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“I do wonder,” Laurent said, as Yves buttoned up a clean jacket. “At this rate, you may not have enough suitors to choose from.”

“A tragedy,” Yves said. Laurent raised one perfect eyebrow.

“Mm.” There was enough mild disappointment in Laurent’s dominance to make Yves bristle.

“What?”

“Oh, I said nothing,” Laurent said. “If you wish to eschew finding a husband and marry yourself, I suppose you aren’t the first. It would simply be a waste of all those flowers if you eliminated all your suitors before you reached the aisle. Unless you already have someone in mind?”

Yves looked up at him. Laurent couldn’t be talking about Charon.

He’d been there when Charon had said it would be impossible.

So who else was he hinting at? Lord Marteau was determined, that much was true.

Raul was probably nice, if he could carry a conversation long enough for Yves to understand his motivations.

Lord Yeltsey was sweet in a hopeless sort of way, and he was flighty enough that Yves felt secure that any marriage wouldn’t last too long.

“I’m not sure,” Yves said, carefully.

“May I speak to you as a married man, Yves?”

“You’ve been married for this entire conversation,” Yves said. Laurent gave him a small, warning glare.

“You needn’t marry someone to be bound to them,” Laurent said. “Sometimes…” he tapped the list of remaining suitors on his palm. “Sometimes, you get to know someone so well that perhaps you’re practically married as it is, except you haven’t said it aloud.”

“That’s not how you and Sabre met,” Yves said, brow wrinkling in confusion. What was Laurent talking about?

“Think of who you know who might fit that description. Think very hard.”

Yves opened his mouth. He shut it again, then drummed his fingers on his knees. “Nanette and Simone?”

Laurent pressed his fingers to his temples. “Nanette and Simone. Of course. Yes. Of course.” He turned to leave, fingers still pressed to his temples and grumbling under his breath.

Yves wondered if arranging the contests around Sabre’s investigation was starting to crack Laurent’s unflappable mood. Everyone knew that Simone and Nanette were an item, but neither of them believed in the institution of marriage.

“He’s stressed,” Yves told himself. He headed out of the lounge and toward the foyer. Anyone would be beside themselves with a gaggle of lust-driven, wealthy men to manage.

He stopped short when he reached the entrance.

Harriet was there, clinging to Charon as though they were old friends.

She’d taken off her veil and let down her hair, which cascaded down her shoulders in loose, wavy curls, and she’d tugged her hemline down enough that her breasts were in danger of popping out.

“Oh, Yves,” she said, and patted Charon’s arm. “You have the most charming housemates.”

“Upstairs, Harriet,” Yves said, grabbing her by the sleeve. He looked at Charon, but Charon wasn’t staring at Harriet’s long, gold hair or ample cleavage. He was watching Yves with a cold, dark intensity that made Yves shiver.

“Hello, Charon,” Yves said. “I hope she wasn’t too much.”

“I was lovely,” Harriet said. “He bought me a cake. Get off , Yves, you’re pinching.”

“Excuse me,” Yves said, and dragged his protesting cousin up the other set of stairs and into his room. She wrenched free of his grip and turned to examine it all with a low whistle, and Yves slammed the door shut.

“What were you doing?” Yves hissed.

“Learning all about you.” Harriet lifted a diamond necklace off a hook on the wall. “Is this yours?”

“Put that down.” Yves took the necklace from her and set it back on the hook. “I mean, what were you doing looking like you were trying to tumble Charon? ”

Harriet blinked the big, wide eyes that made her an absolute menace in the Starian countryside. “Am I not supposed to?”

“Of course you’re not supposed to!” Yves cried. “He’s—he’s Charon!”

“Yes, and he’s massive,” Harriet said, with a low note of appreciation in her voice that made Yves want to throttle her. “And unattached. Unless he isn’t?”

“No, he isn’t attached to anyone.” Yves tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice wavered. Harriet was clearly too distracted to notice.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun,” Harriet said. “I wasn’t trying to come on too strong, of course, but if he wanted to…”

“Well, he doesn’t,” Yves snapped.

Harriet raised her brows. “Oh. You’re jealous. ”

“I’m not jealous of anyone,” Yves said.

Harriet glanced at the door. “Then what if I went down there and asked Charon to bend over the tea table?”

“That’s against the rules,” Yves shouted.

Harriet fell silent. They’d set the rules when they were teenagers, on the way to their first spring festival.

They couldn’t tumble anyone who spoke ill of the other, had to avoid anyone with a partner who wasn’t supportive, and under no circumstances were they to poach someone out from under each other.

“So you do like him,” Harriet said. Yves groaned and turned away. “Oh, Yves, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have teased you if I knew.”

“It’s not as though it’ll go anywhere,” Yves said, and collapsed on his bed. Harriet lay down next to him and reached for his hands. She took them in hers, threading their fingers together. “I overheard him talking to Laurent about it. He said an attachment to me would be impossible.”

“Then he’s an ass,” Harriet said, “and I’ll slip a toad in his boots before I leave.”

“Don’t do that.”

“You sound like you’re actually besotted,” Harriet said. She squeezed his hands. “What happened to the boy who said he’d never fall in love?”

“I’m not,” Yves said, but he couldn’t even convince himself. “I’m not good for him. He needs someone who’s serious. Someone who understands all the languages he speaks and knows about art and carpentry and cultural rituals in rural Thalassa.”

Harriet pressed her lips together for a few seconds. “What kind of rituals?”

“Things like scooping seawater out with conch shells to bless the keystone of a house. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Huh.”

“He doesn’t need someone who hates mud squeaking complaints behind him as he travels the world,” Yves said. “I know I’m spoiled. I’ve worked very hard to become this way.”

“That’s not usually how being spoiled works,” Harriet said.

“And I know that there’s something dreadful in his past that he won’t tell anyone about, and it’s the kind of thing that someone who grew up with a huge, loud family in the middle of Staria wouldn’t possibly understand.”

“Have you told him any of this?” Harriet asked.

She winced at Yves’ horrified expression.

“All right, but I think you’re lovely. You’re smart as a whip and you’re bold enough to do what you want, even when everyone else is too meek to stand up for themselves.

I think anyone would be lucky to have you.

” Harriet released his hands to brush a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Well, I love you ,” Yves said.

“Of course you do.” Harriet stroked his cheek, and Yves laughed weakly. “Maybe he thinks it’s impossible because you’re too beautiful and charming, have you ever thought of that?”

“Don’t patronize me, Harriet.” Yves wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t have any clients tonight because of the maze contest. Stay with me for a while?”

“Bribe me with one of those ruby earrings, maybe,” Harriet said, and Yves lightly smacked her. “But I’ll stay.”

Harriet couldn’t remain with him for long. Yves’ mother was bound to look for her eventually, and so when the house started filling up with clients, Yves snuck Harriet out the side door with the ruby earrings and a book of salacious drawings that they didn’t sell in the country.

“You’ll come to the ball?” Yves asked. “It should be grand. I’ll be blindfolded for most of the dancing.”

“I don’t have a dress for that kind of ball,” Harriet said. “Pearl does, but she’d be too much of a mouse to go. I’ll try to convince your mother to let you be in the meantime. You might want to talk to her eventually, though.”

Yves sighed. “You know how she is.”

“Yes, I do.” Harriet squeezed Yves’ hand in farewell. “And I don’t think anything would have happened between Charon and I.”

“You’re just being nice,” Yves said.

“I don’t know about that.” Harriet gave Yves a searching look. “It’s a funny thing, Yves. All that flirting, primping, and hinting I did? It didn’t even matter. It seemed like all Charon wanted to talk about was you.”