So strange to think of Thibault having friends and of my father being one of them. Did my father keep as many of the King’s secrets as I did for Tristan? What were they? And if I asked, would he tell me? These were important questions, and if my loyalty was to Tristan, those questions were what should command my focus. But I was tired of my life revolving around my cousin. For once, I wanted to do something for myself.

“The King isn’t the only one who can give me permission,” I said. “Tristan can give it, too.”

“I know,” my father said, his voice quiet. “But please think long and hard about what it will mean for your friendship if you ask for his permission and he refuses to give it.”

Chapter 5

Pénélope

“See what you can learn from the Biron boy,” my father said. Then he eyed me up and down. “Use whatever tools you have at your disposal.”

“But–”

“Your virtue no longer holds any value, Pénélope. Only do make certain that whatever information you gain for it is worth the cost – he’s a twisted creature, but he’s favored by the heir, and that means he has options. His interest won’t last.”

I scowled, but my father only waved a hand, dismissing me from the conversation. Before I could go, my grandmother caught hold of my arm. “Your word that you won’t reveal that you or your sister are spying. The last thing we need is you undermining yet another of our plans.”

I glared at her, but her grip only tightened until I nodded. “I won’t reveal that Anaïs and I are spies.” The promise settled on me, binding, the magic running through my veins ensuring it would never be broken. I fled before they could come up with anything more to ask from me. Or anything more to take from me.

Not caring if it was improper, I bolted up the stairs and down the hallway to my rooms, silently skirting the sounds of Roland playing in his chambers, lest I draw his interest. Closing the door behind me, I rested my forehead against the polished oak and drew in a ragged breath.

What was the point in living?

The thought forced tears from my eyes, burning in a hot flood down my cheeks, because I no longer had a good answer.

Never before had I felt the press of the witch’s curse the way I did now, because there was no escape. Nowhere I could go that my father wouldn’t find me and drag me home. The only thing keeping me alive was Anaïs’s protection, and that now seemed tenuous at best.

My stomach hollow, I went to my bathing chamber, stripping off my sweaty gown as I went. I shut the door, wishing, not for the first time, it had a latch, but my father told me that privacy was a privilege of power.

Not that it mattered, for the tub was dry.