Niamh awoke to total darkness. The rain had slowed, but the fire had gone to ashes in the hearth and the candles dripped down to nothing in their iron stands. She sat up slowly, cradling her aching head. What time was it? Exhaustion clung to her like gauze, too thick to push through, and it felt as though she hadn’t eaten in an age. Which meant she’d slept all day.
She shot bolt upright, her stomach twisting itself into a knot. How could she have let this happen? She was wasting so much—
Kit’s voice echoed sharply through her mind. You don’t need to work yourself to the bone. Whatever you think you have to prove or earn, it’s all in your head.
Right. She had promised him she would try to believe that, impossible though it might be.
And then he had kissed her.
Her stomach fluttered again at the memory, and a sparkling, giddy feeling unfurled through her. Is this a dream? she’d asked him. Even now, she couldn’t convince herself that any of it was real. He’d trusted her with his heart. And for those hazy, delirious hours, he’d convinced her that she mattered enough to take something for herself.
A terrible bittersweetness came over her then. Never once had she believed she’d get to feel that way, consumed by passion against her good sense, seen and desired for exactly who she was. Never once had she believed a girl like her would ensnare a prince in some sort of torrid, ill-advised affair. Of course, it could never happen again. But for one night, she’d been truly awake and alive—almost incandescently joyous. She would carry this secret with her forever, as warm and bright as a flame cupped in her hands. It was all hers, and it would burn hot enough to sustain her for the rest of her life. It had to. As much as she yearned for more, she could not stand in Kit’s way. She would finish this job, and that would be the end of it.
Her very soul felt raw.
But if nothing else, she was safe. If anyone truly knew what had happened, they would not have waited to drag her out of this room by her hair and do … well, whatever it was the Avlish did with women who aspired beyond their station.
Groaning, she flopped back onto the mattress and stared the ceiling. Her fingers traced the outline of her chapped lips. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel him there.
“Miss?”
Niamh startled. A girl stood in the doorway—a housemaid, from the look of her uniform, but she wore the colors of another noble family. She hadn’t heard her knock at all, but she’d been so engrossed in her own thoughts. The entire world appeared to her as though behind a wall of glass. Gods, she needed to go back to sleep.
“Oh,” Niamh said breathlessly. “Hello.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, “but His Highness asked for you to get ready. His carriage is departing in a half hour.”
Leaving already. She supposed it made sense. With no staff of his own, Jack could not entertain properly. His pride was surely smarting.
It took what little energy she had to climb out of bed and ready herself. Once she’d packed up the last of her things and had them brought downstairs, she wandered the halls of Woodville as though stumbling through a dream. She dragged herself through the front door and came face-to-face with the moonlit fields outside the estate. They shone with still, deep puddles of mud and rainwater and hummed with the song of crickets. The breeze tasted cool and sweet, and tangled in the loose strands of her hair. Niamh folded her arms over the granite balustrade of the terrace and let it support her weight. If she just laid her head down, she could drift off right here.
Someone stepped onto the terrace. “Miss O’Connor.”
Blearily, Niamh turned toward the voice. Jack stood beside her, his arms crossed behind his back and his gaze trained on the horizon. Even in the dark, his amber eyes glowed, just like his brother’s. His wan face and rigid shoulders brought a wave of sympathy crashing over her. Now, she could see the texture of the last five years he’d endured. No father, no mother, and a brother careening toward his own ruin. He’d lost so much, but she very much doubted he’d allowed himself to grieve at all. He’d only immediately set to work filling in the gaps left behind.
He frowned at her. “You look pale. My brother tells me you took ill?”
“I’m afraid so.” She couldn’t tell him the truth of her illness, lest he thought her incapable of finishing the job. So she settled on a comfortable lie, even as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. “I caught a chill in the rain.”
“We are borrowing a carriage, so I cannot send you back on your own. I see now that may for the best.” He offered his arm to her. “Allow me.”
“That is far too kind, sir. I have imposed on you so much already.”
“It isn’t worth mentioning.” Jack allowed her to lean on him as he led her down the stone pathway and through another overgrown garden. The grass sighed restlessly as they passed, quivering in the wind. “I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”
Her toe caught on a loose flagstone, and he steadied her immediately with an alarmed sound. His apologies never grew less strange or startling. “Your Highness, you do not need to apologize to me.”
“But I do.” Jack stopped in front of the carriage door, his brows knitted in a preoccupied frown. “You have been subjected to far too many family squabbles.”
“All is forgiven. None of us can be unfailingly patient, sir.” She offered him a small smile. “But if you will forgive me for asking, have you apologized to your brother?”
It slipped out. Jack blinked, stunned. Niamh clapped a hand to her mouth. Why, oh why, could she never keep her impertinent questions to herself? Her delirium did not help matters.
“No,” he conceded. “But that is…” He cleared his throat. “That is wise counsel. I will take it into account.”
He handed her off into the carriage. Sofia already waited for them inside—and there, twisted into a remarkably compact shape, was Kit. The sight of him cut through her haze and sent her heart tripping over itself. Never in her life had she so desperately wanted to touch someone—to talk to someone. She met his reflected gaze in the window, and all of the air promptly fled her lungs. The heat in his eyes obliterated every conscious thought. How could she have been so foolish as to believe that it would be easy to content herself with only one night?
“Y-Your Highness,” she stammered.
An enchanting shade of red spread across his neck. “Miss O’Connor.”
It took everything in her not to react. He’d never once called her that in the weeks they’d known each other, and the stilted formality of it delighted her far more than it should. Not to mention that blush—after how very bold he’d been with her.
Sofia’s gaze bounced back and forth between them, looking far too canny for Niamh’s taste. If she had an opinion on the matter, she did not share it.
Jack pointedly cleared his throat. It was then she realized she’d been looming in the doorway this entire time. She clambered onto the seat beside Kit. His every muscle coiled with awareness of her, and the bare sliver of space between them crackled with tension. It would be a simple thing to place her hand beside his. She longed for casual intimacy: entwining their littlest fingers, nuzzling into his shoulder, or sinking into the comforting weight of his arm around her. But she supposed she was forever cursed to long for things she could not have.
She followed Kit’s lead and looked out her own window. Within minutes, the ivy-curtained facade of Woodville Hall receded behind the hills. How sad that she would never see it again. Soon enough, the thick silence and the steady rock of the carriage lulled her slowly, softly. Her eyelids drooped, and her forehead rested against the glass.
“Kit,” Jack said quietly. “I did not mean a word of what I said yesterday. I’m sorry.”
For a moment, she heard nothing but the rattle of the wheels against the road. Then, at last, begrudgingly: “I am, too.”
“I am sorry for a great many things,” Jack continued. “How you must hate me.”
“Is now really the time?” Kit sighed heavily. His every word grew more and more distant as her weariness dragged her down, down into the dark. “I don’t hate you. But you better have a good reason for all this.”
Kit had driven her insane. She could come up with no other explanation. Since the day in the garden, she’d thought of little else but him. Even now, sitting in an armchair as she embroidered his wedding cloak, she found herself stitching all her longing and frustration into it. She supposed it suited the occasion well enough.
The wedding. It hung over them all like the executioner’s blade, just about a week away now. Jack had whisked Kit away to finish up the last of the preparations. Niamh tried not to let his absence gnaw at her. It was for the best that they hadn’t seen each other since the carriage ride home. It would do her no good to be reminded how out of reach he was.
She set down her work only when a housemaid delivered her tea, her letters, and the morning papers. Spooning sugar into her tea, she skimmed the gossip columns. Still, no one had written about them. It seemed this truly would be her secret, kept safe within her. She imagined closing her fist around that tiny spark of light.
Lovelace, unsurprisingly, was discussing the situation unfolding in Sootham. Carlile and the rest of the protesters remained in Eye Park, and their numbers only grew by the day. In Jack’s absence, they’d blocked off riding trails, chanted, and delivered speeches. Now that he was back, they had to face the Kings Guard, which he’d dispatched to “monitor” the situation.
Niamh couldn’t deny it unsettled her. Surely, Jack did not intend use force against them; they’d done nothing violent or illegal. She could see every horrible possibility burned on the backs of her eyelids. The Kings Guard’s cavalry riding through the unarmed crowds, magic crackling in their palms, their sabers drawn and glinting. Screams and musket fire rending open the night. The blood of her people slicking the streets with red and gold.
She set the column down abruptly, feeling rather ill.
At the very bottom of the pile, she found a letter from Erin.
“Oh!” She hugged it to her chest.
Excitement chased away her unease. She’d nearly forgotten she’d written to her friend at all. Niamh tore it open and noted fondly that Erin was as long-winded as ever. She spent several paragraphs on each of her family members (all nine of them healthy, thank the gods) and how she’d found her return to Machland (bleak). At last, she came to Niamh’s questions.
But, oh! You must tell me everything you have been up to in the palace and everything about the wedding and the royal couple. I hear the prince is quite a menace. Is it true?
I am so very sad to have missed you. It would have been such fun to work together, but I could not bear it in the palace anymore. I do hope they are treating you well, Niamh. It was fine work, with many good people, but my pay arrived later and later, until eventually it stopped coming at all. At first, I suspected it was the housekeeper, Mrs. Knight. What a dreadful woman! She treated us particularly poorly and guarded the prince regent like a dog. However, I learned that some of the Avlish servants experienced the same thing. I do not know what to make of it. Perhaps the prince regent is just a cruel man.
I am proud, however, that a slew of us quitting seemed to awaken something. We are treated terribly in Avaland, and I am pleased to see us fighting back. I had considered joining up with the protesters, but I was eager to be home after almost two years. Everyone sends their fondest wishes to you!
Oh, that reminds me …
Jack wasn’t paying his staff.
Niamh supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her own payment had been late, and while he’d been apologetic, he must have known. He oversaw the hiring of his staff, event planning, and every single expense. Nothing escaped his notice. Perhaps Erin was right. He was a cruel man, as hateful as his father was.
But that couldn’t be all. Despite his quick temper, she’d never believed him capable of cruelty. He was an absent husband and an avoidant ruler, yes. But if nothing else, he worshipped at the altar of reputation. If any of his peers discovered he was mistreating his staff so brazenly, it would be an embarrassment of the highest order. If it was within his power to fix, he surely would have done it by now.
There is nothing I can do for those people, he’d said.
My brother never would have called me back here unless he was truly desperate, Kit had told her.
Jack was hiding something, then. Kit and Lovelace both suspected as much. But surely, it wasn’t as mundane as a little mismanagement. Niamh’s head ached from thinking. If only she were clever or strategic, if only she had some useful skill beyond her sewing …
A knock sounded on the door.
Sinclair had called on her yesterday to ask if she’d walk the gardens with him today. It was a little earlier than she’d expected him, but taking the air sounded far better than miring in her own worries.
She crossed the room and opened the door. “I wasn’t expecting you until—gah! Kit!”
“You were expecting someone else?” Wry amusement glittered in his eyes. “Who do I have to duel?”
For a moment, Niamh could only stare at him. Every question; every ridiculous, moony proclamation; every self-conscious doubt scrabbled to the forefront of her mind.
Was it a dream after all?
Do you feel the way I do when I look at you?
We should never do that again, should we?
Instead, she whispered, “Come in. Quickly,” and ushered him inside. The door latched behind him. “What are you doing here?”
He avoided her gaze. “I don’t know.”
All of her girlish nerves went up in flames. Oh, she could strangle him. He’d kissed her like he meant to make her forget all sense, then left her a confused, flustered, lovesick fool. At the end of it all, she got a mumbled I don’t know for her troubles. Kit was so utterly predictable. Why, then, did she still light up with longing?
She planted her hands on her hips and tried her best to glare up at him. “You don’t know?”
“Maybe I wasn’t really thinking,” he said defensively. “I like you. I like being around you. I had nothing on my schedule this morning, so here I am.”
I like you. Such matter-of-fact simplicity, a new law of the universe. It felt the same as when he’d told her that he’d talk to her if it pleased him, everyone else in the world be damned. But it was not that simple. It couldn’t be.
“But you … I…” Her mind worked too quickly for her to form a single coherent thought. “It would be wise if we kept our distance from each other. The wedding is so soon, and after that, you and I will likely never see each other again. It’s better for us to become strangers again.”
Less risk. Less pain.
He seemed to consider it. He took a step closer to her, then another, until he loomed over her and she could feel the warmth emanating from him. The challenging glint in his eyes made her pulse quicken. “Is that what you want?”
She blinked up at him, perplexed. It should not matter what she wanted. “No…?”
She had meant to say but. She really had. But the way he looked at her—enraptured, as though she’d put him under some enchantment—made her forget.
“Good,” he said. “Me neither.”
He kissed her, and she could not help the strangled noise she made—part shock, part relief, part joy. His mouth moved against hers, deliberate and urgent. He walked her forward until her back hit the wall. He braced his forearm beside her head, caging her in, while Niamh clung to his lapels—first for balance, then to pull him in closer. This was not the flashfire intensity of their first kiss, or the aimless languor they’d settled into as the hours had dragged on. No, this was pure intent. He would dismantle her entirely if she let him.
Distantly, it occurred to her that they should probably discuss what on earth they were doing sooner rather than later. What this meant, what arrangement they would have to come to, what precautions they would have to take … But when he angled his hips against hers, she felt just how much his desire matched her own, and the fire in her veins sparked higher. She’d been prepared to deny herself forever, but now that she had him again, she refused to take small sips of him now.
Another knock sounded on the door. They jerked apart.
“It’s me,” called Sinclair.
Kit radiated a murderous aura. “I’ll tell him to leave.”
“No!” Sinclair had warned her quite specifically about how obvious she and Kit were and if he caught them together like this, it would not instill any confidence. She couldn’t bear his disapproval. She grabbed his wrist and looked frantically around the room for some solution. “Get in the closet.”
“What?” He looked affronted. “No.”
“Just do it!”
“I hear someone else in there,” said Sinclair cheerfully.
She groaned. Too late, then. “Just a moment!”
Kit looked agonized and half-wild, but he huffed out a resigned breath. He gathered up his hair and tied it loosely back with a practiced ease. Just like that, he appeared aloof and unruffled again. She set to work trying to calm herself down in the meantime. Not much could be done for her reddened lips, but at least he hadn’t disheveled her too much.
“All right,” Sinclair called, “I’m coming in.”
Niamh took another step away from Kit just as the door swung open. She did her very best not to look guilty, but she felt heat rising in her face.
Sinclair took in the scene before him. “You must be joking.”
Kit let out a long, irritated sigh.
Sinclair strode toward the tea set, the tails of his coral overcoat trailing behind him. He poured himself a cup of tea, then selected a biscuit from the display. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then rounded on Kit. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Hello to you, too,” Kit shot back.
Sinclair lobbed the biscuit at him. It bounced off his shoulder and crumbled to pieces on the floor. “Answer the question.”
Kit glared at him as he brushed crumbs off his sleeve. “No. I haven’t.”
“Then what are you doing here, alone, in the middle of the day?”
Niamh laughed nervously. “I am sure this is not necessary—”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Kit replied.
“Drinking tea, like a civilized person! I’m not engaged.” Sinclair pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back. “Dear God. Have either of you heard of subtlety? And you, Carmine, romance? I don’t see any flowers here. It is hardly an excusable oversight, considering you can grow them any time you’d like.”
Niamh groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Kit’s composure finally cracked. He scowled, but his face burned red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please. Don’t insult me. The two worst liars I’ve ever met in my life are both standing in this room. You need my advice desperately, but on second thought, I really do not want to hear anything about the matter. I have seen enough to know what is going on here, and I am frankly scarred from it.”
“Are you done?” Kit asked. Somehow, he’d gotten redder.
“I am sure there is more to be said about how ill-advised this is,” Sinclair said primly. “But for now, yes.”
“Great. Now leave.”
“You leave,” he countered. “I have an appointment.”
They stared at each other for a few long moments before Kit surrendered. He glanced at Niamh and said lowly, “Tomorrow.”
She tried not to shiver at the promise in his words. She could do nothing but nod before he retreated into the hallway. Sinclair observed their exchange from the chaise longue he’d claimed. As soon as the door fell shut behind Kit, Sinclair placed his teacup back on its saucer with a brittle clink and quirked a brow at her.
Well? he said without speaking at all.
“I did not mean for this to happen! It was only supposed to be one time, and then he just … We did not actually—” Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Anyway! I suppose the particulars do not matter or interest you.”
Sinclair watched her with curiosity and disgust warring on his face. “Well, now I have to know. How is he?”
“Sinclair!”
“Sorry, sorry. I know this is serious. I am only trying to cope with this very unwise thing you’ve both decided to do. I did try to warn you off it.” He rubbed his temple. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone knows yet. I haven’t heard anything about it.”
Yet. As if it were an inevitability. “How reassuring.”
He seemed to be beating back the impulse to lecture her further. “I don’t mean to worry you. I’m just worried about you. If this gets out…”
It would spell disaster for them both.
“I know.” She sat in front of her vanity and rested her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. Since I arrived, we’ve been something like friends. But I fear I have developed feelings for him that I shouldn’t have.”
Surprise passed over his face—and something else that looked almost like regret. “This means something to you, then?”
She nodded miserably. “I never believed he would be interested in me. Last night, I was so happy. Even though I know he cannot promise me anything, I thought I could be satisfied, knowing I had him to myself for one night. I thought I could keep my distance from him. But he is so stubborn and reckless, and he makes me feel so…”
Safe. Important. A thousand different things. But she could not walk any closer to that edge without falling.
Sinclair set down his teacup on the table. Gently, he said, “Come here.”
Niamh approached him and settled onto the corner of the chaise longue. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She did not offer any resistance, curling into him and resting her head against his shoulder. It felt greedy to accept comfort now of all times, but he seemed to want her near. She closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart.
“I don’t think you necessarily need to do anything right now,” he murmured against the top of her head, “except be careful. For the love of God. I mean it this time.”
“Right.” She smiled ruefully. “Careful.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt, Niamh. Even if you keep this quiet, it’s not an easy road ahead of you. Unless you’d be content as his mistress, you’re going to get your heart broken.”
She frowned. “His mistress?”
“It wouldn’t be a terrible life,” he said lightly. “It’s quite common for married noblemen to keep a lover. Most in polite society won’t associate with you, but you’d have an allowance and your own home. And if you have any children, royal bastards have a better life than most.”
Would it be so bad? If Kit brought her family here, it would be a peaceful existence—on paper, everything she dreamed of. And yet, mistress was a kind word for what Sinclair had described. It would not be what Gran or the crowds in Eye Park called her.
FraochÚn, at best. Fealltóir, at worst.
She didn’t know if she could endure that kind of scorn. If she worked hard to bring her family here, they could learn to bear living among their enemies. But if it was because of an Avlishman’s charity—a Carmine, no less … “My family would be ashamed of me.”
“Because of his title?” When she nodded, Sinclair hummed, seemingly lost in thought. “My father was Machlish. The one responsible for my existence, I mean.”
She put some distance between them so she could meet his gaze. “Really?”
“Yes. I suspect that’s why His Grace hates me so much. I was a bitter reminder that his wife debased herself with a lesser being.” He rolled his eyes, but true anger and hurt roiled beneath the surface. “I believe my father was one of his employees, at that. The duke runs a very profitable shipping company. The prince regent himself is an investor.”
She searched his face, as though she could find something new in his features. “Why did you not tell me before?”
“I should have, but it never felt right to bring up. I didn’t want to presume any connection with you I had no right to claim.”
“Of course you do.”
“Thank you.” He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “What I’m saying is … To a certain extent, I understand having complicated feelings about this place and these people. But I also understand more than most that family is what you make it—and so is home. You have to choose your own happiness, whatever that looks like. You can’t live your life for other people.”
“I suppose not.” And yet, that was all she’d ever known. She did not know how to stop, but perhaps she could try. “Thank you for not judging me harshly. You’re a good friend, Sinclair.”
Stupidly loyal, exactly as Kit had said.
He smiled, but whatever memories he’d dredged up still lingered. Right now, he looked so terribly sad. He tucked the strand of white hair behind her ear. “I do try.”