“How improper of me,” he drawls. “You’re right. A true thief never does business in the light. My hiding holes are, of course, your hiding holes.” He motions to an alley behind the hat shop. “This way.”

Half wary, I trail after him over the cobblestones, thick with grime the farther we get from any main road. Is he guiding me to a setup with Fione and Malachite waiting again? He leads me through a dizzying pattern of turns: betwixt barrels and crates, beneath laundry lines, and around wells and giant water-spewing snake statues, and finally to a derelict building in a forgotten square—still standing, but molded and nearly eaten by termites, the doorframe remaining on what seems like toothpicks as we duck beneath it.

The late sunlight plays dappled beams of gold through the ruined roof and onto the creaking floor as Lucien crosses it, seating himself on the only sturdy thing on the premises—a stone hearth in the center.

He holds his arms out. “Welcome. You’re the first visitor I’ve had here. I’d tell you to take your shoes off, but at this point, a dirty boot would be the least of this place’s problems.”

“Does it have an ambush set up in it, too?” I ask.

Lucien shakes his head. “I know I might seem a little dense to you, after you deceived me about being human for two entire weeks,” he says. “But even I know not to use the same surprise twice.”

I tamp down the instant urge to flinch. He really won’t let me live it down. And for good reason. But still, he could be lying. Malachite could be behind any corner again. Half of me bleeds with the pain of not being able to trust him as he can’t trust me. He doesn’t owe me honesty, after all. Soft cooing makes me look up just then—a flutter of dove wings beating the air above the roof. I watch a white feather float down to the floor, and I reach out just in time to catch it. I can feel Lucien’s eyes on me, like two spots of uncomfortably hot fire, even as I stroke the soft thing for some comfort.

“That black rose,” I say. “Was it from Y’shennria’s manor?”

I hear him chuckle. “Obviously.” There’s another moment of quiet, and then, “On nights it was hard to be in the palace, I would stand outside the manor and watch the lights of your bedroom. The black rose bushes were always in my way. But over time, I began to feel a fondness for them. Seeing a black rose meant I was near you, near the one person who understood me.”

The sharp pain in my lungs makes my breathing ragged, but I recover. I have to recover.