and Quint. ere’s no use in lying, not when the answer is so boring. “I had to make a delivery in the Royal Sector. I made a wrong turn and found myself facing the palace. I knew—” My voice breaks, and I have to clear my throat. “I knew the supply of Moon ower petals here was more potent than in the other sectors, and I wanted—I wanted—”

“You wanted to steal right from the palace?” says Corrick. “Even I didn’t take from the palace, Tessa.”

“No—I know. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t even plan it. ere were—there were girls. Serving girls, I suppose. I followed them. I thought for sure the guards would stop me, but—but I guess one girl in homespun looks just like the others. I walked right in.”

At that, Quint looks alarmed. Corrick’s whole demeanor darkens.

Quint puts up a hand before he can say anything. “I’ll nd out who was stationed there at daybreak. You’ll have names by breakfast.”

I don’t take my eyes off the prince. “You’re going to kill the guard who let me past?”

“I’m certainly not going to write him a letter of gratitude.”

I say nothing, but maybe my horri ed expression conveys my thoughts anyway, because he sighs and looks away. “I’m aware of my reputation, but I don’t execute everyone, Tessa.” He pauses. “Besides, I’m surprised you’re sparing a thought to his defense. If he’d done his job, you’d be in the workshop right now, lling vials and loading your pack.”

Hearing him talk about the workshop in such a at voice makes my throat swell. Like it’s something to be mocked, and not a space where we shared the

most important moments of my life over the last few years. I have to press a hand to my eyes before tears can fall.

When I steady my breathing and lower my hands, trying to blink the tears away, I see that Quint is holding out an embroidered handkerchief, and his expression isn’t unkind. It’s so shocking that it drives back some of the emotion. I take it, clutching it between my ngers. It smells like cinnamon and oranges and feels like silk. It’s quite possibly the most expensive thing I’ve ever held in my hands—with the exception of Moon ower petals. I hardly want to use it to dab at my cheeks. “ank you.”

ere’s a knock at the door, but Corrick doesn’t move. “at will be supper,” he says. “Enter,” he calls.

A serving girl who looks a bit tired and rumpled carries in a tray. She sets it on the side table, then curtsies to the prince. “Your Highness. Master Quint.” Her eyes land on me, and she quickly glances away. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No,” says Corrick.

“Yes,” says Quint. “Prepare a suite for our new guest. Be sure the closet and washroom are fully stocked. Fresh linens, too.”

“Of course.” She curtsies again, then slips out the door.

“I’ll leave you to dine,” says Quint. “I’ll speak with the captain for suitable guard assignments. I believe four should be enough to prevent any further . .

. shall we say, wandering?” He looks at me pointedly.

“Wait. A room for me?” I squeak. Nothing here makes any sense.

ey ignore me. “What are you thinking?” says Corrick.

“I’m thinking she shouldn’t remain in your room any longer than necessary. It’s the middle of the night, so rumors haven’t had a chance to spread. You said she’s been adjusting the dosages on your runs. Perhaps she could have brought some medicinal insight to the palace? Surely we can spin something better than a punishment of being chained to your bed.”

“Surely,” Corrick says woodenly.

Quint pulls a little booklet from his jacket and jots a note. “I’ll dra an announcement by midday for you to review.”

en he’s gone, and once again, I’m alone with the prince. Corrick moves to the side table, where a massive array of steaming food is making my mouth water. I can smell something sweet and something savory, and there must be fresh bread because the scent of the yeast is heavenly. My stomach

reminds me that I haven’t eaten. I don’t want to move any closer to him, but I inhale deeply.

Corrick picks up a piece of fruit and holds it up to the light. e skin is glistening red. “Honeyed apple, Tessa?”

All of my hunger dies. “I hate you,” I grit out.

He tosses it to me, and I catch it automatically, since the alternative is letting it smack me in the face.

“As I’ve said in the past,” he says, “that will de nitely work out for the best.”

 

 

A large, ornate table sits on the opposite side of the room. When I didn’t move, Prince Corrick lled two plates and set them on the table, making a show of setting them across from each other, not beside each other. He holds out a hand to one of the seats and looks at me pointedly.

I really am hungry. Every breath reminds me of how little I’ve eaten lately.

It took everything I had to set that apple on the oor.

I stick to the wall. “No.”

“You decline an invitation to dine with the brother of the king?” He feigns a gasp. “What will the kitchen staff say when your plate returns untouched?”

“I don’t think you want my hands near a knife right now.”

at earns a rakish smile, and for a moment he looks so much like Wes that my heart swells and aches before shattering into a million pieces. Maybe he can read it on my face, because his mouth forms a line. “Sit. Eat. I know you’re hungry. What’s to be gained by refusing?”

Nothing, really. I don’t have a good answer, and the question feels like a challenge. I take a deep breath and walk to the table. I’m sure there’s some court etiquette I’m supposed to follow, but I have no idea what, and if he expects a curtsy, he’s not getting one. My heart thumps along in my chest, and I have to remind myself that he’s not Wes, he’s the King’s Justice. He’s not a friendly outlaw. He’s a cruel man with no empathy.

I ease into the chair, and he does the same. My spine feels like a steel rod. I can’t relax. I pick up the roll from my plate. It’s still warm, and dusted with salt. I tear a tiny piece and shove it into my mouth.

It’s not salt. It’s sugar, and it’s everything. I want to shove the whole thing down my throat at once.

I can feel him watching me, so I keep my eyes on anything else. e

ligreed place settings. e embroidered tablecloth. e gravy in a small pool beside four thick slabs of poultry.

I have so many questions, but they would all reveal my feelings about a man who doesn’t exist, and I won’t give any of that to Prince Corrick. He’s already taken too much. I tear another small piece of bread and say, “Quint knows the truth. About you. And me.”

“Yes.” He pauses. “He is the Palace Master. And a friend. ere is very little that goes on here that Quint doesn’t know about.”

“But . . . but the king doesn’t know.”

“No.” Corrick glances away. “I never wanted to put Harristan in a position where he would be forced to deny it.”

“If you were caught.” “Yes.”

“I could tell everyone,” I say, nally meeting his eyes with a glare. “Reveal your secret. e King’s Justice is secretly a smuggler stealing from the royal elites.”

“Go right ahead,” he says mildly. “You wouldn’t be the rst prisoner to come up with a clever story.” He slices a piece of meat. “If you decide you don’t want to stay here, it’s a good way to earn yourself a trip to the Hold.”

“If I decide? Is that a joke?”

“I didn’t lure you into the palace.” His voice has turned hard. “In fact, when you forced my hand, I did my very best to convince you that tensions were high and you would do well to stay out of the Royal Sector for a while.” When I forced his hand. When we stood in the woods, and he didn’t want to make a run for supplies. He tried to talk me out of it, and I shook him off

and demanded revolution.

A revolution I now realize he could never be a part of.

Of course he had to kill off Weston Lark. I might as well have done it myself.

“And here we are,” I whisper. Against my will, my eyes well again, and I sniff back the tears and shove more bread into my mouth. “Who did you hang in your place?”

“A true smuggler,” he says easily. “He might have gotten away with Moon ower petals, but he thought to spend a few minutes taking advantage of the lady of the house, and her son heard the commotion and rang the alarm. I hear the man beat her rather badly before he was discovered.”

I’m staring at him. I’m not sure what to say.

Corrick takes a sip from his glass. “Surely you don’t think we were the only ones sneaking into the sector to steal medicine. It wasn’t difficult to plant a mask on him.”

I remember the alarms and lights from the night Wes went missing. I thought they were for him.

My mouth is hanging open. I snap it shut. “You . . . you said you worked in the forges. You said you were from Steel City.”

He shrugs and runs a hand across the back of his neck, looking abashed. “It was as good a place as any other. I have an interest in metalworking, so I can speak to it a bit.”

It’s so difficult to remind myself that he’s not Wes. His manner has changed again, and he’s more relaxed now that we’re alone and I’m not punching him in the crotch. I was wondering how he wore two faces, but aer seeing him with different people, I’m thinking he has dozens of faces that he shows when the need arises. I have no idea which is real, but his easy manner is making it hard to remain tense and frightened. If I close my eyes, we could be back in the workshop, sitting by the re, trading silly banter.

No. I can’t. I can’t forget that he’s Prince Corrick. He could snap his ngers and have me executed right here.

I draw a shaky breath. “What—” I have to clear my throat. “When I was in chains—when you—when that other woman spoke for me—”

“Consul Cherry. Of Sunkeep.” He takes another bite of food, as if my emotions weren’t crumbling to pieces right in front of him.

My mouth stalls. I swallow. He was so harsh. at’s what I’m having the hardest time reconciling. He was so playful and decent as Wes.

He sets down the fork and looks at me. at’s almost worse. His eyes are so piercing. No wonder prisoners beg for death.

But then he says, “Ask your question, Tessa,” and his voice is so and low and familiar, no hint of ice or steel in his tone.

I draw a breath. “You knew it was me,” I say. “When I was lying there in chains. I couldn’t see you, but you could see me. You had to know.”

“I knew.”

“And . . . and you were so cruel.” For all my rebellious bravado, my voice won’t rise above a whisper now. I need to understand. I need him to explain it to me.

“I told you,” he says. “Cruelty is expected. Necessary, in fact, in front of Consul Cherry.” His eyes ick to the door and back to mine. “In front of my guards, who will gossip about whatever they see and whatever they hear.”

I study him. I consider the way he threw me on the ground when the guard burst through the door. e way he adjusted the fabric over my shoulder once the door was closed.

e man on the gates was hung for being a smuggler, but he was caught raping and beating a woman. Isn’t that what Corrick said? at part isn’t public knowledge—just the smuggling.

Meanwhile, Corrick is allowing people to think he’s abusing me—when he hasn’t actually harmed me since the moment I woke up in the pile of pillows. I consider the food in front of me, or the way Quint is preparing a room.

“Why would you want people to think you’re horrible?” I say.

He inhales as if to speak, then thinks better of whatever he was going to say, because he gives a slight shake of his head. “Why did you really sneak into the palace?” he asks quietly.

“I told you. I hoped—I hoped to steal medicine. I hoped to help the people we le vulnerable when Wes—when you—when we stopped.”

“You made it into the servants’ passageways, so you would have had quick access to our rooms.” He pauses. “You know what they found in your pack. Did you seek to kill the king?”

I say nothing. My mouth goes dry. To even admit the thought crossing my mind is treason. It was only a moment, but I thought of it.

I wonder what my father would think of me right now. Did I fail? Or did I make the right choice?

“Did you seek to kill me?” Corrick adds.

I wet my lips. I won’t say yes—but I can’t deny it either. “I couldn’t do it,” I whisper.

“You’re not a killer.”

I nod. He knows I’m not.

His eyes go hard again, like twin slabs of ice in the moonlight. “Kindness leaves you vulnerable, Tessa. I learned that lesson years ago. I’m surprised

you haven’t.”

Years ago. When my parents died?

No, that’s ridiculous. at wouldn’t have affected him. But I realize that I’m forgetting—again—that he’s a member of the royal family, and he’s faced his own losses.

So . . . when his parents died? What does that mean? He’s changed faces again, and I’m not sure what’s safe to say.

Corrick wipes his hands on his napkin. “Eat your dinner. I’ll take you to your room so you can get some sleep. You’ll need it. Quint will be banging on your door at sunrise.”