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“I know that,” Roma shot back. He was bristling, unable to hold the sharpness from his tone. Alisa’s life was a stake—he did not have the energy to debate such petty matters. “But we cannot be certain Zhang Gutai is truly linked to the monster until we see something. Until then we need an alternate plan for answers on the monster and its madness. Until then we need to get to the bottom of this Larkspur figure so we can gather why he knows what he knows and use it to get back to the monster.”

But Benedikt was still insistent on digging his foot in. “You cannot stalk Zhang Gutai after you find the Larkspur? Obviously he is linked with him in some fashion if you found correspondences between them.”

“Benedikt,” Roma said firmly. “It was only one correspondence from the Larkspur’s end.” He shook his head. His cousin was sidetracking him. “Look—you and Marshall have to do it because we don’t know how long it could take for the monster to make an appearance.”

“Can’t you just tell a lower-ranked gangster to keep an eye on him?”

“Benedikt.”

“And truly, you only need one person on this task—”

“Are you,” Roma interrupted, his tone suddenly cold, “a White Flower or not?”

That shut him up. Benedikt clamped his lips together, then said, “Of course.”

“So stop arguing against my command.” Roma placed his hands behind his back. “Is that all?”

Benedikt stood. He made a mock bow, his mouth twisted sourly. “Yes, Cousin,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your heir duties now. Make sure not to overly exert yourself.” A gust of wind followed his fast escape. The slam of the door echoed loudly enough to shake the house.

Heir duties. What a jokester. Benedikt knew full and well that Roma could either be the heir or be a ghost. Benedikt might have been one of the only people who actually understood that Roma did not fight so hard to remain heir because he enjoyed the power but because it was the only place he could control his personal safety. If the heavens opened and offered Roma a little villa in the outskirts of the country, where he

could move himself and his loved ones out to live a life in obscurity, he would choose it immediately.

Benedikt’s dig rolled right off Roma’s shoulders. His cousin could complain all he liked and take his anger out on Roma, but he was too logical to dismiss the task outright. He would do it and complain like hell about it, then shut up when it mattered. Besides, Benedikt could not grumble for long. Whatever had knotted his intestines in such a state was bound to loosen soon, and then he would forget why he threw such a fit.

Roma sighed and flopped back onto his bed.

He had always known that sitting at the top came with its prickles and thorns.

But in this city, void of any alternative path, at least this was better than not being heir at all.

* * *

Later that night, a knock came down on Kathleen’s door, startling her from her reading. She was snuggled into her blankets already, half considering feigning sleep so she would not need to get up, put her pendant on, and answer the door, when the door simply opened on its own.

“Thank you for waiting on my response,” she droned, eyeing Rosalind as she came in.

“You weren’t going to open it,” her sister replied knowingly.

Kathleen grimaced, closing the magazine she was reading. She supposed this season’s latest shoe designs could wait. “I might have been asleep.”

Rosalind looked up. She pointed at the small chandelier, then at the three golden lamps scattered around the room. “You sleep with the lights on?”

“Pft. Maybe.”

With a roll of her eyes, Rosalind sat down at the foot of the bed. She seemed to gaze at nothing for a long while, before drawing her legs up to her chest and resting her face delicately on the flat surface of her knees.

Kathleen frowned. “Ça va?”

“Ça va.” Rosalind sighed. “Lord Cai scared me tonight.”

“Me too.” It was a mighty big claim to insist a spy had made its way into the Scarlet inner circle. The circle was only so big. “We have enough trouble with people dying. This is going to divide even further.”

Rosalind made a noise—it could have been one of agreement; it could have been nothing but a need to clear her throat. Another few seconds passed by. Then she asked:

“You don’t think it’s Juliette, do you?”

Kathleen’s eyes widened. “No!” she exclaimed. “Why would you even think that?”