It’s such a strange thing for a noble to say—so different from the backstabbing compliments I’m used to from girls my age in the court. Coming from her, and from a face that serious, her words don’t feel manufactured at all. She’s so genuine, no noble mask to be seen. Is this how all Goldbloods are, or did she just never develop a mask to begin with? I almost laugh but manage to keep it to myself as I settle beside her.

“I’ve never prayed before,” I admit. “You’ll have to teach me.”

Tarroux’s eyes sparkle with joy. “Yes, of course. I would be honored.”

I sit by her side and repeat her prayers, my hands clasped. She prays for Lucien’s well-being, his strength, his longevity. She prays that he will live a long and happy life, going slightly out of breath with the effort of saying so many things so quickly. Her earnestness is obvious, and more than once I have to smother a laugh at how adorable it is.

We sit there for a half before I get tired and thank her and excuse myself to Varia’s apartments, where it’s easier to sulk and worry about Lucien without battling the urge to barge inside his room. The image of him unconscious and unmoving in the carriage is burned into my eyes, perhaps literally. Even when I come out, hours later, Lady Tarroux is still there, not having moved an inch and praying fervently. Her hair’s plastered to her forehead with sweat, her shoulders sagging from holding that one position for so long.

She’s staying by Lucien’s side. She’s unwavering, while a traitor like me contemplates, every hour of the day, retrieving my heart and leaving Vetris for good.

“Has our little lady eaten?” I ask the guards. They shake their heads. New God’s eyelash, she might be more stubborn than Lucien himself—they’ll give each other a run for their coin. But she has to eat, or she’ll do no running at all. I turn and make a trip down to the kitchens. A few words and a lot of careful steps later, I return with a plate laden with cold meat and warm bread, sweet fruits and dark, dense nuts. Kneeling, I place it in front of her and smile.

“Hey, milady priestess,” I tease. “Take a break and eat. I’m fairly certain the New God doesn’t listen to the prayers of shriveled-up corpses.”

Lady Tarroux’s eyes blink open, falling on the plate, and then my face. “You—Lady Zera. You brought this for me?”

“Do you see anyone else around here silly enough not to eat for seven hours?” I smirk.

Lady Tarroux’s milk-blond hair catches the moonlight as her lips pull into a gentle smile. “I see now. His Highness was right—you truly are kind.”