Sophie flung off the blindfold.

If she’d blushed pink before looking at Tedros’ face on the walls, now she was as pink as Pollux’s feathers.

There were forty Tedroses seated in front of her, reflecting back his crystal-blue eyes, fluffy gold locks, and tan, flawless skin. Yet, there was a strange haziness to the faces, rubbery thick and oddly luminous at the edges, so she couldn’t discern the necks and clothes beneath the masks. Some of the Tedroses were smiling, some sneering, some frosty and blank eyed, but as she scanned the sum of these gorgeous princes, Sophie felt her cheeks burning even hotter.

Stop blushing, you idiot! Tedros isn’t your friend anymore! No, he was the boy who’d rejected her for her best friend; the boy who wanted to kill her true love; the poster boy for Good who had a spy working against her in this very room . . .

“Well?” Pollux huffed.

Sophie braced herself and waded into the sea of princes. One by one, she analyzed them, but it only took seconds to see the fraudulence each time. The smile was too snarky or dopey, his posture too rigid or slouched or there was a flicker of self-doubt—a hang of the head, a bob of the throat—that the real Tedros never had. One Tedros nearly fooled her in the second row, but he flinched as she made eye contact, and the real Tedros would have held his stare, strong and unyielding, until your heart turned to putty and you were his. None of the others around him even came close and soon she was in the final row, no closer to finding Good’s spy . . . until the last Tedros stopped her cold.

She locked into his steady blue eyes, sparkling with mischief. He bit his juicy lower lip and cocked a brow, almost more Tedros than Tedros himself, and Sophie felt a flash of fire rip through her body.

This one, she thought, girding her loins. This is the one that knows him best. This is the spy.

She leaned in teasingly, daring the spy at his or her own game. But the closer she drew, the more she felt the warmth off the prince’s dewy skin and smelled that stirring mix of mint and wood, until Sophie’s heart began to hammer and she knew this wasn’t a spy—this was him, the real him, and he’d ditched Agatha to be with her! Stunned, panicked, exhilarated, she hugged him with a gasp: “Teddy, it’s you!”

Rubber instantly melted to skin and Hort glared back at her.

“Don’t touch.”

Sophie recoiled in shock—

A “1” rank exploded over Hort’s head in a crown of green smoke, as rankings popped up over everyone else, their masks melting away over their usual faces.

“Well done, Hort!” Pollux said. “You’ll no doubt help our queen kill the real Tedros.”

“No doubt,” said Hort, still staring daggers at Sophie.

“I’m so going to end up a pea shoot,” Kiko mewled behind him, a black-cloud “20” raining on her head.