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Despite alarming evidence to the contrary, I cannot help the way my fists curl. “I amnota liar.”

“No?” He shadows my steps as a predator stalking his prey. Patient. Lethal. He thinks I am trapped, and perhaps I am. “When were you born, Cosette Monvoisin?”

“October thirty-first.”

“Wherewere you born?”

“L’Eau Melancolique. Specifically, Le Palais de Cristal in Le Présage.” Obstinance—no,pride—drips from each word, from each little detail.Eternal stars in your eyes, Pippa always told me, and thank God for that. Thank God I collect stories like melusines collect treasure; thank God I listen when people speak.

Michal’s jaw clenches. “Your parents’ names?”

“My mother was the fabled witch Angelica. She died in the Battle of Cesarine along with my aunt, La Voisin, who raised me. Ido not know my father. My mother never spoke his name.”

“Such a pity,” he repeats softly, but he doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “How did you meet Louise le Blanc?”

I lift my chin. “She threw a mud pie in my face.”

“And Babette Trousset?”

“We grew up together in La Fôret des Yeux.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Who do you love now?”

“His Majesty and king of Belterra, Beauregard Lyon.”

“And how did he propose?”

“He surprised me after my initiation into Chasseur Tower—” Triumph flares within Michal’s black eyes, and his cold smile returns. Too late, I realize my mistake, missing a step and nearly landing in the enthralled sailor’s lap. His wooden stake brushes my hip. Still he moves as if to carve it. Gritting my teeth, I seize the smooth wood and hide it within a fold of Coco’s cloak. If Michal notices, he does not say.

Instead, he lifts a familiar golden ring between us. The diamond glitters in the moonlight.

“I did not realize Cosette Monvoisinhada betrothed,” he says in a voice as frigid as the water below. “How intriguing.”

My free hand shoots to my pocket, and bile burns up my throat when I find it empty. My engagement ring and Babette’s cross—they’re both gone,stolenby this man who is not a man at all but a monster. His black eyes aren’t quite human as they watch me, and his body has grown too still. My own body responds in kind. I hardly dare breathe. “I did not realize she was a Chasseur either,” he says softly. “To my knowledge, onlyonewoman occupies thatposition, and she is not the Princesse Rouge.”

In the silence that follows, he inhales my scent again. He tilts his head.

And I throw caution to the wind.

Swinging the wooden stake between us, I brandish it like a child with a toy sword. Between my fingers, the swan’s eyes mock me.You cannot hope to overpower this man, they seem to say—or perhaps it is not their voice at all. Perhaps it is mine.You cannot hope to outrun him.

“Stay away from me.” Breathless, I lift my stake higher, furious pressure building behind my eyes.I can do this. I incapacitated Morgane le Blanc.“I—I meannothingto you. If you won’t kill me, just—let me go. I mean nothing, so let mego.”

Disgusted now, Michal no longer bothers to move with preternatural speed. No. He closes the distance between us slowly, his cold fist wrapping around mine and capturing the stake with laughable ease. He tosses it into the sea without a word. My heart sinks with it.

Isink with it.

“Do not run again,” he warns, his voice softer and deadlier still, “or I will chase you.” He leans closer. “You do not want me to chase you, pet.”

To my credit, my voice doesn’t tremble. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Suchconviction.”

The words ring in my ears like a promise.