He’s walking beside her and probably her bad behavior will reflect upon him, too. Irritation floods in; of course he cares more about his reputation than anything else, of course he’s in her ear about decorum, next he’ll be telling her to talk less and pray more, to stay in places where he can watch her, and how dare she do all these things when he expressly forbade it. She knows this routine. She thought the Duke would be different, fooled by his easy laugh and his love of intoxicants and little vices, but men of faith are all the same on the inside, it seems. A pity. She wanted to like him. He is very likeable.

So. Escape attempt number one was a bust. Misery needs to recalibrate. Not fond of this idea where she’s a ward of the Church, again. Wasn’t being raised by a priest who hated her punishment enough?

In front of them the sullen princess and the Archbishop walk shoulder to shoulder. The latter fills Misery with a mixture of awe and dread; the former inspires in Misery something more esoteric, which she cannot name. Is it rage? Disdain? Admiration? Perhaps a bit of all three. She’s trying to sort out her feelings and they don’t want to be sorted. Instead she’s left with a strange burning in her gut that deepens as she studies the princess’s gait. How does a royal princess learn to throw down like that? Misery’s fought grimclaws that were less vicious and less driven than Her Royal Highness Lee Alodia Lightning is. Her body remains marked from their entanglement—aching, sore—and she guesses it’s admiration she’s feeling after all. She resents that it’s admiration she’s feeling after all.

“I must admit I’m disappointed by your behavior,” Pyrex Imogen is saying to the princess. “I cannot imagine that your family would send you to pursue a fugitive on your own. Did they?”

“No,” says the princess.

“I struggle to understand what went through your mind. The risk you put yourself in was considerable, and the fight could have easily killed you, or them, or both. What were you hoping to achieve?”

“None of your business.”

Misery understands that sullen tone. She’s familiar with the sensation of that clenched-jaw growl in her chest and mouth, knows how it feels exactly, and she commits the princess’s reaction as useful information.