says, tortured, hard. “You don’t know what I deserve.”
She shakes her head. Has she said the wrong thing? She always says the wrong thing.
He picks up the wine bottle and drinks. Wine spills down his chest. He makes a strangled sound. Is he crying? She hates to see him this way.
“Get out,” he says to her, so low she takes a step closer.
She can’t leave without his wedding garments. “My lord—”
He throws the bottle across the room and it shatters. “You want my things? Here.” He runs into the bedroom. He is a magnet, and she follows despite her fear.
On his bed are two women rousing from sleep. They shrink back in terror at the screaming prince, who tears through his dressing closet. He gathers his groom’s clothes and throws them at Jacinta’s feet.
“There! Take it. Take all of it.”
She gathers up his clothes. They smell like him. Like woodsmoke and salt of the sea. He’s worn them. He’d gotten dressed and worn them.
Castian retreats to the farthest corner of the bedroom and turns his back on them all. He is still as marble, the angel at a temple she would always worship.
“Please leave me,” he says.
And they leave.
Movement in the halls alerts me to let go. I relinquish my hold on Jacinta’s mind and slink back through the laundry room, past the kitchens, my heart racing. No one in the Whispers had heard of this engagement. But one thing is for sure: I have to get inside the prince’s chambers. Music spills into the smaller workrooms. If there were ever a time I could take my chance, it would be tonight.
I quickly retrieve my alman stone from my pocket. Using trembling sweaty fingers to do the clasp, I think of the drunken prince in Jacinta’s memory. Memories can’t be changed, even when someone wants them to be. She worships the prince, and all of her feelings thread into my skin. I want to tear at it until the sickening longing fades.
The moment I step into the corridor, a body shoves me against the wall. Fragrant holy oils suffocate me. A hand slaps over my mouth to keep me from screaming. I kick out hard and my attacker staggers. It’s Alessandro.
“I saw you,” he says, grunting as he recovers. “What were you doing to that servant girl, bestae?”
My heart rate spikes. I grab for the closest thing I can get my hands on. A wooden slat used to stir the lye.
“You must be confused, Judge Alessandro,” I say. “Her friends asked me to check on her.”
He keeps his distance, but I see his mind working, going through each of his options. “You’re all deceivers. Your hand works perfectly fine.”
I grip the slat tighter. If I hit him, it would be as good as treason. If I let him go to Méndez, all this will be over.
“There you are!” Leo shouts. His flop of black curls is disheveled from dancing and his cheeks are flushed. Has it truly been an hour? I have never been more glad to see anyone in my life. He takes in Alessandro and then me. “What’s happening?”
“She’s lying about her injury. I saw her preying on a sleeping girl to devour her memories. I’m taking her to Justice Méndez now,” he says.
Leo pauses, looking Alessandro up and down. Then his forehead draws together with mild concern.
“I’ll accompany you,” Leo says gravely as he stands between us. An icy feeling cuts through me. I told myself I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet, I am. “Now, just so I can help you back up your story for Justice Méndez, what is your proof? I only want to be certain, Judge Alessandro, so we do not disturb the justice unnecessarily.”
What is Leo doing?
“What do you mean, proof? I don’t have to prove anything. I will tell Justice Méndez, and he will believe me because my word is truth.”
Leo nods like he’s eating up the other man’s claim. “Of course, Judge Alessandro! But”—he glances at my chest as if he’s just noticed the stone resting there—“what will the alman stone show?”
Alessandro takes in the stone, then dismisses Leo. “The Ventári expired, no one can verify it until we find another one.” I see the moment he understands his mistake. The alman stone will show Alessandro attacking me and Leo stepping in to calm the erratic judge. Anger cuts his features into a terrible scowl. “It won’t matter. My word is higher than yours.”
“I do not deny that,” I say, setting