Rage boils in my gut. My fist clenches, but I stop short of raising it. I look around for allies; why is no one saying anything? Aldo’s eyes are wide with shock. Valentino shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Iván seems darkly amused.

But no one comes to my aid. Maybe they’re all curious. Maybe they’re all obsessed with “parts.”

Would it be awkward for me to crawl under the table and die? Instead I let my rage burn through and glare at him until he blinks and turns away.

“Where’d you get that Godstone?” asks one of the second years.

“Is it true you don’t believe in God?” asks another.

Suddenly the questions are pounding at me so fast I can hardly keep up.

Have you been inside the empress’s private chambers? Have you ever met an animagus? Are you betrothed to anyone? Is it true you like other girls? No, I heard she and Prince Rosario are lovers. How’d you get that funny name? Is it true you used to be a slave?

Their words are a weight, pressing and pressing in until I feel too small to be a real person. I can’t help it: My shoulders hunch, my head droops; I coil in on myself until they’re no longer the ones making me feel small anymore. I’m doing all the work myself.

“Red, are you all right?”

It’s the only question that gets through, and I look up and find Aldo’s peering face. His concern is palpable. Hearing my true name is a lifeline.

I unfurl. And I force a smile for the benefit of everyone around me. When in doubt, smile, Mara always says. Men are stupid. Smiling puts them at ease. “I’m fine,” I tell him, and it almost feels like the truth.

The questions keep coming, but I ignore them, shoving slop into my smiling, smiling face. I don’t know what the afternoon holds, but all these boys are going to regret harassing me when they had a chance to eat.

I don’t wait long before being proved right. Guardsman Bruno calls us to attention. “First years, line up against the wall!”

We do as asked, many leaving their bowls hardly touched. Servants scurry to clear the tables while we mill about, eventually lining up shoulder to shoulder, backs against the stone wall of the mess.

Guardsman Bruno walks down the line, hands clasped behind his back. “We have an opportunity here,” he says. “With so many of us gone, our stable is nearly empty. So you are going to clean it. From top to bottom.”

Someone groans. The second years look on with obvious amusement.

“Empty the stable completely of straw and hay, scrub the floors and walls, oil the hinges, make repairs to the gates, polish the spare tack, reset the rattraps, and replace the entire area with fresh straw.”

“That’s going to take all day,” someone whispers, too loudly.

“And well into the night,” Guardsman Bruno snaps back. “So you’d better get to it. Follow me.”