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“Poor Bastian.” Brigitte shook her head, face solemn, though the words were teasing. “Went to all this trouble, let Alie use his suite and everything, just for her to ask about Gabriel.”

“You know it’s not like that with Bastian,” Alie said. “He’s like a brother.”

“Unfortunate, honestly,” Brigitte countered. “I mean, I don’t think being an Arceneaux Queen would be a grand time, but he is unconscionably handsome.”

“Unconscionably handsome, yes,” Dani said, “but he’d make an awful husband, if you wanted anything like loyalty. Bastian has someone new in that huge bed three times a week.”

“Sounds like fun to me,” Brigitte said with a wicked grin. “It’s really just the queendom that doesn’t suit.” She picked out another macaron. “Don’t tell my father I said that, though. He has half a mind to try and get us betrothed before the end of the season.”

Now Lore’s face was nearing the color of Alienor’s.

“Gods, betrothals.” Dani rubbed at her temple, as if the very thought sparked a headache. “I don’t want to think about them.”

There was genuine exhaustion in Dani’s voice. Alie and Brigitte shared a quick, sympathetic look.

“Has your family come around at all, Dani?” Alie asked tentatively. “To the idea of you and Luc?”

“Of course not.” Dani sat back with a sigh, crossing her arms and staring at her tea. Her eyes flicked up to Lore, then away. “He’s a commoner. It doesn’t matter that he’s the son of a well-regarded shipbuilder; they only care about lineage.”

“And Hugo didn’t put in a good word for you?”

“No,” Dani said miserably. “I did what we talked about—I made Hugo take me on a night Luc was fighting, acted like we’d never met. Luc won the match, of course, and Hugo won a pile of money on the bet—Luc did, too. But when I brought up that I might want to marry a well-off commoner… it didn’t go well.” Her mouth twisted. “In the words of my dear brother, it’d be like throwing money into the ocean.”

Lore stayed quiet. She wondered if Luc was someone she might know if she saw him.

“But we’re thinking of a new plan,” Dani said quietly, hopefully. “Luc and I. Amelia is the oldest; she’s the daughter who will need to marry for status.”

“Maybe she can have a crack at Bastian,” Brigitte said.

Dani rolled her eyes. “You sound just like her. She’s convinced she would make an excellent queen, but my parents are playing it safe. They’re currently in negotiations with Viscount Demonde. Amelia is less than thrilled.”

“Gods, I bet.” Bri scowled. “If I had my sights on Bastian Arceneaux and got ancient Demonde instead, I’d be furious.”

Lore’s smile felt very brittle.

“He’s ancient, but the Demonde line is, too. And he’s rich as sin, and much easier to secure than an Arceneaux heir. If Amelia makes a prestigious match, then my marriage can be just about money.” Dani shrugged. “Luc is the heir to a modest fortune, and making more money on his own, besides.”

Again, a slant of her eyes to Lore, so quick it could’ve been imagined.

“Is he building ships, too?” Alie asked.

“Not quite,” Dani answered. “Apparently, a new company has been hiring men off the docks to do transfer work. Carrying cargo from one place to another, things like that. They pay ridiculously well, and it’s usually only a night or two of labor.” She took a contemplative sip of tea. “It’s not exactly aboveboard, I assume, but if they’re paying the cargo carriers that well, their budget for bribes is probably quite healthy. Not that anyone would dare arrest Luc, once they found out who his father was.”

After hearing from Cecelia where the courtiers got their poison and how thin the rules held when you introduced money, Lore was sure that was true. “What’s the cargo?”

“I don’t know,” Dani said. “And I don’t care, really—it’s a lot of money, enough that Luc could buy a town house in one of the nicer Wards and pay my dowry even before his father dies and leaves him the business.”

Something tugged in Lore’s gut, not sitting quite right. As if this conversation was somehow a continuation of the one she’d been having all week in the Church library.

“Anyway, enough about all that.” Danielle waved a hand, dismissing talk of betrothals. “I believe we were discussing the handsome Duke Remaut and his presence in court, yes?”

“Apollius’s wounds,” Alie muttered, burying her face in her hands.

Lore took another drink of her tea, too quickly, burning the roof of her mouth. Brigitte and Danielle’s eyes fastened on her—clearly, she was supposed to speak next.

“It really is just to escort me,” she said finally. “My parents wanted a relative to help me through the season, and Gabriel was the only option. He wasn’t pleased about it.”

Alie made a small sound from behind her hands.