The prince lifts a brow like he’s calling my bluff.

Be strong, like Naoko, I order myself, raising my chin. “Not just pretty. It’s… powerful. And brave. And of all the colors in the world, red is the most intimidating. I suppose wearing red feels like wearing armor.”

He’s quiet for a moment. I can’t read anything behind his eyes. And maybe there’s a reason for that.

“You’re in Victory,” he says finally, dipping his head just slightly. He even smells of wood and winter. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

As long as you aren’t human, my mind finishes.

And because it feels like the right lie for this moment, I say, “I’m not afraid.”

“Not even of your prince?” The edge of his mouth curves, and I don’t know if it’s teasing or deadly.

Adrenaline rushes up my neck, and I desperately hope the color in my cheeks doesn’t betray me. I even my voice and attempt to match his smile. “You said it yourself—there’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

He leans back, eyes bright as a full moon. And then a laugh pours out of him, subtle at first and then so blissfully commanding that I straighten my shoulders like I’m standing at attention. “Something my court is lacking, I’ve been told,” he says finally.

I try to find the menace in his voice, but it isn’t there. So I keep talking, praying my curiosity won’t be my undoing. “You sound like you don’t agree.”

“No, I suppose I don’t. This is Victory.” He holds up his hands. “Existing without fear is our prize for winning the war.”

I nod like an obedient subject, even as a fire stirs within my chest.

He hesitates, arms drifting back to his sides. “And yet sometimes I wonder if we should at least know what fear is.” The prince looks toward the shifting crowds nearby, where Residents and human servants move through the spiral street with familiarity.

Victory might be brimming with luxuries, but it also appears consistent. Predictable.

Is that why Prince Caelan looks so bored?

“This world offers so much. We should want to experience all of it.” He brings his gaze back to me. “And what emotion could possibly be more natural than fear?”

I should lower my head politely, agree with him, and keep the rest of my words to myself. But I feel like I’m halfway across a high wire and I can’t decide what’s safer—turning back around or seeing this conversation through.

I choose the latter. “Love, maybe?”

“Isn’t love merely an attachment to something we’re afraid to lose?” He narrows his chin. “Love doesn’t exist without fear.”