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T OVEN ’ S ARM TIGHTENED AROUND HER WAIST , and Briony reminded herself to breathe.

“Lag,” Toven greeted in a stilted voice. “Back from Southern Camly so soon?”

“Just today.” His gaze skated over her chest, her waist, her legs. “I’d heard you’d been letting her out of her cage. Had to come see for myself.”

There was a pounding in her blood, but she focused on holding her head high, meeting his eyes.

“And now you’ve seen,” Toven replied curtly. “If you’ll excuse us—”

“Not sharing her, either, I’ve heard,” Reighven said, stepping subtly to the left, blocking the narrow path around him.

“What a shame that is.” He took a small step forward, cocking his head.

His eyes hadn’t left her once. “With me, you would have been treated like the princess of Biltmore once again. The grandest prize, presented and polished.”

A chill passed along her shoulders, but she didn’t move a muscle. Toven shifted, his shoulder passing into her sight line as he put himself in front of her.

“I think she got the better deal, Lag,” Toven lilted, and she could hear the nasty smirk in his voice, so reminiscent of their school days.

Reighven sneered and stepped into him, nose-to-nose. “Your daddy’s not here, Hearst. I’d be very careful what you say to me.”

“Oh, I have nothing to say to you at all. We have a binding agreement,” Toven said, his voice low. “Now kindly step away from me and my heartspring. I’ll only ask you once.”

“You’ve been keeping her locked away for far too long. Careful,” he warned. “Or someone might figure out how to pick the lock.”

Toven’s left arm was twisted behind him, squeezing her wrist so hard that she knew it would bruise. He breathed a humorless laugh and slapped Reighven’s upper arm.

“Good to see you, Lag. I’ll give my father your regards.”

With a sharp tug, he pulled her around him, passing Reighven on the right with a shove to his shoulder. Briony didn’t look back, only focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

She tried to find a lake with still waters in her mind, but seeing Reighven again had rattled her. Once they were up the stairs, she tugged on Toven, asking him to pause without saying a word.

Toven looked up and down the arcade while Briony took two deep breaths in.

She nodded, and they continued.

Toven led her to the room where they’d had dinner two weeks ago. The same Bomardi guard stood at the doorway and checked Toven’s ring for entry.

Boisterous laughter and shouting assaulted her ears, and when they entered, the room cheered, getting to their feet in their imitation of chivalry.

Toven herded her to the head of the table, and Briony took her position behind Toven’s chair. She found Cecily behind Collin, Octavia behind Lorne, and Jellica behind Canning. And when the strawberry-blonde took her place behind Liam as he sat, Briony realized the chair to Toven’s left was empty.

Finn wasn’t here, just as Toven had planned. She wondered what the excuse was for it.

As soon as the men were seated, the women stepped forward for the wine bottles. Briony followed, reaching beyond Toven’s shoulder and pouring wine into his glass.

They repeated their toast—“To Mistress Mallow. May she reign forevermore”—and Briony watched as seven men drank deeply to Mallow’s honor.

There was less food on the table than two weeks ago.

No opulent pig roast or decadent side dishes.

As the men settled back into conversation, the strawberry-blonde and two other women started moving around with trays, serving light hors d’oeuvres and cheese.

Without dinner in the way, it didn’t take long for the first woman to drop into a lap—a giggly waif in a silver collar who draped herself over Kleve without a fuss.

As if he’d been waiting for the cue all evening, Collin directed Cecily to his lap, his arms wrapping around her stomach and his face inhaling deeply at her neck as she grimaced.

Briony was listening to the conversations and watching the men closely, so she saw the exact moment Canning pulled a small box out of his robes.

“What do we say, gentlemen,” he called out over the noise. “Shall we lose some gold tonight?”

The young men laughed and jeered, ribbing one another about who had won and lost last time.

Canning’s long fingers opened the box and plucked out a deck of cards and three dice.

He began shuffling the deck as some men groaned about the holes in their pockets, and others rubbed their greedy hands together in glee.

Briony had seen the guards at Biltmore play this game before. They’d agreed to teach Rory but had balked at the idea of the princess playing cards with them. Her rudimentary understanding was that it was similar to poker, but without numbered cards.

Lorne started divvying the chips, and the cards slid across the table with a magical push as Canning dealt them.

She looked up and realized that over half of the women were otherwise occupied.

Some sat in laps or draped themselves over the shoulders of their “dates.” The other half refilled glasses and offered snacks.

Only Briony was left standing at attention.

She stepped forward as Toven plucked up his cards.

Grabbing the decanter of wine, she refilled his almost full glass to look busy, and as he rearranged his cards, she brushed her fingers over the back of his collar, near the base of his skull, as Larissa had taught her.

“Do you have a good hand?” she murmured, doing her best to imitate Larissa’s purr.

He went very still. “Excellent,” he said with a confident flick of his eyes to meet Canning’s.

Canning smirked, then turned his gaze on her. “How are those heels tonight, Rosewood?” His gaze ran over her. “If you need to sit, you know my lap’s always free.”

Before she could craft a response, Toven’s hand was on her hip, pulling her downward without even looking up from his cards. The men laughed.

She landed across both his legs, the right side of her chest pressing against his left. With how short and tight her dress was, she was forced to shift herself until her legs crossed, her arm slung behind Toven’s shoulder. Toven provided no assistance.

Lorne started by rolling the dice, grinning down at the result. The glyphs on the sides were different than on the dice she’d seen the guards play with, so she gave up trying to summon the little she remembered. Canning called for wagers.

“Let’s make it good this time, gentlemen.” He nodded at Kleve. “You first.”

“I have the names of two defectors.”

Canning rolled his eyes. “That’s terribly dull, Kleve.”

“Well, that’s what I have,” Kleve grumbled.

“Then think of something better. I’m not risking what I know for something my grandmother could have told me.”

He turned his eyes on Lorne, who cleared his throat. “I have news on Starksen.”

“I’ll take that,” Canning said. “I’ll raise you a sighting of Punt.”

Briony’s mouth felt dry, and she resisted the urge to lean forward. They were wagering secrets instead of gold—sensitive topics about the war, the outside world.

She chanced a look around the table and found the strawberry-blonde meeting eyes with another Barlowe Girl before quickly glancing away and reaching for a slice of cheese off Liam’s plate.

“Intriguing, Canning. Who’s your source?” said Toven.

“Well, you’ll have to beat my hand to find out, won’t you?”

“Collin?” Lorne asked. “Are you in?”

But Collin was nuzzling into Cecily’s neck, content to fold.

“I have news on Mallow’s dragon. Spotted near the Tampet Mountains yesterday,” said the man whose name Briony didn’t know.

Toven scoffed. “What could possibly be interesting about the location of Mallow’s dragon?”

“You’ll have to beat my hand to find out.”

“Toven?” Canning asked. “Are you in?”

Briony felt every pair of eyes turn to them. She glanced down to Toven’s hand, unable to tell if what he had was sufficient to win. He plucked a card from the middle and replaced it on the end.

“I’m in.” He tilted his head, and Briony felt his hair tickle her neck. “Anyone interested to know who it was that skipped through the boundary at Javis last month?”

A charge pulsed through the table. Canning lifted a brow; Lorne leaned closer. Someone set down his glass with a clink. Liam, on the other hand, stiffened.

“That’s classified,” he hissed from their left. “You can’t give away that kind of information.”

“I’m not giving it away,” Toven drawled. “I’m planning to win my hand, thank you very much.” He took a leisurely sip from his wineglass. “And you, Liam? Do you have anything of value?”

Liam sat up straight in his chair, jostling the arms of the strawberry-blonde hanging off his shoulders. “I can tell you which major government official plans to pay Biltmore a visit next month,” he said.

“Tremelo already said he’d be back—”

“No,” Liam snapped. He sneered at the interruption. “Not Tremelo.”

A pause as the young men considered.

“Well, you have my interest,” Canning said with a grin. “Shall we play, boys?”

Canning whispered into Jellica’s ear, and with some reluctance, Jellica leaned forward and chose a card from the pile in front of him.

“High suit is …” Canning turned over the card Jellica chose, and his face split into a smile. His eyes slid to Briony. “Roses.”

The men chuckled as Canning flipped the card onto the table. It had an ornate rose in the center.

“Wild card is …” Canning took the next card from Jellica’s hand and barked out a laugh. “The Rose in Chains.” His eyes glittered as he stared across the table at Toven and Briony. “Well, if that isn’t just the perfect thing.”

Toven was still as stone as the men laughed, making jokes about not betting against Toven this round—“The odds are with him!”

Briony barely understood the game, but she could understand the insinuation.