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But I can’t very well do that while I’m trying to seduce him. He would surely know about the ruse then…

I don’t press him for more information during the rest of the ride, and he doesn’t even bother to look my way. No, he seems to be concentrating very hard onnotlooking at me, as though if he does so it will trigger something.

There’s a tingling on the side of my neck for the whole journey. I cannot seem to get rid of it, as though he managed to leave something behind. But even though I touch the spot, there is nothing physical to find.

It becomes impossible to stop thinking about his teeth, his mouth. His horns and canines have long since disappeared, but I can still imagine them clearly. While he knows I’m staring, he only shuts his eyes against it.

He mutters, “Damnable woman,” more than once.

And then, finally, at the end of what must be the slowest carriage ride in all of history, we arrive at the palace of Naxos.

The carriage door opens, but Eryx doesn’t move.

I say, “You’re to exit first. Do you remember?”

“I remember everything,” he says in the most exasperating way possible. Then he descends, and his hand shoots back into the carriage for me. I reach out to take it, and the same sensation on my neck travels to my hand.

What the devils is he doing to me?

When my feet hit the ground, he tucks my hand into the crook of his arm.

The palace in Naxos is a massive gothic structure, all in black, down to the shingles. Winged gargoyles stare down at us from their perches, and some of them remind me of Eryx when he is transformed. I eye the tail of one, with its smooth length and triangle of skin on the end.

The armed guards eye us as we enter through the front gate. Their rifles are slung over one shoulder, and they’re all done up in the black-and-white uniform of palace guards.

We pad along a red carpet through the massive front entrance. Hundreds of vases line the entryway, each full of a dozen black roses. The chandelier is lit with ebony candles, and someone has even melted wax onto the banister, leaving black swirling designs.

A servant leads us down a hallway, which I know will let out into the throne room. Unsurprising that they’re holding the wedding in here, since it’ll make Alessandra’s coronation afterward that much easier.

The room has been decorated to my sister’s sinisterly gothic tastes. Black and red everywhere. Midnight rose petals dot the crimson carpets. Ebony chairs with scarlet cushions for us all to sit. Flowers ring the columns, held together with some sort of wire, the blossoms making swirling designs that look eerily like shadows. I glance toward Eryx to see if he has any reaction to it.

He looks perfectly relaxed, though I can feel the tension in his body from where my hand is still tucked into his arm.

We’re led to our seats, which are, unsurprisingly, at the very back of the room. My sister said in her letter that she’d save me a front-row seat, but she clearly changed her mind.

Eryx leans over to me. “Wouldn’t a duke be positioned closer to the front?”

“You haven’t been recognized as the duke yet, or have you forgotten?”

He doesn’t need to know the real reason why we’ve been relegated to the back. My sister wants me here so she can gloat, but she doesn’t want me to be in any place of honor.

I can’t even blame her.

“But you’re her sister. Wouldn’t she want you close?”

I don’t answer that.

We are among the last to be seated, which prevents us from interacting with the other guests, thank the gods. Besides, everyone’s attention is facing forward, toward the thrones. No one has noticed our appearance—the mysterious new duke and the recently widowed duchess.

From the corner of the room, a quartet starts a romantic, slow- moving song. That must be the king’s cue, for a shadowy figure appears through one of the walls near the front. He takes position up at the dais, just in front of the two enormous thrones.

Kallias Maheras is a sight to behold even without his shadows swirling about him like living flame. Black hair, bronze skin, godlike features. He is dressed in all black, from the sheath holding the sword at his side to his shining boots, to his silky cravat.

I don’t watch him for long, though. I’m more interested to see Eryx’s reaction to him.

He eyes the king with an unwavering focus that I have yet to see from him. His face doesn’t change, but his eyes glow amber and thenfade in the span of a second. He sizes up the king, as though taking in some sort of competition.

Competition for what?