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“No, but the princeling’s feelings got the better of him when another man asked me to dance.”

“Did not,” I bit out, even as Haron laughed openly at my expense. The gall Haron possessed was truly baffling. “It’s getting late, and as you said before, it doesn’t seem like anyone here has information on Trisne.”

We passed a particularly narrow hall to the right, and Haron nudged Beolf with an elbow. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it? Although I will say Pid has bad taste in guard uniforms, it did not flatter your complexion at all—”

Beolf grumbled but otherwise ignored Haron’s ribbing. “I’d rather scrub that memory, and any other with you in it, from my mind.”

“Likewise, sir. Likewise.”

Haron didn’t comment on the fact the carriage took us both back to the palace, nor when I stepped from it and reached back to pull her out as well.

Admittedly, my spirits were bolstered by the help of some free-flowing goldtine, but Haron had drunk considerably less as she’d mingled among the partygoers.

Sometimes, it did seem like she was on the prowl, weaving through the crowd on her own when I was caught up in some casual conversation or another.

She kept a wide berth from that guest, Forol, though, like she couldn’t stand to be in his general vicinity.

I didn’t like his eyes tracking her across the room myself.

Sure, he seemed a bit lecherous, but it hardly made him guilty of a crime like murder.

The fact that everyone walked out of the ballroom alive must have meant she didn’t find the evidence she needed, either.

“May I?”

I gestured to the veil still draped over her face.

My own mask had been abandoned in the carriage, pulled off as soon as we took our seats inside it.

But she breezed right past me, hardly acknowledging the question, and began to climb the short staircase leading to the castle’s main entry.

Scoffing quietly at her silent confidence, I hurried the few steps she had on me to loop my arm through hers, bent from holding her skirts up.

I was nothing if not an opportunist when it came to Haron.

“Considering our contract did not include escort services, I’d rather wait until we are in the privacy of your quarters to show my face. I doubt many, if anyone here, know I am your necromancer for hire and not some woman you’re dragging back to your room.”

“Shocking,” I retorted. “I didn’t think you cared much for what people thought of you.”

Haron almost jerked me off-balance when she came to a sudden halt on the stairs. While I couldn’t see the glare she shot me, I could certainly feel the heat of it on my face. It was like standing too close to an open forge.

“There’s a difference between caring what people think and maintaining a professional reputation.” Her voice was sharp, as if she were scolding a child. I felt rightly chastised and bowed my head.

A different kind of heat flushed my already-warm face, and I slowly reached for her bent elbow again like I would a snarling dog. “I apologize,” I murmured lowly. “I didn’t mean to offend you. That was… very inconsiderate of me.”

“No offense taken.” She extended her arm for me to take again. She had a way of making every interaction feel like a gulp of fresh water to quench a three-day thirst. I was grateful she even let me hold her arm on my own as we walked through the entryway of my castle.

“And,” Haron added, as if to break the tension, “I was promised some quality goldtine. I hope you’re going to follow through on that.”

I pulled her gently to the right, my laugh filling the hallway we stepped into that led to my private quarters.

This late at night, none of the staff were up and bustling around as they would during the day.

We’d only passed three guards—two at the entry and one stationed by my door—by the time we slipped into the private sitting room attached to my bedroom.

Haron drifted further into the room, making her way to the pair of armchairs by the dead fireplace, as I broke away to the liquor bar tucked in the corner.

The familiar click of nails on the stone floor not covered by carpet was shortly followed by an enthusiastic bark and Haron laughing.

I turned to find Behar circling Haron and prancing happily on his front paws, bouncing too much for her to place her hand on his head for pets.

The sight of him so enthusiastically welcoming Haron into our private space sparked an emotion very close to warm admiration.

Most women—not that I invited many to my chambers—didn’t seem to like Behar or were downright afraid of the rinhound.

Haron finally knelt down on the red and gold rug and grabbed Behar by the scruff on either side of his head to give her own happy greeting.

His tongue lolled out of his mouth at her vicious scrubbing on either side of his head.

She only stopped when I brought her tumbler of goldtine over.

Behar shot me a betrayed look when she took the glass and rose from the floor, effectively ending her shower of adoration on him.

“To beneficial relationships.”

She clinked her glass to mine. “By the way, how is your hand?” She gestured to the one I had my sharp ring on.

I had almost forgotten about the blood entirely, so much so I didn’t bother to change the glove at the ball.

I was sure that had the room talking about seeing the stain on my hand.

I should have gone with black. I used my teeth to pull it off from the tip of my middle finger, catching the dirty glove with my one free hand to toss it on the closest armchair.

The wound itself had already healed thanks to my beastwalker attributes, but the ring and all around it was crusted with dark blood.

It was specifically designed for inflicting pain—a wiranblood flower in full bloom, cast in silver—with sharp thorns wrapping around the thick band.

The royal jeweler thought I was insane for asking the ring to be painful by design, even as he lied and said it would be a stunning piece.

It had been a long time since I had to deal with the more…

unsavory tithe for lying, but I did whatever I could to avoid it at all costs.

Having to explain why I had the impulse to chop a finger off was not my idea of a pleasant conversation.

“Did you do that to yourself?” Haron asked, not the least bit disturbed by the sight. Actually, she seemed more fascinated by the ring's design, wrapping her fingers around the band and pulling it off shamelessly to test the pointed parts herself.

I sighed, not really wanting to explain the finer details of what I considered more of a curse. “It’s a… side effect that I have to a born gift. Well, maybe more of a coping mechanism.”

Haron remained silent from behind her veil, and I wanted even more now to pull it from her face to see what expression she hid beneath it. Was she disgusted, or skeptical?

“I’m listening,” she spoke. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had lapsed into a long silence.

“There are not many known cases of it,” I began.

“But those who share this… ability are called truthsayers. People who are very sensitive to auras, specifically when they distort from telling a lie to the point where it physically affects them. The gift, if you can call it that, manifested when I was a young boy, so I’ve had to learn how to cope with exposure to lies for a long time. Hence, the ring.”

I lifted my hand for her inspection, and Haron set the ring aside and moved to lightly grip my wrist to turn it. “So, this ring is designed to help you negate the side effects? Such as what?”

It was impressive how well she was taking this.

I hadn’t told many people, mainly Beolf and my parents, and even then, it took a healthy dose of convincing for them to see the whole picture.

“When I was young, I would become extremely nauseous, to the point of becoming bedridden sometimes. And if I told a lie… well, it was an even more unpleasant experience.”

“And this ring, you use it to distract your senses? Like displacing pain to lessen it?” she asked very matter-of-factly, still looking over the injury with the tumbler in her other hand.

Imagining any other lady of the court in a similar position almost brought a chuckle to my lips.

They would have likely feigned being faint or otherwise worried over the hand like a doting mother.

Haron's cool and detached perusal of the blood and self-inflicted injury was yet another refreshing take.

It was almost like I could share any matter of brutal and morbid parts of my life — my role as royalty, or what I had done to clear the path to rule — and she would be totally unbothered.

It was tempting, bringing her into the fold. I squashed the horrible idea as soon as it crept into my head.

“Yes, precisely.”

“Hmm…” The non-answer was maddening. “Did this happen when you were talking with that mother and her daughter at the ball?”

I blinked, shocked at her sharp observation. “Yes, I suppose it did. I usually end up a least a little bloody after attending those kinds of functions.” I tried to lighten the topic. “The amount of lies I have to tell to keep the nobles off my back would likely throw me into a coma otherwise.”

Haron hummed again, not giving away her thoughts on much.

“You are like a breath of fresh air, though. I have yet to meet someone besides Beolf who doesn’t lie on a regular basis. It’s something I admire greatly about you, given our short time knowing each other.”

Her head tilted down then, as if she were looking at the floor. Now the silence was maddening. “Did I… say too much?” I asked.

“No.” She let go of my wrist, and I mourned the loss of her touch. “I appreciate you telling me something like that. I’m sure it’s a difficult ability to live with. Thank you… for your honesty.”