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“Conor,” Kel said, slowly. It seemed he was to think about him, whether he wished to or not. “If you think he is not kind—then why did you want to marry him?”

“I am not sure kindness is relevant to princes. And like all princes who have thus far faced little in the way of great conflict, he does not yet understand that being royal is easy enough. It is ruling that is difficult.”

“Wise,” said Kel. “But not an answer. And being royal is not so easy.”

“You will always defend him,” said Antonetta. “It is true that I’ve always known he would marry for advantage, not for love. And I suppose I thought,Why not me, then?You see, marrying him would have given me something I wanted very much.”

Kel braced himself. “What is that?”

“The silk Charter,” she said, to his surprise. She was not looking at him, leaving him staring at the curve of her neck, where the flickering candlelight caressed it. “You know I cannot inherit it from my mother. It will pass into the hands of my husband when I marry. But if my husband were the King—”

“He cannot hold a Charter,” Kel said, realizing.

“Yes. I would remain in control of it.”

“Was this your plan all along? Or your mother’s?” Kel asked, remembering the long-ago party where she had first told him she intended to marry the Prince.

“My mother has always wanted me to be queen,” said Antonetta. “I believe she thinks it would be a sort of ornament to the Alleyne name. I want the silk Charter. I suppose our desires converged.”

“I had not thought you so interested in power,” said Kel.

Antonetta spun to look at him so quickly that her hair flew in strands of spun gold around her face. “Of course I am interested in power,” she said hotly. “Everyone is interested in power. Power allows us to chart our own course, make our own choices. And look at my other choices, Kellian. They are few and constraining. I feel them close in on me like the walls of a labyrinth.” She tugged at the locket around her throat. “That is what is fascinating about you,” she said. “You don’t seem to want anything at all.”

“Of course I want things.” His voice sounded rough to his own ears. They were leaning into each other, he realized. As close as they had been all those years ago, behind the statue at her debut ball. When he had realized how far away from him she had gone.

But now she moved closer to him. Deliberately. A step and another step, bringing her head to just under his chin. He could feel the heat of her body, smell the heady scent of her perfume and her skin combined. See where the silk of her dress clung to her breasts, to the curve and dip of her waist, pulling tight across her hips.

She looked up at him. She looked nervous, and there seemed no artifice in it, no affectation. She laid a hand on his shoulder. It was a light touch, but it sent heat spiraling through his body. Through the pounding in his ears, he heard her say his name,Kellian,and without being able to help it, he reached to touch her.

His hand found the indent of her waist. He could feel a line of silk-covered buttons rough against his palm as he held her there, his hand resting just above the flare of her hip, as if he meant to balance her in a dance. The silk felt just as he pictured under his fingers, though he had not properly imagined the warmth of it, heated by its contact with her skin, nor the ache he would feel at the warmth and curve of her, a pressure in the back of his throat, in his belly. There was a haze in front of his eyes. All he could think of was drawing her closer.

And then she winced.

“Ana—are you all right?” He drew his hand back, a little awkwardly.

“It’s nothing,” she said, but she was white around the mouth. If there was anything Kel knew when he saw it, it was pain.

“You’re hurt,” Kel said, a faint buzzing in his ears. “Antonetta, tell me—did someone harm you—”

“No.No.It’s nothing like that.”

“Tell me,” he said again. “Or I’ll get Lin, have her look at you.”

Antonetta pushed out her bottom lip the way she had when she was young and they had refused to let her pretend to be the head of the Arrow Squadron and give them all orders. “Oh, allright,” she said, and twisted about, as having some odd sort of convulsion. It took Kel a moment to realize she was flicking open the row of small buttons that ran down the side of her dress, from just beneath her arm to her waist.

“There,” she said, turning so that he could see her bare side through the parted silk, the smooth curve of her waist into silk-covered hips. Along her rib cage was a short, angry-looking cut—a dark-red line against pale skin.

Kel knew pain. He also knew sword wounds.

“A blade made that cut,” he said. “How?”

“Sword practice,” she said. “I used to love sword training when I was a girl—maybe you remember, though it’s all right if you don’t. I had to cease training when we all stopped being friends and my mother took over everything I did. She said no one would want to marry a girl who could swing a sword. But I missed it, and sometimes, now, I sneak away and train down in the city. My mother knows nothing about it. But when I do it, everything else falls away—the pressures of marriage, of etiquette, of being an Alleyne. I am just Antonetta, who is learning to fight.”

“Can I touch you?” he asked. She looked surprised for a moment before nodding. He traced the cut lightly with his fingertips; her skin was warm, but not hot. No fever or infection, then. Just a crimson line, an incongruous mark in the context of silk and softness.

His blood was heating again. He told himself not to be a savage; she was injured. And yet her skin was like the silk on which her family had built its empire. He did not want to stop touching her.

“Talk to your dressmaker,” he said. “Lin is discreet. She won’t tell anyone. But you must have this bandaged. In the meantime, wash the cut with honey and warm water. When I have been injured before—”