He considers me, interest piqued, and I dig my fingernails into my palms. Well done, Nami. How are you going to get out of here now?

“I imagine that’s a peaceful way to exist,” he muses.

I hold my breath, heart hammering. If only it were true.

He shifts, facing the wall. “Everyone speaks so highly of these paintings, but they pale in comparison to the ones in the palace gallery.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I admit, hoping that wouldn’t be unusual for a Resident.

A flash of kindness appears in his dimpled cheek. “You’re welcome to see them anytime you like.”

“Thank you,” I say, bristling at his unexpected warmth.

“I remember you from the market. Tell me, what is your name?”

I hesitate before answering. “Naoko.” It feels like a good lie—the right lie. Maybe pretending to be someone else will be easier with a different name.

I won’t just wear a mask; I’ll become a character, too.

“Naoko,” he repeats, dipping his chin slightly. “I hope you’re enjoying the festival.”

I force a pleasant smile. “Very much, thank you.” And now might be a good time to suggest heading back to it.

Silver ripples through his furred cape. He slows his pace in front of the paintings, eyes soaking them in. “Sometimes I think I hate this room,” he says suddenly.

I pause, weighing the necessity of encouraging this conversation any further. But the way he’s staring at the painting… He looks the way I do when I’m desperate for someone to ask what’s wrong but I’m too proud to ask for help.

I know I should probably ignore him, but I can’t. I want to know what he’s haunted by. I want to know what makes us so different. “Why do you hate it?”

He takes a few more strides across the room before turning to face me. “Galleries remind me how limited we are.” He motions toward the walls of artwork. “We can never create the way humans can. We can’t imagine beyond what’s already been made.” He looks at me, and there’s a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “We’re in a prison just as much as the humans are.”

Anger lashes out from within my rib cage, and I feel the heat coiling through me.

A prison.

The Four Courts are a prison to humans, not Residents. He might see them all as equal cages, but they are nowhere near the same.

Because the Residents took our freedom. It’s not our fault they have limitations.

“I can see you don’t agree,” he says.

“It’s not something I ever thought about before,” I lie.

“You’ve never wondered what it would be like to create something new?” he asks, a raw hunger in his voice.

I try to appear unfazed. “Queen Ophelia gave us this world. I suppose that’s enough for me.”