Han charged across the room after him. The traitorous guardsman crouched on the broad stone sill for a long moment, then launched himself through the open window and fell like a flaming star from her sight.

Raisa flattened herself against the wall, the tip of her staff drooping to the floor and banging against it as she shook uncontrollably. Han crossed the room to her, taking hold of her arms to keep her from toppling over. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking fiercely into her eyes. “Did they stick you? Even a minor scratch?”

She knew he was thinking of poison, and she shook her head mutely.

Han released her and stalked across the room. He bent over the two assassins on the floor of her bedchamber, pressing his fingers against their necks, looking for a pulse. He looked up, shaking his head. “Next time, try and leave somebody alive to question, all right?” he said.

“You should talk,” she retorted, a bit of her usual starch returning. “Setting people on fire like that, you…” She stopped abruptly, thinking of his mother and sister.

“Th—thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving my life yet again.”

“No,” he said suddenly, unfolding to his full height. “It was you. It was all you, understand? I was never here.”

Raisa stared at him, momentarily forgetting about throwing up. “What are you talking about?”

“It won’t help our plan if your enemies think I saved your life again,” Han said. “Stands to reason you’d be grateful, right?”

“Our plan?” Raisa stammered, unclear that they had one.

Han chewed his lower lip, thinking, the fingers of his right hand beating an uneven rhythm on his thigh. Then he picked up a lamp from the table, blew out the flame, and smashed it on the floor. Oil splattered everywhere.

“What are you doing?” Raisa cried, leaping back to avoid being cut by flying glass.

She heard shouts outside in the corridor, followed by bodies slamming against the locked door. “Your Highness!” someone shouted outside the door, his voice ragged with fear and desperation. Bam! He hit the door again. “Raisa!”

It was Amon.

Han rested his hands on her shoulders again, looking down into her eyes. “Here’s what happened. You set one man aflame with the lamp and he leaped from the window. You clubbed the other two to death with your staff.”

Raisa planted her feet stubbornly, shaking her head. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not going to—”

“Please,” he said. “Please, please do this. It’s almost the truth, and, believe me, it’s safer this way.”

It’s almost the truth?

The door into the hallway splintered, making them both jump.

“Better let Captain Byrne in before he injures himself,” Han said. He gazed at her a moment longer. “You’re a rum smasher with a staff,” he said. “Good thing. But I’m not going to let this happen again.”