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Her steps slow as she enters the room, her eyes searching the faces.

The whispers have begun anew. Tessa’s stoic countenance begins to give way, and I can tell she’s hearing some of the comments. Her gaze begins to flick left and right, looking less aloof and more panicked.

I step across the room. “Tessa.”

She gives a little jolt, then looks up at me. An attendant has lined her eyes with dark colors and brushed pinks across her cheeks. Her lips are a lighter red than the dress, and they part slightly when she gasps.

Tessa must realize she’s staring, because her eyes go cool and she clamps her mouth shut. She takes hold of her skirts and drops into a curtsy that somehow manages to be both graceful and belligerent. Clearly etiquette lessons went well. “Your Highness.”

Only she could turn a curtsy into an act of defiance.

I bow in return, then offer my arm. “Shall we?”

She hesitates, uncertainty flickering behind the boldness in her eyes. Every person in this room is watching her reaction, waiting to see how she’ll proceed—and how I’ll respond. Half are simply curious, but half are undoubtedly waiting for a bit of vicious entertainment, something they can whisper about once I’m gone. Some of them are probably hoping blood will spill.

Quint’s warnings are loud in my head. You can only be the King’s Justice.

Maybe Tessa can read the shift in my expression, because her hand lands on my arm weightlessly. I can feel her fingers trembling.

She’s still afraid of me. That pierces a hole in all of Quint’s warnings.

A part of me wishes I could undo it, but I have no idea how to undo all of what I am. I consider the way my parents died, and I don’t even know if I would.

The doors swing open as we approach, the cool night air swirling against my skin. The cobblestone road in front of the palace is bustling with activity. Horses and carriages come and go, servants and footmen scurrying about. Somewhere, a horse whinnies, and a man shouts for a porter.

Afootman stops in front of us and bows. “Your Highness. Your carriage is ready.”

“A carriage,” whispers Tessa.

“Did you think we would walk?” I say, leading her down the steps.

In the sunlight, my carriage is a deep burgundy, but in the moonlight, it looks black. Silver accents glint in the light from the lanterns. Four horses stand in gleaming harness, tiny bells jingling when they toss their heads. The footman holds the door, and I offer Tessa my hand.

She narrows her eyes at me, ignores my hand, and climbs inside.

I’m about to follow, but Captain Huxley stops beside the carriage. “Your Highness.”

The captain of the palace guard is a large man with blond hair, ruddy cheeks, and a fondness for chocolates and bitter ale. He’s an honest man, as far as I can tell, but he’s known for taking bribes in exchange for bits of gossip about the royal family. He’s been captain since my father was king, but when Harristan chose his personal guard, Huxley was overlooked, a slight I don’t think he’s ever forgiven.

We haven’t forgiven him for failing to keep our parents safe, so I think we’re even.

He’s all but blocking the doorway. I barely glance at him. “What?”

He hesitates when he hears my tone. “This girl is unknown. I should ride with you.”

“I will take it under consideration while you ride behind.” I shift to move past him.

“Regardless of what stories she bears, she slipped into the palace—”

“Yes. She did. Walked right past one of your guards.”

“Yes, well—that is—Your Highness—” he begins, blustering.

“I am very hungry, Captain.”

He hesitates, then takes a step back. “As you say.”

When I climb into the carriage, Tessa has taken the seat to the front, so I jerk the door closed and ease onto the velvet cushions on the opposite side. Her eyes are dark and cool as they regard me, but her fingers are twisted together, her knuckles pale.