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Lip curling in displeasure, he releases my chin, but all reliefshrivels when instead he crouches before me, his eyes directly in line with my own. I do my best to ignore the way his forearms rest against his knees, the way his fingers lace together as he considers me. Deceptively casual. His hands are large, and I know firsthand how strong they are. He could crush my throat in a second. As if reading my thoughts, he murmurs, “This will be much more pleasant if you play nicely.”

I repeat his own words. “And if I refuse?”

“Unlike you, Idopossess the means to force your acquiescence.” He chuckles darkly. “Again, however—they won’t be pleasant, and they won’t be polite.” When still I say nothing—locking my jaw—his eyes narrow. His knee brushes my shin, and even that slight touch bolts up my spine, lifting the hair on my neck. In this position, almost kneeling at my feet, he should look submissive, perhaps reverent, yet he couldn’t be more in control. He leans closer. “Shall I tell youexactlywhat I intend to do to you?”

“I told you he could be tedious.” Strolling to the candle, Odessa plucks a scroll from the table beneath it. She unfurls it without interest before tossing it aside and selecting another. To her cousin, she says, “Dohurry up, Michal. I long to be rid of this foul place.”

“You said you longed for fresh air, cousin.”

“The air in Cesarine is far from fresh—and don’t think I failed to hear the judgment in your voice just now. Air baths have enormous health benefits.” She waves an errant hand and sifts through the other scrolls, her attention already drifting. “Really, must you always be so closed-minded? A bit of naked window time might do you good—”

“Enough, Odessa.”

To my surprise, she complies without protest—without rollingher eyes or muttering an insult under her breath—and that immediate obedience is somehow more ominous than any threat the man could’ve given. Lou would have laughed in his face. Jean Luc would have attacked in a second.

I suspect both of them would already be dead.

The man—Michal—takes a measured, controlled breath before returning his attention to me, but even I can see his patience unraveling. He arches a brow, his eyes darker than before. Flat, frightening black. “Well? How shall you have me, pet? Pleasant or unpleasant?” I stare at him, resolute, until he nods with bleak satisfaction. “Very well—”

“C-Cosette.” I force the name through gritted teeth, refusing to break eye contact. A good liar never looks away, never hesitates or falters, but I have never been a good liar. I pray to God now to help me become one. “My name is Cosette Monvoisin.”

His expression darkens further at the obvious lie. “Youare Cosette Monvoisin?”

“Of course I am.”

“Take off your cloak.”

“I— What?”

Perhaps he sees the panic in my eyes, senses the sudden tension in my body, because he leans closer still. His legs press into mine now. His lips curl in a hard grin. “Take off your cloak, Mademoiselle Cosette, and show us your scars. As a Dame Rouge, you must have them somewhere.”

I lurch to my feet—partly to feign outrage, partly to escape his touch—and the chair crashes to the ground behind me. Odessa glances up from her scrolls, curiosity piqued, as my cheeks flame and my hands clench.Please, please, please, I pray, but I cannot turnback now.I must lie as I’ve never lied before.

“Howdareyou, monsieur? I am the Princesse Rouge, and I will not be spoken to in such a lewd and familiar manner. You said yourself that you can—that you cansmellthe magic flowing in my veins. Clearly, I am outnumbered and outmatched, so please, heed your cousin and enact whatever plans you have for this evening. Let us not draw out the unpleasantness. Tell me what you want, and I shall endeavor to oblige—or kill me here and now. I do not fear death,” I add, fixing him with my fiercest stare, “so do not presume to—to frighten me with idle threats.”

Still crouching, thoroughly unfazed, he watches my tirade with scathing apathy. “Liar.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a liar, pet. Every word you’ve spoken since we’ve met has been false.”

“That isn’t—”

He clicks his tongue in gentle reprimand, shaking his head, and rises slowly to his feet like a shadow unfurling. I cannot help but yield a step. “What is your name?” he asks, and something in his voice—perhaps the sudden stillness of his frame—warns this will be the last time.

“Itoldyou. I am Cosette Monvoisin.”

“Are you eager for death, Cosette Monvoisin?”

I retreat another step subconsciously. “I— Of course I’m noteagerfor death, but death—it’s inevitable, monsieur. It f-finds us all eventually.”

“Does it?” He closes the distance between us without seeming to move. One second, he stands with hands clasped behind him overthere, and the next, he stands with hands clasped behind himrighthere. “You speak as if you know him.”

I exhale sharply. “How did you—”

“Could it be that he has already found you?” He lifts a pale hand to my collar. Though I stiffen, he merely tugs the strings of Coco’s cloak, and it tumbles to our feet in a ripple of crimson fabric. He brushes the hair from my shoulder. My knees begin to quake.

“Wh-Who?”