The prince touches his jaw, emotions warring on his face: anger, incredulity, and something else. He straightens his jacket and runs a hand through his hair.

I turn my back on him and keep marching toward our room.

He rushes to keep up with us.

“Forgive me,” he says in an uncertain voice.

I’m unimpressed. Ettie, ever kindhearted, is immediately taken in. She goes to him, arms outstretched.

“See, Nina? He’s sorry.” She strokes his arm soothingly. “We’ll stay with you until the ball. We promised your mother we would.”

The prince perks up, a smile wreathing his face.

I give a snort. “I’m not here to attend balls,” I say.

He looks from me to Ettie and fidgets with the sleeve of his coat. “You told me that there is famine,” he says. “If you stay here in the palace, even after the ball, you will never be hungry again. We have plenty of food.” His voice is so piteously earnest.

I cross my arms skeptically. “And what of the people outside the palace? What of the Wretched? Should I live here in this gilded cage, stuffing myself with cakes, while they hunger and die? A pile of the stalest scraps from your table would keep them from starvation. Your smallest store of grain would save hundreds of them.”

“I didn’t know,” the prince says quietly.

“You are the dauphin of France. One day, you’ll be king, and everything and everyone will belong to you.” I repeat his words back to him. “Will you still eat cake then, when your people are starving?”

The prince stands there awkwardly, silent. He has never known hunger, has never wanted for anything. I can’t make him understand.

Somehow, we’ve made it to our chamber door.

“Time to go to bed,” I say coldly.

Ettie gives the prince’s arm a sympathetic squeeze and comes to join me.

The prince seems pensive; he barely meets our eyes as he inclines his head to us. “I bid you good night, then, mesdemoiselles.” He swallows nervously. “A-and I’m sorry for having offended you.”

“You are forgiven,” Ettie says kindly. “And Nina is sorry for having struck you.”

“I am not,” I mutter darkly as Ettie shoos me into the room.

Ettie climbs into the bed after the maids have come to help us out of our gowns.

She looks at me thoughtfully.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I—”

“I think he likes you,” she says.

“What?”

“The prince. I think he likes you.”

“Ettie, you think everyone likes me,” I say shortly.

“It’s true. Montparnasse also likes you.”

That takes me aback. I stare at her for a whole minute before I find my voice and choke out, “Don’t be silly! Why would either one of them like me?”

“Because you’re brave and clever.” She grins. “And because you slapped him.”

“I would never slap the Master of Knives,” I say.

Ettie collapses into giggles at the thought.

“Montparnasse is only being good to us because of Lady Corday. She wanted Orso to get out of prison. And anyway, boys don’t like girls because they’re brave, Ettie.”