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“It is silly,” said Kel, a bite to his tone. “I have no prospects among the sons and daughters of the Hill—your mother has made that clear enough.”

He almost thought he saw Antonetta flinch. But he must have imagined it. She was already staring down the corridor. They were on the third floor, where the courtesans’ rooms were, and halfway down the hall was an open door—Audeta’s room, presumably. Sitting on the floor beside it was Conor. Red spatters stained the floor around him. His head had fallen back against the wall; his left arm looked as if he’d pulled a scarlet glove up to his elbow. Falconet knelt beside him, looking—unusually for Joss—at a loss as to what to do.

“Conor—” Antonetta started forward, but Kel saw Falconetshake his head. He caught Antonetta by the elbow, drawing her back.

“Better not,” he said. “Wait for us downstairs.” He hesitated. “And remember, Domna Alys can take care of anything you need.”Or take care of you, if you’re uneasy.But he didn’t say that. Antonetta was an adult. She made her own choices, at least as much as her mother allowed. Kel had been her protector once, but she had been very clear on the night of her debut that he was no longer wanted in that capacity.

She bit her lower lip—it was a habit of hers—and looked worriedly down the hall at Conor. “Take care of him,” she said to Kel, and vanished down the steps.

Of course I will. It’s my duty.But it was more than duty, of course; anxiety raced through Kel’s blood like fire as he made his way to Conor and knelt down beside Falconet at his side. Conor was still, improbably, wearing his crown, the gold wings snagged among his black curls. He jumped when Kel put a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, his gray eyes focused. “You,” he said, in a slurred voice. He was very drunk—much drunker than Kel would have expected. “Where were you?”

“I was with Silla.”

The ghost of a smile flashed across Conor’s face. “You like her,” he said. His voice held an odd, disconnected quality, and Kel’s stomach tightened. What else might Conor say, in this state, regardless of the fact that Falconet was standing well within earshot?

“Yes, well enough.” Kel stayed still while Conor’s fingers marched up his arm and bunched themselves at the collar of his shirt. “But I’ve had my fun. You’re not well. Let’s get you home.”

Conor lowered his eyes. His long black lashes brushed his cheeks; Queen Lilibet had always predicted he’d lose those as he grew older, but they remained—a disarming mark of innocence that had not caught up with the rest of an otherwise not-innocent face. “Not to the Palace. No.”

“Conor.” Kel was very aware of Falconet watching them. He looked up and glared at Joss, who stepped away and stuck his head through the open door of Audeta’s room. A moment later Audeta appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket. The scarlet and gold paint on her lids had smeared all around her eyes. She looked tearful, and young.

Conor twisted his fingers in Kel’s shirt. Kel could smell the blood on him, like cold copper. Audeta said, in a small voice, “It was the window. He hit the window—” She shivered. “Broke it with his hand.”

Kel took Conor’s hand. It was mazed all over with small cuts, and a deeper one to the side of his hand that was more concerning.We both injured our hands tonight,he thought, and it didn’t seem strange, but fitting, somehow.

He untied the black handkerchief from his own hand and began to wrap it around Conor’s. The wound on his palm had stopped bleeding anyway. “Joss,” he said. “Go downstairs. Take Audeta with you. Play it off as if nothing has happened.”

Falconet said something to Audeta in a low voice. She disappeared back into her room. “Are you sure?” Falconet said, looking at Kel with thoughtful eyes.

“Yes,” Kel said. “And make sure Antonetta gets home. She oughtn’t to be here.”

Montfaucon or Roverge would have said,What do you care about Antonetta?orI don’t take orders from you.They would have tried to hover about, hoping to hear something scandalous.At least it had been Falconet with Conor,Kel thought. He liked to know things, as everyone on the Hill did, but he did not gossip for the sake of it. And though he recognized Kel had little power, he knew that Conor listened to him, and that was a sort of power in itself.

Falconet indicated with a nod that he would do as Kel asked. Audeta emerged from her room, wearing a yellow silk wrapper, her lids repainted. She headed downstairs with Falconet, looking backanxiously at Conor as she went. Kel hoped Falconet would be able to convince her to keep the incident to herself. If anyone could, it was Falconet.

“All right, Con.” Kel gentled his voice. This was the way he had talked to Conor years ago, when Conor woke in the dead hours of darkness with nightmares. “Why would you punch the window? Were you angry at Audeta? Or Falconet?”

“No.” Conor was still hanging on to Kel’s shirt with his unbandaged hand. “I thought I could forget, with them. But I couldn’t.”

Forget what?Kel remembered a few minutes ago, with Silla, telling himself to forget, tobe here now.But Conor…

“Is this about you getting married?” Kel guessed. “You know, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

The crafty expression of the very drunk passed across Conor’s face. “I think I do,” he said. “I think I might have to.”

Kel was taken aback. “What? They cannot force you, Con.”

Conor plucked at Kel’s sleeve. “It’s not that,” he said. “I’ve made mistakes, Kel. Bad mistakes.”

“Then we’ll fix them. Anything can be fixed. I’ll help you.”

Conor shook his head. “I’ve been trained, you know, to fight a certain kind of war. Tactical strategy and battle maps and all that.” He looked earnestly at Kel. “I cannot fight what I cannot find, or see.”

“Conor—”

“This is my city,” Conor said, almost plaintively. “It is my city, isn’t it, Kel? Castellane belongs to me.”

Kel wondered if they could get out by the back stairway. Avoid the salon and any potential encounters with other people. Especially with Conor rambling like this.