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“You don’t have to decide yet,” Raul said, when the silence stretched between them. “But please consider it.”

Yves nodded. He felt numb and distant from his own thoughts, a specter drifting in the aching loneliness of his body. Raul got up to leave, and Yves raised a hand to stop him.

“The man I danced with after you,” Yves said. “Do you know who he was?”

“I thought you wore a mask to be impartial,” Raul said. “No, I don’t know who he was. It was too hard to see his face. But he came in late, and he left as soon as the music ended.”

Yves frowned. Maybe that was the only kind of love he was suited for—fleeting and anonymous, nothing stable, all flash and glitter. Surges of emotion came and went, but security was sensible. He should be happy to have something sensible.

“I’m sorry,” Raul said. There was so much kindness in his gaze, but he was right. Yves didn’t love him. “He seemed like a good dancer.”

“Thank you, Raul,” Yves whispered, and Raul closed the curtain behind him.

Yves heard a murmured apology behind the curtain, and it switched open again. Yves stood, half expecting Raul to have changed his mind, and stepped back when he saw Oleander standing there.

“Is it true?” Oleander asked. They sounded a little breathless, and their eyes shone a touch too brightly. “After all this, you’re accepting the richest man of the group?”

“Look, Olly,” Yves said, “I don’t really have time to deal with whatever you’re going through.”

“I’m not going through anything,” Oleander said. “It’s just that you’ve been monopolizing everyone, and now all it took was one wealthy man to open his purse.”

“If you want him, why don’t you try charming him instead of bothering me?

” Yves snapped. All the confusion and heightened emotion of the night spilled over in one exhausted rush.

“Do you know why I made it to the top, Oleander? Because I didn’t waste time wondering what other courtesans were up to, and I bothered with my own business. Maybe you should try that.”

Oleander looked almost hurt, but Yves pushed down the pang of guilt. They needed to learn, and Yves had enough to deal with. “I have offers, you know. Just today, a noble told me that he could offer me twice what Laurent pays me.”

“Then do that,” Yves said.

Oleander hesitated, opened their mouth, and drew back. “I was just…fine. Fine.” They turned to go, leaving Yves alone with the cool night air and his utterly bewildered heart.

Charon strode through the streets of Duciel. His cloak billowed behind him in a cool spring wind, and music drifted from the night market.

He was a fool. All this time, he’d been quietly punishing himself for the sins of his youth.

He’d been living as an exile, paying penance for fleeing Arktos, for never questioning his role as an interrogator, for Aster’s death, for the death of the child that had never been allowed to flourish inside of him.

Arktos had been the first to tear apart the garden that could have been Charon’s life, but when he no longer had anyone to do that terrible work, he had picked up the same tools and ensured that nothing would grow.

It was time to put those tools down. He could still feel Yves’ lips on his, warm despite the evening chill.

He hadn’t truly been afraid of hurting Yves.

He’d been afraid of releasing the grip he had over his own life.

Love was terrifying, and the man who’d talked himself through the desert and into the mountains bordering Staria wasn’t supposed to feel afraid.

Charon felt it now; fear, heady and thick, making his heart drum faster and his palms itch as he approached the House of Onyx.

A carriage rolled past him, and he caught a glimpse of Oleander in the window—probably out on an assignation, which meant the house would be largely empty.

He paid no mind to Johan, who was watching the door, and practically flew up the stairs.

He found what he was looking for in a small cloth bag behind a row of books on the highest shelf.

Gold clinked as he emptied it into his palm.

The coins were the same ones he’d stitched into his uniform when he was a boy, engraved with the symbol of the Arkoudai who had left Katoikos to defend the borders centuries ago.

It represented the war Arktos never let die, the military that was no longer necessary, the oath of fealty that Charon thought he’d broken.

He would have been buried with them if he remained in Arktos, and he’d kept them out of the same ruinous guilt that had led him here.

Nikos had been young and foolish. He’d loved too easily and couldn’t pick up the pieces when he fell.

He could have used someone to care for him—someone who could have given him the freedom he needed to understand his grief, to make foolish decisions, to live.

Yves would have given him that. He thought of how prettily Yves had begged in his arms, the thrill of dominance that surged inside him as he’d kissed Yves with all the fervor he’d been holding back for so long.

He slipped the coins in his pocket. He’d show them to Yves when the night was done. He’d tell him everything—what he’d done in Arktos, the journey that shaped him, the way Yves had become so integral to Charon’s life. Yves deserved to know the truth.

Morning was breaking when he made it back to the house of Onyx. He was shirtless and streaked with soot and he smelled like the forge, but he passed the baths to head right for Laurent and Sabre’s bedroom.

He swung open the door, and Laurent scrambled up to his elbows with a squawk of alarm. A lump of sheets between Laurent’s legs moved to reveal Sabre.

“What?” Sabre asked. He slung the sheets off his shoulders and stared at Charon. “Oh. You look…”

“I’m in love with Yves,” Charon said.

Laurent struck a match and lit the lamp by his bedside. “I assumed.”

“You did kiss him in front of everyone,” Sabre said. “Good for you.”

“Does he know? ” Laurent asked.

“No.” Charon was still flying on the giddy weightlessness he’d felt since they’d kissed on the dance floor. “But he will. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“You seem…” Laurent glanced at Sabre.

“Energetic,” Sabre said. “You can always just tell him now.”

“No, he prefers some level of dramatics.” Charon set his cloak down on a chair and started pacing across Laurent’s rug. “Perhaps a play. Rose could—no. No. I’ll need a barrel of flowers and access to the roof.”

Laurent nodded. “Right.”

“Or I could take him to the fountains by the Crescent Gardens,” Charon said.

“Yes,” Sabre said. “That’s an option.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Laurent asked.

“No,” Charon said. “And yes.” His mind was already reeling with half-formed plans.

A few weeks ago, he would have approached this calmly and quietly, if at all.

Now, his thoughts flitted about like an upturned cage of butterflies.

“I respect your discretion in not telling Yves until I’ve arranged matters. Good night.”

“Night,” Sabre said, faintly.

Charon closed the door. Tomorrow, he would tell Yves the truth—the whole truth, even the parts Charon had been holding from himself.

He’d bring him to the gardens with a cake from his favorite cafe to bribe him.

Even if Yves didn’t care for him in the same way, telling him would be enough.

A small part of Charon believed that the kiss they’d shared had spoken to something real—something that had been stirring inside for too long.

Charon was done being sensible and cautious.

He headed down the stairs with his coins clasped tight in his fist. It was time, he thought, to act a little more like Yves.