There was Sireen in conversation with Gretl. Her husband, who would always be Grand Leon in Bitterlich’s eyes, held court with a group of men who refused all evidence that he had ceded power to his wife. Bitterlich almost couldn’t blame them. L’Empire had seen its share of deposed rois, but those who weren’t killed outright had always been driven into exile, from whence they had a tendency to return in force. The notion of a pensioner roi was an entirely novel and welcome development in Bitterlich’s opinion. L’Empire’s leadership needed to be stirred up every now and again, but not at the cost of civil war.

Ah, there was Isabelle with … Bitterlich’s heart stuttered as if he’d been slugged in the chest. Eulalie. He backed away a step and nearly tripped over a servant bearing a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

Bitterlich shrank away from the women before they spotted him. His heart beat heavy as horrid memories clawed their way out of their unquiet graves.

For an instant, he was back in Eulalie’s bedchamber, naked, pinned to the wall by her father’s bloodshadow, the pain unraveling the weave of his mind. Eulalie was there, equally undressed, fending off her father’s bloodshadow with her own.

She pointed to Bitterlich and tried to cover herself with a sheet. “He did this, Father. He attacked me!”

Bitterlich clawed his way out of the memory, panting like he’d run an hour uphill. What in the name of all that lived was Eulalie doing here … aside from being a notable comtesse at a royal gala? And why was she talking to Isabelle? Saints, he wanted nothing more than to run away, but he must know what lies she was threading through Isabelle’s mind.

He reknitted his ears to borrow an owl’s phenomenal hearing, listening in.

Eulalie rubbed her belly in the unconscious way pregnant women often did. “The writ doesn’t stop you from having children, does it?”

Isabelle, who normally would have been affronted by such a question, must have been beguiled by Eulalie’s considerable charm, for she said, “Having children was the whole point, given that I was betrothed to Príncipe Julio at the time.”

“But not anymore,” Eulalie said.

“The political liability became too great.”

“Which means you’re free to make a better match.”

Bitterlich shivered under his fur. Oh yes, making a proper high-enough-to-get-a-nosebleed match was very important to Eulalie. That was why she’d turned on him. Yes, he’d been a horny young lout, but she’d been wanting and willing, right up until her father walked in.

Isabelle’s response was cool. “If I so choose.”

“But you simply must,” Eulalie said. “In you, an ancient sorcery is resurrected. What greater service could you do than pass it on?”