It dawns on me slowly—I know exactly what I have to do.

unless you show him the darkness, he will never understand, he will never fear, he will never run.

The sound of the slap reverberating is the only thing that makes me realize I’ve actually done it. The numbness in my hand stings, and I clutch it. Lucien’s head rotates slowly back to me, the red handprint bright against his cheek, but his dark eyes gleam brighter than ever in the candlelight. His expression is set, unmoving.

It’s then I realize the windlutes and firehorns have stopped playing. The dance floor has stopped moving, the nobles staring in half-drunk horror at Lucien’s face. The whole of the ballroom is looking our way, but I don’t stop to see any expressions. My feet, wiser and less flustered than I, take me out of the grand ballroom as fast as they can.

Varia’s room is, in some sick way, becoming the only safe place for me in the palace. My hands are shaking wildly as I walk in, shed the valkerax-bone jewelry, and throw it aside.

Anger simmers beneath my surface. What kind of person kisses someone who’s lied to them and murdered people in front of their very eyes? What about me is so worth ignoring these things?

For once, Lady Zera, I ask of you: be as merciful with yourself as you are with everyone else.

“Shut up!” I snarl at the echo. “Shut up, shut up!”

who does he think he is, telling us who we are? telling us what to think of ourselves? arrogant!

I can feel my teeth starting to grow long and sharp and hear my breath as panting, blood rushing through my ears. The urge to reach for the wine decanter hits me, but I pull myself away. That won’t help. It’s never really helped. I can feel some horrific pain welling up in my chest, building like a bubble of gas below a marsh, pressure crushing my lungs. The hunger pounces on it as an opportunity.

he is ruining his life with his sister because of you. he is ruining his future because of you.

I collapse on the couch, my head in my hands. The hunger’s words are crystal clarity—pure, logical, and undeniable. There’s a sudden knock at the doors that has me standing. One of the guards comes in, holding a piece of parchment in his hand.

“Ah, pardon me, milady, I thought Her Highness had returned as well,” he says. “She’s received a letter marked extremely urgent.”

An urgent message? Something so normal and routine breaks through my spiraling mind.

“I can bring it to her,” I say.