I didn’t bother asking what she was doing here – her wide eyes and bedraggled appearance told me enough. Wrapping magic around her waist, I glanced around to make sure there was no one on the grounds, then lifted her up and into my room, taking her arms the moment she was inside.

She sank to the floor, dragging in gulp after gulp of air. Only then did I notice that she had no light, the press of her magic so faint that if I closed my eyes, I could well imagine that it was a half-blood sewer worker kneeling before me rather than a full-blooded aristocrat. I examined her for signs of injury, for bruises or blood, but there was nothing.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head once, then slumped forward, resting her head against the carpet. “My father…”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing,” she gasped out. “Not… to… me.”

She was shaking, her hands icy in mine, and fear bit deep into my chest. It was almost human how fragile she was, and her life was spent surrounded by those who bordered on invincibility. Many who’d do her harm if they could. And I had no way to protect her.

She had no way to protect herself.

“Stay here,” I said, warming the room before I exited, running silently down the hallway to my father’s chambers. He was with the King, and there was no one to question me as I snatched up a bottle of brandy and a glass, hurrying back to my rooms.

Pénélope had regained some of her composure and moved to one of the chairs, though her elbow rested heavily on its arm. “Drink this.” Brandy sloshed onto my hands as I poured the glass, the liquid in the bottle trembling in my shaking grip.

The contents went down in one gulp, and she held out her hand for more. I filled her glass, then drank directly from the bottle myself, wishing I was human so that the drink might steady my nerves.

“My father hosted a gathering tonight,” she said. “A secret meeting with my grandmother, my cousins, Comtesse Báthory, Prince Roland, and others who I couldn’t identify. I spied on them.”

I sat at her feet, using the burn from the rest of the bottle of brandy to focus myself as I struggled to keep any form of reaction off my face.

“He thinks it’s Tristan leading the sympathizers,” she said, setting her empty cup aside, “and that you’re the one helping him. He’s going to attempt to raid a sympathizer meeting to catch you and then deliver you to the King to be charged with treason.”

“I see,” I said, because silence would have revealed more. But it was almost impossible to contain my shock that Angoulême’s suspicions ran so deep. For him to be involving others… that meant he was certain of our guilt and only needed undeniable proof. “That’s a bold accusation.”

Rising to my feet, I went to my desk and adjusted the series of miniatures one of the servants had moved while cleaning, putting them back in order. And I waited for her to ask if it was true. For her to finally prove that everything between us was false – her motivations not driven by affection, but by a desire to appease her father. Who was my enemy.