But Prince Caelan also sent a human to be experimented on in Death.

I try to remember that when I look at his silver, unassuming eyes.

Maybe we aren’t supposed to say whether one kind of cage is kinder than another, because a cage is a cage. But thinking of Ettore in Victory, ruling over humans who don’t even have the ability to try to fight back…

Things are bad here. But I know in my heart they could get even worse.

I know I can’t warn Caelan. But part of me wonders if I should.

He leads me through the gallery, allowing time for my eyes to sweep over each painting. He points out which ones he acquired himself and which ones were gifts from around Victory’s districts. He speaks about them like they’re pets, each with their own story of how they came to be.

Conveniently, he never mentions the humans who painted them. I wonder if it’s common for Residents to avoid talking about them whenever possible. I imagine humans are simply a reminder of their limitations. A reminder of how no matter what the Residents do, they still can’t dream, or imagine, or create.

They’re imitations.

And yet Caelan doesn’t seem like a lesser human. He doesn’t feel artificial.

Sometimes he seems like less of a monster than the Nightlings.

He stops in front of a painting of angels falling from the sky and passing through the sea, only to come out the other side as angels flying toward another sky.

“Sometimes I think this represents Infinity,” he says thoughtfully. “No matter what we do or what choices we make, we are fated to return to where we started.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

His eyes meet mine. “I think so too.”

I blush feverishly, but I’m unable to look away.

“Will you be at the Bloodmoon?” he asks, shifting himself away from the painting.

The next festival of the Procession of Crowns. I assumed Annika wouldn’t let me go—not after what happened last time.

I let my eyes fall to the floor and think of a non-answer. “Doesn’t everybody attend?”

“We all have a choice,” he replies, and then hesitates. “Except me, of course. I’m sure a prince that doesn’t hold the traditions of his own court wouldn’t be looked on very kindly, especially by my mother.”

When I look up, he’s grinning.

“I know they can be a bit of a bore. But seeing you again would bring some light to the day,” he says softly.

My nerves build like an approaching storm. Does he…?

I blink, too afraid to let my mind assume anymore. Too afraid of what it could mean.