“What is it?” Serina asked, worry unfurling in her chest. His hair twisted in every direction, as usual, and his bright blue eyes were alert, but there was no pinch of concern to his mouth or furrow between his brows.

“Malachi woke up,” he said simply. He cast a glance at Nomi. “I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

Nomi’s eyes widened. “Oh, thank you,” she said. Her hands grabbed for phantom skirts, an ingrained instinct, before she caught herself and hurried down the path.

Serina turned and followed, Val at her side. His hand brushed hers. With a little intake of breath for courage, she slid her palm against his and linked their fingers. His grip tightened without hesitation. He shot her a smile.

They walked the rest of the way back to Hotel Misery holding hands.

When they entered the makeshift infirmary a few steps behind Nomi, Serina had to pause to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. The smell crept up on her, sharp and sickening: the scent of blood. And then the sounds: quiet weeping, a pain-filled groan, whispered voices.

In the far corner, Malachi sat propped up against the wall, staring straight ahead.

Nomi shot a nervous glance back at Serina before approaching him. Serina and Val followed more slowly, but they were close enough to hear Nomi say the Heir’s name.

He looked up at her. Serina studied his handsome face, with its sharp cheekbones and jaw, its rough stubble and full lips. She searched for a softening around his eyes or a smile at the sight of Nomi. She was sure he must have affection for her sister, to free her from her position as his Grace. But his face remained expressionless.

“Nomi,” he said, and Serina could read nothing in his voice. A thread of ice knit itself into her spine.

“I’m so happy you’re awake.” Nomi knelt before him. Serina hated the way she bowed her head, the way her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. About everything. I—I didn’t realize… I’m sorry.”

The Heir licked his chapped lips. “Nomi,” he said again, and Serina saw the shift, saw the anger begin to creep through. He didn’t care about her sister’s obvious regret. “How could you?”

Nomi’s shoulders shook. Serina stepped forward, intending to comfort her—or maybe say something rude to the Heir—but Val’s hand tightened around hers. “Give them a moment,” he whispered. Reluctantly, Serina paused. She could only guess at the weight Nomi carried.