“Why didn’t you break the betrothal?” she asked.

“I couldn’t. I tried. I would have had to admit to your death.”

“There was a funeral,” she snapped.

“Not on my account,” he snapped right back. “People wanted closure. I refused, and it was done anyway. But since I never sanctioned it, the betrothal documents were still valid until March married. In what world did I imagine that you would be back here as yourself for a Season—your own Season at that?”

Kerrigan shrugged. No one would have thought that. She certainly hadn’t ever planned to let anyone know who she was. Nor join in the Season. That wasn’t the world she’d wanted since she left. She still didn’t.

“How do I make it go away?”

Kivrin shook his head. “You can’t.”

“I do not have to marry someone that I do not wish.”

“Bryonican law …”

“I’m not Bryonican,” she ground out.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said as they came up to the foot of Draco Mountain. “Just focus on your studies. I’ve heard horror stories about Society training, and Lorian is gunning for you.”

“As you once said.”

Kivrin frowned. “I do not enjoy being right about this.”

The door opened to the carriage, and she let the footman assist her out.

“Kerrigan,” he said, leaning out the door. She turned back to him in surprise. “I’m proud of you.”

A lump formed in her throat. She’d never thought that she would want to hear those words, but she did. She smiled and sent him a small nod of acknowledgment.

24

The Star

CLOVER

Clover had been drinking too much wine.

“You need to slow down,” Hadrian said, trying to pry the gold goblet out of her hand. He managed to take it out of her grasp, but it was already mostly empty anyway.

“I’m fine,” Clover muttered.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to make a fool of yourself.”

“This is a ridiculous spectacle.” She thrust her hand out toward Darby. Hadrian grabbed it and pulled it to their sides. Their fingers laced together in the space, and she looked up into his face. The handsome boy she had always teased and mocked and joked with to get him to shed his perfect skin.

Hadrian was a street rat through and through. He’d grown up on the streets, and though he was Fae, he was as much a part of this city as Clover was. He might dress in silk and cravats and top hats now, but she could feel the city on him. Drawing it out of him was the real work of her life. It was how she’d convinced him to come to the protest. It was why she was standing with him right now. Because despite how she felt about Darby, Clover and Hadrian were the same.