Hands appear on the window ledge a second before the bulk of a shadowy figure attempts to hoist himself up.

My blade is at the man’s throat before he can set foot inside.

“One more move and I slice your throat open like a bag of rice.”

His features are hidden, but I’d recognize his voice anywhere. “Honestly, Kiki, rice? Is that the best you’ve got?”

I have barely enough time to pull back my sword before he tumbles through the window and onto the floor in front of us. It would be remarkably bad form to gut my older brother like a pig in his own home.

Alejandro pushes himself up on unsteady legs. His dark hair tumbles across his forehead in a way I’ve heard the kitchen girls call “rakishly handsome.” His eyes gleam in the dim light as a crooked smile graces his lips. Ana says he looks a lot like me when he smiles like that, but I am convinced that it’s less charming on his face. I’m just prettier.

“You’re drunk,” I say with a sneer, as if Ana and I haven’t stumbled through that window in exactly that state more times than either of us care to admit. But if you can’t be undeservedly superior with your siblings, then, pray tell, who?

Alejandro’s lips tilt into a cheeky, sideways grin. He holds up a finger to his lips as his eyes crinkle with mirth. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He pushes himself up off his knees, brushing dirt from his breeches. “Besides, let he who is without sin cast the first stone. I’m fairly certain that’s in the Bible.”

“I’m shocked you could open the good book without bursting into flame.” There’s no fire in my words though. I don’t mean them. Alejandro is a decent man and an even better brother. Even if he does like to indulge a touch too much in the fine arts of spirits and wine. Stones. Sin. He’s not wrong.

Alejandro starts walking down the hallway toward his own rooms in what couldn’t be called a straight line even if you squinted in absolute darkness. His shoulder bumps into a vase that he only just barely manages to catch before it shatters on the ground, alerting every soul in the house to our presence. He sets it right, shooting me a sanctimonious look. “I’ll have you know I take the word of God very seriously.”

He hiccups before disappearing around a corner.

“And to think,” Ana mutters, “that’s the man who’s going to inherit all of this.”

The words sting though I know she didn’t mean for them to. As a woman, I am only entitled to what my father’s generosity grants me. And after him, my husband.

With a weary sigh, Ana begins tugging me toward our own rooms.