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I suck in a breath. This man controls the greatest supply of Moonflower petals in Kandala. If he stops providing it, people will die.

I’m not the only one who thinks so. A whisper flies through the crowd beyond the guards.

Corrick takes a step forward, and the night is full of so much dangerous potential that I wonder if he’s going to strike the other man or order the guards to put an arrow through his back.

Instead, Corrick drops his voice to a level that won’t be heard away from this table. The edge leaves his tone. “It’s been a long day for us both. I let my temper get the best of me earlier. I was angry that the Benefactors seem to be funding these attacks, and I can’t force answers out of unconscious thieves. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out on you.” He pauses. “Let’s not allow a few heated words to come between us.” He gestures to the table. “Please. Join us.”

Theconsul hesitates, but now he looks uncertain instead of furious. “My supply runs—”

“Allisander.” Corrick claps him on the shoulder like they’re old friends. His voice is no longer soft, and I can see necks craning to hear. “I’ll grant you whatever you need to protect your people. As always.”

Allisander clears his throat. “Very well.” He glances at the table. “I will not intrude on your dinner.”

“Will you be staying at the palace this evening?” says Corrick. “Perhaps a game of chess in the morning. We could discuss some alternative methods of protecting your deliveries.”

“Good.” Consul Sallister tugs his jacket straight and takes a step back. “Until tomorrow, then.”

“I look forward to it,” says Corrick.

After the consul leaves, I expect Corrick to look aggrieved, but he doesn’t. He extends a hand toward my chair. “Forgive the interruption. Please. Sit. Have you tried the bread?”

I sit, but I stare at him. He’s so formal and polite all of a sudden. This is like Prince Corrick Number Four. Or maybe Number Nineteen. I’ve lost track.

He must notice my bewildered expression. “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m upset about what just happened,” he says, his tone low enough that his words are for me alone, but as perfectly even as when he mentioned the bread. “The cheese is very good, too. Try some. I insist.”

“Ah . . . ?sure.” I tear a piece of bread, trying to remember which knife was for cheese during my lesson with Mistress Kent.

Corrick lifts one of his and taps it with his index finger, so I look for my own. Out of everything, these tiny kindnesses from him are the most unexpected. I follow his lead and spread cheese across the surface of the bread, then take a bite.

It’s divine. The cheese melts onto my tongue, and I nearly forget what just happened.

But now that we’re eating, the other patrons go back to their meals. Conversation regains the near-cacophony volume from before Corrick and Allisander argued.

I study the prince. He’s such an enigma. Every time I think I understand the slightest thing about him, he does something new that doesn’t quite make sense. I can’t even tell who just gained ground—and who lost it.

He takes another piece of bread and slathers it with cheese. “I sense that you have questions.”

“Who just yielded? Was it you or him?”

“He did,” says Corrick. “But it looks like I did, which is what matters. I can’t have the entire Royal Sector thinking Allisander will blockade access to the Moonflower petals. I’m surprised he didn’t start a riot right here.”

“He really controls so much?”

“Yes. But he also doesn’t want to cease his shipments, because we’d be forced to rely on Lissa Marpetta alone, which would mean her prices would increase, and he doesn’t want to give up one single coin of profit—or the illusion of control.” Corrick sighs, looking irritated. “But if outlaws keep attacking his supply run, it won’t be worth it to him. Especially if someone with money is funding the attacks.”

Outlaws. My chest is tight again. “He said you have . . . ?prisoners.”

“I do.”

I keep thinking of the way King Harristan said, It’s the same to the night patrol. I have to force myself to swallow the food in my mouth, because it’s turned into a tasteless lump. “What . . . ?what are you going to do to them?”

“I’m going to question them and see what they know.” He pauses, his eyes holding mine, his tone level. “And then I will act accordingly.”

He doesn’t say this in a challenging way, but I feel like he’s thrown down a gauntlet anyway.

On the day of the execution before the gates, I remember thinking of how horrible the king and the prince were. Prince Corrick stood on the stage, so cold and uncaring. I longed for a crossbow to shoot them both, to free Kandala from their tyranny.

But I didn’t know about Consul Sallister then. I feel like that shouldn’t matter when people are dead . . . ?but after meeting him, I realize that it does.