After making plans to meet up with Leo and Marie later, Max went in search of his brother. As he climbed the stairs to the third floor, a rogue thought popped into his head. Was Mr. Benz Sebastien’s boyfriend? Was that why he knew where Seb was right now, or was that merely more of Benz’s usual omniscience? Seb had said Max didn’t know but “knew of” the person in question.

Is Mr. Benz why Sebastien had arrived early?

Mr. Benz came from a noble but impoverished family. Ironically, his “bloodlines,” as Mother would call them, were impeccable. Which made Max wonder if Mother and Father would approve of the match—if they could be made to approve of Sebastien’s homosexuality to begin with.

Max couldn’t really see Seb with the equerry. Seb was introverted and sensitive, but he wasn’t humorless like Benz. Perhaps Mr. Benz had a hidden wild side. Max thought about Lavinia’s proposal from last night. Sometimes, people surprised you.

Then he thought about the fact that he, the Depraved Duke, had a crush. Sometimes you surprised yourself.

Reaching the Yellow Room, Max rapped on the door and called out as he pushed it open. “Seb! You sly bastard! I think I’ve figured out your—”

Seb was standing at the window in his room next to a giant man Max recognized as the head of palace security. They both turned as Max paused in the doorway.

“Max!” Seb seemed surprised, though Max couldn’t think why—he knew Max and Dani were arriving today.

“Everything appears to be in order, Mr. von Hansburg,” said the security officer. He nodded at Max. “Lord Laudon.”

“Max, you remember Torkel Renner, the royal family’s head of security? He was—”

“Having a look at this window,” Torkel said. “There will be wedding banners hanging from the windows, and a preliminary inspection turned up the fact that the latch on this one is broken, which is a security concern.”

“A broken window latch on the third floor is a security concern?” Max asked. Though he supposed he shouldn’t be questioning the palace’s longtime head of security. One probably attained that position by being attuned to details like window latches.

“We can’t be too careful,” he said in a monotone. “There will be lots of guests on site.” He had that flat affect that FBI agents always did in American movies—his face seemed made of stone. Max half expected him to whip out a pair of sunglasses and an earpiece. “Everything seems in order here.” He nodded to both brothers and departed.

Max moved farther into Seb’s suite and sat on a sofa. “I didn’t expect to find you’d arrived ahead of me.”

“I left rather abruptly last night. I suppose I should have texted you.”

“Why didn’t you?”