“And I am sleeping in your old bedroom,” I said, understanding now. “He was expecting to find you there. No wonder he looked so surprised.”

“Yes, my parents announced at the last minute that I must sleep as far as possible from my future bridegroom and close to my chaperon, Countess Von Durnstein, until the wedding. My father is very much into old-fashioned protocol, you know.”

“Is Vlad still here?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. There are fortunately several secret rooms in the castle. He’s been hiding out and my maid, Estelle, is so wonderfully loyal. She brings him food. And speaking of food—you also saw my other guilty secret, did you not?”

“When was that?”

“In the hallway outside the kitchen,” she whispered, glancing around again. “I couldn’t resist, you know.”

“What exactly were you doing?” I asked cautiously, not really wanting the answer.

She leaned closer. “Cook’s cherry tarts. All that wonderful gooey cherry jam. I went down to the kitchen and she’d been baking them. I stole a couple. I’ve had to be on this strict diet, you see, so that I fit into the wedding dress, but I’ve always had trouble with my weight. I like to eat. That was another thing—Vlad didn’t care when I had meat on my bones. He loved me just as I was.” She chewed on her lip. “Now I’m afraid that Nicolas will not like me if I put back the weight and he sees me as I was when I was eating normally.”

I looked at her with compassion. I could understand how awful it must be to give up one’s true love and marry someone one doesn’t love at all. And to condemn oneself to not eating. But I couldn’t forget the big question that still remained unanswered. “Matty, about Pirin’s death. Do you know who put the poison in that glass?”

“It had to be an outsider, an assassin,” she said. “Who else could it be?”

“You don’t think that your Vlad might have . . .”

“Killed a foreign field marshal? Why would he do that?” she demanded angrily.

“Matty, there’s something you should know,” I said, realizing I was taking a risk. “The glass of wine was intended for Nicholas.”

“What?”

“Pirin was a peasant,” I said. “He had never learned decent table manners. And he was very drunk. He grabbed the nearest full glass of wine when he made that toast and he grabbed it with his left hand. I was sitting opposite him. I saw. It was Nicholas’s wineglass, only Nicholas had switched to drinking champagne when the toasts started, remember?”