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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tessa

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 filled with suffering. The 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.

That’s almost harder to accept than his death.

The man who’s entered the room is the same man who first 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’mclinging to the wall as if I can somehow pass through it and find 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 finger. 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.”

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

There’s one thing he said that keeps flickering through all my worries: The 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 afterthought. “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 finger 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 lifts 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.