It was strange how even speaking to someone she didn’t fully trust had been cool relief. It had been so long since she’d had anyone to confide in. Mother was a terrible confidant, all sharp opinions ready to stab you. Papa was just as bad: dismissive and ever prepared to laugh at your pain. Spatz was a baby. The horses couldn’t talk. And Helene couldn’t say any of it to Sisi, not when she’d been the one who’d caused the hurt.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been suffering from severe rejection for years now.” Maxi lifted his flute and touched her glass, a gentle toast.

Helene’s face had twitched with an involuntary smile. She could finally see how all those girls got into trouble. She knew Maxi was dangerous, and yet she felt the pull of him. The flattery of the attention. The relief of feeling seen. The nameless charisma that radiated off him in waves. She didn’t believe for one second that he actually knew what rejection felt like, but the show of solidarity still felt like a cool compress on a hot fever.

It would have been so easy to give in to that. If Helene hadn’t overheard him just hours ago practicing a declaration of love. If she hadn’t just watched him flirting with Sisi over the pianoforte.

Helene had leaned away from Maxi, pointed her glass at Sisi’s twirling form. “You’re playing with her.” And me.

He’d raised an eyebrow. “I’m playing with everyone.”

“That I believe.”

He’d smiled without teeth. “Life is a game. You might as well play.”

She knew it was meant to be charming, but the words had felt ominous. Was that what he was talking about earlier? Was it all a game to him? Emperors rising and falling. Replaced and reigning. The concept itself was full of danger; seeing it as a game felt even more dangerous.

Helene had been glad when Maxi tipped an invisible hat and left her—once again heading straight for her sister. She should warn Sisi about him, she’d thought then, the protectiveness pulling tight across her skin. But she’d held herself back. Sisi never protected you, she’d reminded herself, though the usual fire in the words, her righteous sense of justification, hadn’t been there.

Now Sisi pushed Maxi away and rose suddenly from the couch, stumbling toward the door—toward her. Helene pointed her eyes resolutely at the ground. She might not be feeling her usual rage, but she would punish Sisi in her usual, silent way.

To her surprise, Sisi stopped beside her, voice threaded through with grief, desperation. “Will you really never speak to me again?”