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I’ll never see the sun again.

Frustration wells sharp and sudden at the realization, at the injustice of this entire situation. The hopelessness. The lie comes to my lips easier this time, at least.

“My name is Cosette Monvoisin, but I assume you already know that.”

He scoffs. “Come now, mademoiselle. We are to be great friends, the two of us. Surely you can divulge your true name?”

“Cosette Monvoisinismy true name.” When he says nothing, only raises his brows in a vaguely amused expression, I snap, “Well? I told you my name. Etiquette now dictates you tell me yours.”

In response, he laughs and wraps cold fingers around my wrist, lifting me into the air like I weigh nothing, like Iamnothing—not flesh and bone, but ether.Te voilà. I stiffen at the intrusive thought, at the ominous words of the ethereal woman, and the events of this morning return in a sickening rush.Ghosts.

They weren’t real, I tell myself quickly.

A perfect cleft marks the man’s chin as he drops me to my feet. “My, my—and Odessa said you weresweet.”

“You know Odessa?”

“Of course I know Odessa. Everyone knows Odessa, but alas, I know her more than most.” At my blank look, he gestures down his svelte frame, inclining his head in a regal bow. From beneath thick hair and thicker lashes, he winks at me. “She is my twin, Mademoiselle Monvoisin. I am Dimitri Petrov.You, however, must call me Dima. May I call you Cosette?”

Twins.

“You may not.”

“Ah.” He clutches his chest in mock affront. “You wound me, mademoiselle.” When he straightens with a dramatic sigh, I hear Odessa in the inflection; I see her in his bearing. Though he wears garnet velvet instead of plum satin—though his eyes glint with sharp interest while hers drift elsewhere—their regal manner remains the same. Theyarecousins to the king, after all, which makes them... a duke and duchess? Do Les Éternels prescribe to the same social hierarchy as humans?

I bite my tongue to halt the questions.

“If you insist on falsehood and formality,” he continues, snaking his elbow through mine, “I will of course oblige. However, I must warn you—I do enjoy a challenge. From this moment onward, I intend to bother you until we’re on a first-name basis.Cocoshall be the only name on my mind.”

I cast him another reluctant glance. Like his sister—like Ivan and Pasha and even Michal—he is almosttoobeautiful, which makes everything so much worse. “I’ve known you for only ten seconds, monsieur, yet I already suspectyoursis the only name on your mind.”

“Oh, I like you. I like you very much.”

“Where is Odessa? She said she would return for me at dusk.”

“Ah. I’m afraid there has been a slight change of plan in that regard.” His grin fades as he leads me into the corridor, where the soft circles in the dust have disappeared.Odd.“Michal has, er...requestedyour presence in his study, and Odessa—the wastrel—has not yet woken from her beauty sleep. I volunteered to fetch you in her stead.”

“Why?” I ask suspiciously.

“Because I wanted to meet you, of course. The entire castle is humming at your arrival. I heard the nameCosetteno less than twelve times on my way to your chamber.” He peers down his shoulder at me with a sly gleam in his eyes. “It seems the servants have been given the coveted privilege to use it.”

As if to punctuate his words, a plainly dressed woman steps from what appears to be a sitting room, a bundle of cloth in her arms. Her eyes narrow when she sees me, and one of the rags slips to the floor. Immediately, I bend to retrieve it, but she moves faster—preternaturally fast—and snatches the cloth from my outstretched hand. “Excusez-moi,” she mutters, revealing the tips of her fangs as she speaks. To Dimitri, she bows her head and says, her voice strangely meaningful, “I will return, mon seigneur.” Then she darts down the corridor and out of sight.

Unnerved, I stare after her. Fresh blood soaked that rag; scarlet still smears the floor where it fell. When I lean to peer into the sitting room, however—anxious to find the source—Dimitri is there, blocking the doorway with a too-quick smile. “Nothing to see in here, darling.”

My eyes fall to the stain on the floor. “But someone is bleeding.”

“Are they?”

“Is that not blood?”

“Someone else will clean it.” He waves a hasty hand, refusing to meet my eyes. “Shall we? I fear Michal has beastly manners, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, however, instead tucking my arm firmly into the crook of his elbow and dragging me away.

“But”—I tug fruitlessly against his ironclad grip—“why did she look at me like that? And the blood—where did it come from?” I shake my head, feeling sick, digging in my heels as he tows me down a staircase and across the castle. “There was too much of it. Someone must be hurt—”

“And there is that elusive sweetness. Odessa didn’t lie about you, after all.” Though he clearly aims to defuse the lingering tension, his arm remains taut beneath my hand. His eyes tight. A curious flush has spread up his throat, and he still won’t look at me. I don’t know him at all, but if I did, I might say he lookedashamed. “Another personal challenge,” he says ruefully when I don’t respond. “Coax Mademoiselle Monvoisin into being sweet tome. Would you do me a favor, darling?”

I stare at him in bewilderment. “That depends.”