CHAPTER SIX

Vaun forced his eyes open to darkness, shivering as liquid lapped at his waist. A line of fire burned across his cheekbone and smoldered against his ribs. He rolled over and moaned, but no servants appeared with light or comfort. He clawed at the ground and dragged himself upright. Wet gravel shifted under his fingers.

He stared into the unrelenting blackness. After a few moments, faint drips echoed to him, the sound hollow, as if traveling across a vast, empty space. The air smelled clean in a way he had never known, wet like the rocks and cold like a grave. He lifted his hands and felt liquid trickle across his skin, back into the pool he sat in. Thoughtlessly, he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked two digits. The liquid was thin, like cold tea, but offered no discernible flavor, and yet, when it reached his belly, he felt overcome by the desire for more. For the first time that Vaun could recall, he was thirsty.

Cupping his hands, he dipped them into the unseen pool and drank blindly. The more he swallowed, the greedier he became. The taste was nothing and yet, at the same time, it was a subtle sort of sweetness that he had never known.

His arms stilled when a different flavor hit his tongue, a metallic zest he knew all too well. The taste brought memories and awareness with it. He remembered this taste; he remembered sucking it from her lips.

Vaun shuddered, remembering the mindless, insatiable rage that had built up inside him. It ate through his veins until all he could see, all he could hear, was insult and injury. It felt as if his very body was a cage of fury, and he must purge it or split his skin.

Black smoke. Duels. Scalds. Memories flashed through his mind. Madness.

And then… swinging the blade, sinking the knife into her flesh… Her gaze meeting his as her hand struck the ground, light bursting from her palm. Falling…

Vaun scrambled to his feet, staggering in the pool as pebbles shifted beneath his boots and his side screamed. “Grayc!”

His voice echoed back to him, followed by painful silence.

He coughed and ran his fingers tentatively along the tears in his shirt to find raw skin. Even with no light to see, he knew the magic of his body had begun to work the wounds closed. Desperation told him the same would be true for Grayc, but sense told him otherwise. Her blood wasn’t saturated with magic the way his was, and, as far as he knew, she had none of her own, though most everyone who did kept it to themselves. Even he and his sister did not dare use their crafts in the open, not where their mother might see from her Tower and grow jealous.

Old stories claimed all people once possessed natural magic, before it became a commodity to be bought, refined, and sold. Some legends even said the greatest households in the Realm—the Vyms, the Belholns, the Maggrins, even the Dray Fens—rose to power on the strength of their inherent blood magic, but Vaun did not believe in fairy tales. He could not count on children’s tales to save Grayc’s life.

Could he? In this dark, hidden place, would the Queen see if he used his magic? Fay had always been fierce in her warnings not to tempt their mother. She said the Queen’s greed knew no bounds; no one could have power in front of her, and her eyes were everywhere.

“Grayc!” he called again, the echo of his own voice mocking him. His stomach sank deep into his gut at the thought of her corpse floating in that pool of liquid while he had been sucking it down.

Vaun drew a deep breath and let it out shakily, the magic stirring in his veins. His arm slashed at the air, as though cutting a horizon into the cave, and a dull light swelled around him without any discernible source. Using his own magic made his skin warm and his spine tingle. It was like scratching an itch he’d spent decades convincing himself wasn’t there. It came naturally, easily, if only he’d let it loose. If anyone was nearby they would feel it, too.

He turned in a fast circle, but saw nothing except a vast, calm lake stretching off into more darkness and winding around large, curving walls of stone.

He chose a direction at random and walked the rocky shore. The light followed, spreading farther along the beach until it spilled over her body. Vaun ran when he saw her and sank to his knees beside her. Her wet hair clung to her face and neck. A smear of blood, black in the dim light, stretched thickly from the corner of her lips to paint the side of her chin and cheek. She was breathing, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps.

Cupping her cheek, Vaun spoke her name. She cringed, lips parting to push up more blood. She coughed wetly, black spraying the rocks and dribbling from her mouth.

Gritting his teeth, he ripped the front of her shirt open. For a moment it wasn’t the stab wound that drew his eye, but the mark above her heart. There, nestled above the silk holding her breast, a delicate little X glared up at him. His breath shuddered at the thin, black lines, so imperfect they must have been inked freehand. He’d seen that mark once before, and his gut twisted to see its twin over her heart. The heart that had beat for him.

Her breath hitched and her body jerked. Fresh blood gushed from the gaping wound below her collar.

“Grayc!” He grabbed her shoulders. “Wake up! Grayc, can you hear me? Open your eyes.”

How could he have stabbed her? Her. His Grayc.

“Wake up!” He wanted to shake her. “Damn you, Grayc Illan! Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you leave me be? Did you think I would thank a hero?”

Her breath thinned. He sat back on his heels, scanning the darkness pressing against his false light.

“Help!” he cried, unable to temper his voice. “Can anyone hear me?” Only his own echo answered. Vaun scrubbed at his face, hands trembling. “Anyone? Please! I am Prince Vaun Dray Fen, and I demand—”

He all but choked. Who was he to demand anything? He was a dusted fool and a prince of nothing.

Vaun settled beside her, letting the near silence swallow him. After a time, it struck him, miserably, to realize that he was waiting. He was sitting in the dark, beside her dying body, waiting for someone to come. Waiting for someone to save them. What shamed him most of all was knowing that the one he was waiting for, the one who would swoop in and direct him toward the exit, the one who would put him back into his car, his bed, his life, was the one lying on the ground in front of him.

The prince scooped her up, careful, though awkward, as he stood. The uneven ground shifted beneath his boots as he walked. He left the beach to trudge into the endless darkness. The ground grew more solid until it became firm soil beneath his steps.

He came to a wall and followed its curve. The ground rose slowly, leading him up an incline until his light splashed against another wall of packed dirt. Vaun’s quickening steps faltered as shadows receded, revealing intricate lines carved deep into the hard surface. Long, sinuous curves and thick mounds bulged, creating a strange image. It looked to be a face, monstrous, protruding from the wall of dirt. The creature’s head was wider than it was high, and something about the flatness of its wickedly wide mouth made Vaun think of serpents. It must be some kind of animal, one of the fabled creatures that populated legends, like jackals and birds and rats. The only real animals were the wolves sent down by the Queen to end lives. Curiosity made Vaun want to step closer, but the quickening of his pulse kept him where he was, frozen as if the mighty beast might wake.

Grayc’s body, growing heavy in his arms, offered him an excuse to turn away. He left the strange carving, trying to ignore the spike of panic when he could no longer see the terrible face behind him. His steps picked up again, ushering him down the wall and around a bend. The silhouette of a door formed from the shadows, cut into the earth and framed in thick beams. He choked on relief, almost staggering in his rush to reach it. Through it, the prince found the first of countless steps, winding upward and creaking fiercely beneath his boots.

Grayc mumbled something in his arms and he held her tighter, thinking of how bold she looked before they fell from the Ash. Blood on her lips, life gushing from her chest, and still he could swear that she had smiled at him. Not snickered, or laughed madly at how she would take him with her, but a soft, plain smile. He wondered if he would ever get the chance to ask her about it. Wondered if he would ever know the truth behind that little knowing gesture of her lips. A shiver clawed up his spine when he recalled the cracking of the ground beneath him and the tumble into black. Strange as it was, he didn’t feel that she had punished his madness by casting him down, so much as she had gone with him.

At the top of the stairs, his stomach dropped; a short stretch of floor ended in a sealed door, a metal patch in a wall of stone with no knob. He set Grayc Illan down carefully, propping her against the wall to let her breathe easier while he inspected the door. He tried to pull it open, his fingers searching the seam of metal and rock for hinges or any sort of handle. Finding none, he clawed at the edges until he could only curse at his bleeding digits.

“Someone!” Tears pricked his eyes. “Hello!” His bloodied fists beat wildly against the door.

No one answered.

He called until his throat ached but silence was the only reply. With another reverberating pound of his fists he commanded the door open, screaming until his throat was raw.

“Be quiet,” his valet murmured, her face scrunched with annoyance. Her arms coiled around herself.

Vaun obeyed, more than ready for someone else to be in charge, and left the door to kneel beside her. “Grayc? Are you okay?” He reached out to peel back her shirt and check her wound but she swatted away his hand with a disgruntled huff.

“No, I am not okay.” Her voice labored, as though she were far away and straining so that he might hear. “You stabbed me.”

“You stabbed me.” He settled beside her, wishing he could offer her anything, any sort of comfort. “Twice.”

“Deserved it.” Her eyelids cracked open, body cringing under the pain of even that small effort. “Where—?”

“I’m not sure. I carried you as far as I could. Is there another way out?”

A tiny, pained sigh escaped her. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You threw us into a pit without knowing a way out?” He scowled openly at her and hated that she couldn’t even muster a trace of dismissal. “This was a poor plan.”

To his surprise, her lips turned up. “It was.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “It seemed better than staying where we were. I had hoped we would end up in the water.”

“Water?” The stuff he showered in? He felt queasy thinking that he drank of it.

“The pool. We landed there, didn’t we?”

He nodded, though she couldn’t see. After a moment, he carefully wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his lap, wedging his back into the corner near the stairs so that he could watch the door. She tensed and Vaun thought for certain she would tell him to let her go, but finally she laid her cheek against his shoulder.

He didn’t know how long they sat like that, sharing warmth. Slowly, she stopped coughing and her breathing steadied. Eventually, he drew open her shirt again to find her chest still smeared with blood, but none welling from the wound. He draped the material over her chest again and laid his cheek to her hair. “Maybe you have a little magic in you, after all.”

She laughed, the sound tired and raw, though he wasn’t sure what had been funny.

“You keep things from me,” the prince whispered.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Silence stretched between them so long that Vaun wondered why he’d bothered asking. Just when he thought she’d dropped off to sleep again, she said, “There are times when I wish I could tell you everything… and other times I hope you will never find out.”

He sighed quietly and closed his eyes. It was the sort of reply that he expected. “I don’t understand.”

Another silence followed. The warmth of their bodies lulled Vaun toward sleep and he curled his arms tighter around her. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “For hitting me with a book.”

A soft sound made him think she smiled, but he couldn’t see. He didn’t think she’d ever tell.

Vaun woke, whether by the sound of the door or the weight of the other man’s stare, he couldn’t be sure. Cold had seeped down deep into his bones and exhaustion made his limbs impossibly heavy. Though he willed himself to rise and rush past the bastard of Belholn, the prince could only sit there, propped against the corner with her body cradled in his lap. In the time that Udaro’s gaze lay upon him, Vaun was certain that they had held a conversation even if their lips had not moved.

Udaro appeared different, standing in the doorway with gray light spilling in behind him. His build was the same as it had been that morning and his clothes were their usual folds of black but his features had lost their characteristically lighthearted form. His lips were caught in the moment before a frown and his eyes were narrowed, sharp and spiteful, on the prince.

For the first time in nearly a century of carefree friendship, Vaun realized that he’d never really known this man. He had enjoyed Udaro’s company as well as his humor. They had shared tea, beds, and sharp wit, and Vaun had mistaken that for depth. He had mistaken that for friendship. Now, staring up at him, the prince realized just how little he knew the man. A penchant for slumming it in the Low, a blood tie to the Belholns, and a splattering of tattoos: that was all he knew, and for the first time, that was too little.

A rustle of sound came from behind Udaro, beyond the doorway, and in the blink of an eye the judgment in the man’s expression vanished. He knelt before the prince and curled his arms under Grayc Illan. The warmth of his skin pressed in through the front of Vaun’s shirt. For a moment, he refused to let go, but then his own strength failed and Udaro lifted her away. The prince sat, half conscious, and watched as Udaro left with Grayc Illan in his arms.

Vaun only vaguely noticed the men that entered after Udaro, kneeling at his side and asking him questions. He didn’t realize someone managed to get him to his feet and down a long hallway until the full force of the gray light of day blinded him, making his head swim.

A haze of images, like waking dreams, followed. He found himself waking repeatedly but could never recall falling asleep. Meaningless, nonsensical conversations occupied his thoughts for stretches of time he could not count before he realized he was alone. Everything hurt: sound, light, his hair against his cheek. He was either burning hot or bone-shaking cold; either way he was in agony, coated in sweat and struggling to breathe. And when it all finally faded into a complete, consuming, darkness, he was more grateful than he had ever imagined himself capable.

He woke slowly in his own bed, in his own home, as though all else had been a nightmare. He sat up, cringing at the pull of muscles and the emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

The bedroom door opened and a man entered. He had a good face, youthful and pretty, with a wide mouth and large eyes. Given his slight build, he would probably be mistaken for a boy from behind. He appeared just as surprised to see the prince sitting upright as the prince was to see him at all.

“Good afternoon, your highness,” the pretty stranger said with a quick bow of his head, sending strands of blond hair into his eyes. Vaun wondered if he’d been born in Belholn. With hair and features like that, he could even pass for one of the Belholn bastards. The stranger opened the door again and leaned out, calling to a maid before returning. “Lunch will be brought up, along with the papers you’ve missed.”

Vaun stared at him. It was obvious the man worked for him, but he had no memory of him. “Where is Grayc?” the prince demanded and found his voice hoarse.

The stranger flushed uncomfortably. “Your wife will be in shortly, your highness. She will be glad to see you’re feeling well, at last.”

Vaun’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man move confidently around his room, altogether too familiar with the layout as he prepared the small table to be laid out with a meal. He disappeared into the wardrobe through the bathroom and emerged with a plush towel. He draped it across the back of a chair just the way Grayc Illan always did.

“Who are you?” the prince asked in a low voice.

The man’s cheeks colored with embarrassment. “My apologies, your highness. You were ill. My name is Samuel Sinol. I am your new valet.”

Vaun stared at him long enough to see the man shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Grayc!”

Samuel Sinol cringed. “She was dismissed, your highness.”

“By whom?” he demanded, grinding his teeth after the words escaped.

“The princess Fay, your highness. She was here by your side most of the time, as was the princess AviSariel.”

The door opened and, as though summoned by her name, AviSariel entered. Her blue eyes lit up when she saw Vaun. Her mouth pulled into a wide, honest smile and she hurried around Samuel Sinol.

“Thank the Queen,” AviSariel exclaimed. “How do you feel? Do you remember the duel?” The speed of her words made his head swim. She reached for his hand. “We were so worried.”

The sluggishness of his limbs almost let her touch him but he jerked away just in time. When embarrassment and hurt had sufficiently colored his wife’s cheeks, Vaun turned his malice on Samuel Sinol. “Where is she?”

The young man hesitated only a second before straightening stoically. “I believe Miss Sanaro will be in attendance at this evening’s festivities, to which both you and the princess have been invited, your highness.”

The door opened again and a maid entered, pushing a cart of cakes, coffee, and an impressively large stack of newspapers.

Vaun rubbed his head and resisted the urge to lie back down on his pillow. “What festivities?”

“The birthday of Lord Xavian Ren Belholn, your highness.”

He massaged his temples. Xavian Ren’s birthday wasn’t until next month. Just how long had he been asleep? Since when was Grayc Illan invited to High district functions? Had she returned to working for the Belholns? No, impossible. She loathed them, save for Udaro.

“Should I bring up the new suits, your highness?” Samuel Sinol inquired.

With a nod, Vaun pushed himself to his feet and stretched. He hadn’t realized he was naked until AviSariel blushed and pivoted away, averting her eyes. He rolled his. How long had it been since the night of his birthday and her return? Why did she keep up this charade of innocence when it obviously wasn’t working? She had neither seduced him nor succeeded in gaining the favor of anyone else. If he had been feeling sharper, he might have dedicated some time to wondering what other scheme she could be working up under that blush.

“I suppose you’ll have to join me,” Vaun said while watching her profile. Did her eyes light up at his words? Did she interpret his defeat as his will? “Try not to be too embarrassing,” he added, and watched the hint of hope drain from her features. Her head ducked when she curtsied before leaving, and Vaun found, in her wake, that hurting her gave him no joy.

In his bathroom, finally alone, he faced his reflection only to find it slightly askew. It took him several minutes to put his finger on what had changed. The magic had worn off. Not his own natural blood magic, but the purchased ones that had saturated his body for a century. He touched his hair and was pleasantly surprised to learn it was naturally black, though without its usual luster. His skin was still smooth, though not quite so coated in the flawless sheen that made the High district residents stand apart from those who could not afford the finest vanity crafts.

He leaned closer to the mirror, the cold marble countertop pressing a chilly line along his naked hips. Somehow, he had forgotten his real colors. His eyes were dark, almost black, but the closer he looked, the more flakes of silver he saw in them: a thin ring of it hugged his pupils. Disappointment colored his cheeks, and his fingers tentatively touched the blushed skin. He frowned; it was so much more livid than usual, bold rather than graceful. It reminded him of AviSariel and the awkwardness of her expressions.

He continued to stare at himself while he brushed his teeth, gawking at all the small differences. The tiles of his shower were cold beneath his feet but warmed quickly once the water sprayed hot. He suddenly remembered the pool beneath the Ash. Grayc Illan had called it water, but it had neither the intense sweetness nor the slight fragrance of lemon that the water pouring from the showerhead did. His stomach growled and he nearly jumped at the unexpected sound, fingers spreading over his abdomen as though to squash the inelegant rumbling. The longer he stood beneath the spray, though, the more relaxed he felt, the less worried, and by the time he emerged his skin tingled pleasantly and all thoughts of lustless hunger were forgotten.

He opened a drawer and fingered the little bottles with their potion filled bellies. He drank one to restore the ethereal cast to his skin, one to make his hair vivid in its darkness, and another to color his eyes a stark and icy blue.

He stood there, naked, in front of the mirror. He had thought that he would feel better, once his vicious smirk could play at the corner of his red lips the way he liked. He was beautiful again, so why did even the most expensive magic suddenly feel tacky against his skin? Had he always been this discontent? He had everything he needed. Everything he wanted. And yet, as the seconds ticked by, his heart grew heavier. Without the haze of his usual dust stupor, nothing softened the reality of his life—an existence spent in excess, with nothing to show for it. The old weight of his life pressed down on him, along with a truth almost too horrible to bear: he could have anything and everything he wanted, so long as he played his role—a foolish jester to amuse the masses while the Queen watched from her Tower. He could have anything, so long as it was nothing she wanted for herself. He could do anything, so long as it was nothing that would offend her. He was Vaun Dray Fen, prince of the Realm, and he was a prisoner like any other citizen of his city.

When he left his bathroom, the new valet greeted him with a rack of suits. The stranger selected one. Vaun frowned pointedly, and the young man quickly put it back and stepped aside. He offered the prince his tea and Vaun almost accepted on impulse before thinking better of it. He wanted to think a little longer. He wanted to discover an answer or two, even if just for himself.

“Did I miss anything?” the prince asked, waving at the stack of newspapers on the trolley with his ignored treats.

Samuel Sinol jumped, moving toward the papers as though to retrieve them but they were simply too large a stack to bother. “‘Anything,’ your highness?” There was an almost pleading tone to his voice and Vaun nodded, pulling on a pair of slacks.

“Anything important,” he amended. Samuel Sinol’s delicate features pinched with some uncertainty but he began reciting events—duels, parties, and scandals. The prince made an irritated sound that involved clicking his tongue to the top of his mouth. It was alarming, even to himself, because it sounded like something Fay might do. “Did anyone die?” Vaun asked pointedly, deciding to pick just one topic.

“Yes, your highness,” Samuel Sinol said. “But no one in the High.”

Vaun chose a shirt and pulled it on. He glanced over his reflection’s shoulder to eye his new valet, waiting for more information.

Samuel Sinol tipped his chin higher but didn’t met Vaun’s gaze. Most servants never did. “There was a string of executions in the Main and Low districts while you were ill,” he explained, voice tempered as he tried to gauge when to stop talking. Vaun knotted his tie. “Traitors, it seems, your highness.”

“Treason? I thought they gave that revolution nonsense up years ago,” Vaun said idly, practicing his tone for the party. It wasn’t as easy to sound like an unfeeling bastard as he made it seem.

“Decades, actually, your highness.”

Vaun pretended not to hear. He recalled the occasional group of activists here and there in the past. They rarely developed beyond the secret meetings portion of rebellion before a pack of wolves brought their souls to rest in the Tower, or worse, Evan Kadem came down himself to put an end to any thoughts of disloyalty. “So, what did these traitors do?” the prince inquired, still working on his tone and expression.

“They were peddling dust, your highness.”

Vaun stopped in the midst of taking out a jacket and turned, eyebrow raised skeptically. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and raised his eyebrow just a tad higher. Dust was just about everywhere in the Realm. Had he slept so long that that had changed?

“It was not the Queen’s dust,” Samuel Sinol said quietly.

Vaun stood there for another moment before nodding and drawing on his jacket. Someone had actually made their own dust? Vaun remembered the cigarette in the teahouse in the Main of Belholn, before his madness. The one that had felt wrong. “Get me a list.”

“A list, your highness?”

“Of the dead, of course. I can’t be caught not knowing their names, can I?” Vaun practiced a careless shrug, as if the man might need a reminder that a prince did not need a valet to advise him, especially not a stand-in valet while his own was missing.

Samuel Sinol bowed deeply and left. Vaun scowled after him, quite certain Grayc Illan had never bowed like that. He couldn’t imagine her bowing to anyone without at least a hint of sarcasm. How did she ever managed to become his valet? He tried to remember how she had been appointed the position, sorting through memories long since blurred by a wash of tea and smoke. He made such a terrible habit of forgetting things, too. And yet…

There had been some sort of scandal involving a string of lost pearls, and her. The details of it were lost to him but among them he found her. The first time he saw her. She stood over his bed, looking down at him, and through the haze of the dust in his veins pulling him back toward blissful sleep, he sensed that she would be the end of him. What a beautiful end it would be, at her hand. He had slipped back to sleep with her watching over him like death itself, a stranger in the dark, and never slept more soundly in all his years before or since.

But he hadn’t appointed her, he remembered now. Grayc Illan appeared in his life as suddenly as Samuel Sinol.

Because of his sister. Fay brought him Grayc Illan, without request or explanation. Vaun adjusted the collar of his jacket and looked himself coldly in the eye. How had he forgotten all of these things?

The prince stood a moment longer, considering the trays of cakes and cup of tea that had long since cooled.

By the time he left his room, dressed for the evening, Samuel Sinol returned with a narrow slip of paper. Vaun took it, eyes skimming the list of names before looking at the valet with just the right amount of mild confusion and disinterest.

“What is this?” he asked.

Samuel Sinol did not miss a beat. “Nothing of importance, your highness.”

Vaun shrugged as though he had forgotten asking for anything and dropped the paper. It fluttered to the floor, not yet settled when he had gone from the hallway. It had taken him only a second to scan the names and find the one he suspected would be there: Gabriella Foslin. He had known her briefly as Gabby. So, she’d put the bad dust in his hand. Who had put it in hers?

More importantly, where was his valet?

To her credit, AviSariel paid careful attention to her appearance. Vaun didn’t know if she’d done it to impress or to avoid embarrassing him, but he couldn’t fault her for either. She wore a dress that made her look incredibly uncomfortable, exactly what was high in fashion at the moment, as Fay herself frequently wore remarkably restraining and lavish gowns. AviSariel was corseted in so tightly that her flesh heaved over the top a little. The length of the bodice wrapped her curves all the way down to her hips, and Vaun wondered how she had managed to get herself into the car. He would be sure to watch her attempt at exiting once they reached the Belholn estate.

She took little breaths and he faced the window to hide his smile; not one of cruelty, but of honest humor. She had tried so hard. She looked beautiful, though he would never tell her, but it had come at such an obvious and ridiculous cost. He wondered how other ladies wore such extravagant dresses and made it look so easy. His smile faded when he wondered if AviSariel would become just as elegant as the rest of them over time. Would she get used to the dresses? Would she learn how to play their games? Learn to flirt, to tease, to mock?

He pretended not to wait after exiting the car while she tried to manage the bulk of her skirts.

Some sort of pearlescent magic smeared her skin and made it shimmer when the light hit her. Her hair was longer today but still a deep brown and swept up into a mess of pearls and pins. She followed him up the stairs and into the welcoming doors of the large house. Vaun barely acknowledged his wife’s presence but as they entered the banquet hall, no one else could ignore her.

He realized, for the first time, that everyone was a shade of beautiful in the High. Some of them more than others, but all gems decorating the crown of the Realm. He had seen withered bodies, homely faces, and tattered clothing in the city, but never in the High and never at their parties.

Vaun felt the eyes of the guests move from him to her, voices whispering beneath the sound of violins and cellos. He knew it then, that no matter how he hated her, the Realm would not be able to resist a new princess for much longer. What surprised him was the relief he felt knowing that others might give her the affection he would not. He let her have his arm and led the way to the head table, where Xavian Ren held court with his siblings and their lovers fanned out at his sides.

Killian Belholn whistled when he saw the prince approaching, though his glassy gaze slithered past Vaun’s shoulder to admire the princess. He’d either found a new supply of dust or his family had given up trying to keep him from his tea. Killian stood, his long legs wobbling when his chair did not slide back as easily as he had expected. “You’re alive after all!” He raised his teacup toward the prince.

Philip Belholn smiled beside his younger brother and pulled Killian easily, though not so gently, back into his seat. “We did not think you would make it,” the second oldest brother of the Belholns said more politely, though there was always a jagged edge to Philip’s mouth that prevented anything he said from sounding entirely honest or kind. “We invited your sister, but she declined. I suppose it can’t be helped, being tied to those Vyms.” A snicker pulled at his lips, infecting the people sitting nearest to him. “Your mother should have married her to one of us. We would not have forced her to play the prude.”

The table laughed. The guests without Belholn blood in their veins shielded their smiles because though they must join in the humor of the jackals, they hesitated to offend the prince.

Vaun smiled back at Philip. “I assure you, no one forces my sister to do anything without serious repercussion.”

“I remember Fay Dray Fen well, before her marriage.” Philip’s voice softened, as though a tragedy had befallen her and, in a way, Vaun knew that one had. “She was colorful, before.”

Killian clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Do you remember that year she spent in our house?” His glassy eyes swept from his brother to Vaun. “Fay was always sneaking off from her governesses. She said her own home was boring. We never minded having her. Well, Mother did, but she couldn’t exactly tell a princess to get out of her son’s bed.” The duster chuckled hard at his own words, nearly choking.

“Killian.” Philip sighed and handed his brother another cup of tea.

“What?” Killian glanced at the others, but everyone casually averted their attention. Hammish Tar, the youngest of the brothers, pressed his lips uncomfortably and turned to whisper explanations in his lover’s ear. Vaun wished very much to have been that lover at that moment and hear those secrets told so easily. “Don’t you remember? She was here constantly, before her marriage. And then she was gone. And then Mother and Father were gone, too.” Killian sighed heavily, lost in memories. “She was so different, then.” He smiled to himself as he drank from his new cup. “She had a lovely laugh, didn’t she? Remember how she used to play tricks on us? I do wish she would come back.”

“Killy,” Xavian Ren said, and the table hushed. He leveled a long, sobering stare on his brother before turning his gaze to Vaun. The Lord smiled warmly and held out his hand. “I am honored that you came, your highness.”

Vaun took his hand. “Congratulations on yet another fine year,” he recited, but was considering the words Killian had let slip. He’d known Fay had fancied the Belholns before her marriage but he hadn’t realized just how differently they remembered her. Nor had he remembered just how soon after her marriage tragedy had struck the Belholns, with the mysterious and brutal deaths of their parents.

“We are all relieved to see that you are feeling well again.” The Lord of Belholn released Vaun’s hand to take AviSariel’s. He gave her a tactful once over before smiling politely and kissing her knuckles. “I hope you enjoy the party,” Xavian Ren said sweetly while his lips were still close to her skin. Vaun watched the interaction just long enough to see her blush before leading her to their seats.

He drew out her chair, blaming guilt over his dust-mad mistreatment of her for the spontaneous act of kindness. She made it so easy to forget that she was a pawn of the Queen’s sent down with mysterious purpose.

No sooner had he taken his place beside AviSariel than his attention was stolen away. Even in a crowd as large as the one that had filled the banquet hall, even over the music, the clatter of dishes, and the rise and fall of laughter, he could hear Grayc Illan’s voice.

He looked beyond the man across from him and to another table. So many people, and yet it only took a second to find her among them. Grayc Illan was smiling; not a true grin, but a careful curve of lips that suited the High. He watched as she lifted a wine glass to her mouth and drank. The deep red of the liquid matched the color of her lips. Her perfect, dark curls fell around her face, framing those eyes he knew so well. Her skin shimmered, as if the shine of her dark silver dress had somehow rubbed off on her. Around her neck, she wore a thin ribbon, black and glossy, but no jewels. She didn’t need any.

She wasn’t serving dishes or filling glasses. She reclined at a table of High district residents, even nobles, sipping wine and dismissing the grandeur of the event with fashionable disinterest. The man beside her touched her hand, drawing her attention, and she leaned in to hear him speak. Her smile tightened and Vaun could see that she was trying not to laugh before nodding shortly. Vaun almost didn’t bother to look at the man sitting beside her, so mesmerized by the oddity of seeing her so comfortable at a table of jackals. She hated Belholns. He was certain of it. Wasn’t he?

Vaun’s eyes narrowed when he did tear his gaze from her to look at her companion. He set down his glass with a hard thud that nearly broke the stem, wine sloshing inside and dribbling over the edge.

“Vaun?” AviSariel whispered worriedly.

He didn’t answer, staring at the man beside his former valet. Jacobi Belholn caressed her hand as he whispered in her ear. His white hair mingled with her black curls, and for a moment, his lips almost brushed her cheek. From the outside, they appeared a strangely fitting match, but Jacobi had a well-documented preference for the dim witted. His date for the evening sat on the other side of him. Her blonde hair almost matched his own for paleness and her dress was little more than a sheer slip. The amount of flesh she showed indicated her district of birth, probably the Main nearest the Low. In the High, showing too much skin became boring decades ago. Jacobi liked his lovers to be from the Main so that their families would not fret over his mistreatment of them.

Was Jacobi mistreating Grayc? Panic rose in his chest almost as quickly as it faded. No. Not Grayc Illan. He couldn’t imagine anyone harming her and walking away unscathed.

Had he really only slept for a month? How could the Realm change so much, that nobles would dine with a servant as their equal, leaning in to hear her gossip?

Why hadn’t he dined with her when he had the chance?

The first course came, and then the second, third, fourth, and fifth. The trail of pastries, flowers, soups, and fruit went on for what seemed an eternity and he could only stumble through conversation with the guests around him while watching Grayc Illan. She was suddenly a stranger. The way she moved, the way she held herself, the way she ate. Had he ever seen her eat before? At one point in the evening, Jacobi turned his attention away from his date to stretch an arm over the back of Grayc Illan’s chair. He leaned into her and picked at her cake with his fork. He whispered and Vaun would have given anything to know what he said that made her laugh like that before she parted her lips and ate the bite he offered her.

Jacobi caught his gaze across the room, held it, and smiled at Vaun’s misery.

“Vaun,” AviSariel spoke softly at his side. “You’ve eaten nothing tonight.”

He looked down at his plate and then up at his wife. “Am I dreaming still?” he asked so frankly that she could only blink in confusion. He turned his eyes away from her again. “I must have slept years rather than weeks.”

Her hand laid over his. “Are you feeling unwell?”

He pulled away and picked up his fork, eating the sickly sweet cake until it was nothing but blueberry flavored crumbs and smears of rosewater frosting. The flavor left in his mouth reminded him of his shower water: sweet and chemical.

His gaze sought Grayc Illan again just in time to see her stand from her seat. Jacobi rose as well, exchanging a few more words with her before Grayc said goodbye to the rest of the table and left. Vaun couldn’t help but stand. Before anyone else could ask if he was unwell, he left the table and wove through the busy room. He kept his gaze fixed on Grayc Illan’s curls and when she slipped from the banquet hall into the foyer, his steps quickened.

“Grayc!” Her name leaped from his mouth as he burst into the nearly empty lobby after her.

She stopped, and from the moment of hesitation before she turned, he realized she had known he would follow and had hoped to escape. She stared at him before scanning the lobby again, probably seeking a maid to fetch her coat.

“What is going on?” His footfalls echoed as he advanced.

She stared at him so blankly he wondered if he’d somehow mistaken another woman for his valet, or simply gone mad.

“You will have to be more specific, your highness,” she said.

No, there was no mistaking her voice or the cut of her words. This was his Grayc. “Enough of this. What are you doing here with Jacobi? Why is there a stranger in my house calling himself your replacement?”

Her gaze softened momentarily. “Samuel Sinol is your valet now. I picked him myself. He will serve you well.” Her head dipped after a moment. “If you’ll excuse me, your highness.”

She turned on her heel.

“You are not excused!” Vaun snapped.

“Go back to your dinner,” she called over her shoulder.

“You are my valet. I did not agree to a replacement.” He followed her through a door and into a crowded room of hangers and fabric. “I heard Fay fired you. I want you to come back. She can’t fire my employees. She—”

Grayc Illan laughed and turned away from him, her fingers hovering over the pages of a book on a desk among coats to find her name and the number to her garment. “I was never your employee, your highness.” Her smile dwindled as she looked up at him. “But Samuel Sinol is. I hired him to be loyal to you, and only you.”

The musky, narrow room warmed his skin and he resisted the urge to tug at the buttons of his jacket. “Who are you loyal to?”

She stared at him for a long moment before returning her attention to the book. “Go back to the party. I don’t take care of you anymore.”

Dread tightened his skin and weighed in the pit of his stomach. “Is it because of the duel? Did Fay say something to—”

“The princess didn’t fire me. I left.” Grayc Illan moved along the racks of coats until she found her own. “I am not Jacobi’s valet. I’m his partner. I’m helping him run his businesses.”

Vaun stared at her, stricken for a moment. She had left him for a better position?

She tugged her coat from the hanger and folded it over her arm. “It is time to let me go, prince.”

“This is a lie.” He blocked her escape. “This… It isn’t true.”

“What isn’t?”

“I wasn’t just a job. I—”

“I cleaned up after you, Vaun!” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I spent more than seventy years following you around. The same teahouses, the same parties, the same scandals and lovers. Did you think I would spend my whole life handing you towels and bringing you the paper? I hated it.”

“You didn’t.” He yanked her back when she tried to shove past him. She tried again, mouth set, and he pushed harder, tumbling her into a wall of coats. Terror made it hard to breathe, though he couldn’t understand why. Yes, of course, he thought she would be there forever to take care of him. For nearly as long as he could remember she had been there, the only one that cared for him. She could leave him for a new job, a better job, but this couldn’t be why. She couldn’t hate working for him. She couldn’t hate him. She couldn’t, because he couldn’t bear that.

“Liar,” the prince whispered angrily, tears in his eyes. “You lie all the time but I won’t be tricked by you. You don’t want to be at that table. You hate this house. You hate Jacobi.” His lips curled into a snarl as he came toward her, pushing her back against the lumpy wall of clothing and hangers just as she straightened. He rubbed his hand over her arm, looking at the fine magic that colored her skin in silver dust. “This isn’t you. This magic. This dress.”

Her hands shoved at his chest but he wouldn’t back away enough to let her stand upright fully. “What do you know of it? What do you know about me?” Her voice broke around the last words.

He grabbed the side of her neck so that he could force her jaw up and rub his thumb along those red painted lips, the ones he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of all night. They smeared, not magic but real color, rubbing off on his thumb against the corner of her mouth. “This. I know that this was you.” He watched her eyes for some hint of confirmation, but true to her nature they gave nothing away. He nodded as though she had agreed. “You picked this color. The rest is a lie.”

Her mouth trembled against his thumb and he knew she was about to speak again, to lie again, so he smothered her words. He sealed her lips with his, delving his tongue in before she could close them. She tasted like the wine she’d been drinking. He took everything he could from that kiss, certain that she would push him away at any moment, but the moment never came.

Her tongue moved boldly to shove back at his and her hands curled in the front of his jacket. Vaun pushed her harder into the coats with a desire more forceful than any he had ever known. How had he spent decades so close to her without touching her? He couldn’t imagine letting go. His hips ground into hers until one of her legs curled up against his side.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh beneath her skirt, clawing at the top of her stocking and pulling her leg higher until she teetered on the toe of her other shoe for balance. His hand caressed the underside of her thigh before sliding down to meet the warm mound of her panties. She moaned and the sound rolled through him like a wave of heat.

Grabbing her other thigh, he lifted the only leg she had left to stand on and toppled them both down the wall and onto a pile of rumpled coats. She dragged in short breaths, her lips swollen and stained in that vivid red. Her hair mashed against the still hanging garments behind her, her skirt pooled around her hips and her eyes hazy with passion. Her fingers pulled the buttons of his slacks open while he kissed her. The flavor of wine was gone and all that remained was the taste of her.

He pulled her panties to one side before pushing her up against the wall with the force of his hips. She cried out and arched in what little space she had. He held her thighs as he moved, his knees digging into the floor. Mesmerized, he watched her arms stretch up, trying to find something to hold onto but only dragging more coats down around them.

It was the most honest he had ever seen her and the most certain he had ever been about her. She clung to his shoulders when the wall offered nothing stable. Her fingers flexed against his muscles when she neared her end. Her hips rocked up into his and her ragged breath quickened into sharp gasps before she finally shuddered beneath him.

He held her tighter when he followed and then stayed there, hips joined and bodies leaned against the base of the wall until their breath evened again. He stayed another few minutes just to keep her there, her heartbeat loud beneath him and her face leaned comfortably into the curve of his neck.

“Vaun…” she murmured regretfully against his skin. He nodded and pulled away from her, standing and taking one more look at her before she pushed her clothing back into place and crawled to her feet.

“No more lies,” the prince said as he began putting himself back together. She sighed and was about to protest when he continued. “No. Do what you have to do. Keep your secrets. Play your game. Say nothing at all, if you must, but stop lying to me.”

Grayc blinked, stunned, before finally nodding her agreement.

He kissed her again and tugged the little ribbon from around her neck. “I liked this,” he said, casually tucking it into his pocket. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it became the latest fashion.” He walked away before she could say or do anything that might ruin the strange sense of peace between them.

He was still rubbing the red of her lips from his own when he walked back out into the lobby, his collar askew, his tie a disaster and his shirt untucked and wrinkled under his open jacket. A little gasp brought him to a stop, his shoes scuffing the polished floor. His eyes moved from the color on his thumb to the woman standing on the other side of the hall. Her blue eyes swam with tears and her features were stricken by an emotion he did not recognize. He watched AviSariel’s bottom lip quiver and wondered if she planned to cry. No, it wasn’t a plan. All at once, Vaun realized that those tears were not a plot or an aesthetic choice. The tremble of her lips were true, like the blush he had seen color her cheeks and the embarrassment that he had enjoyed putting in her eyes.

That perplexing expression that coiled in her smooth features now was the reflection of some pain he had caused her. She was trying not to cry. He could see it by the way her shoulders tensed and her mouth scrunched. It hurt to look at, and though he knew there should have been a better choice of action, Vaun walked past her and back to the banquet hall. He heard her breath hitch behind him and a small, smothered cry. He didn’t understand her pain but, for the first time, he wished that it would go away.