We do not have the best history, Sebastian and I. The first-ever society ball Don Carlos forced me to attend ended with me tripping very badly over my feet in a dance I barely knew and Sebastian laughing. I kicked his chair out from under him later that evening and was banished to my room for six weeks for the crime. I was so sure that Don Carlos would kick me out of his home for the sin of assaulting one of my betters. But he hadn’t. He’d simply arranged for me to be given several months’ worth of etiquette lessons and a stern talking-to about keeping my violent impulses on the inside. And I do—for the most part.

I really wish I didn’t have to now.

“Ah, Ana,” Sebastian says, as if we are old friends and he is happy to see me. “I’m surprised to see you out here without your other half.” He glances at his friends before he delivers his next words. “Though I suppose she must be busy, planning our nuptials and all.”

They titter, the way only people of their breeding do. It’s such a useless sound. A titter.

A seething wave of rage hits me so hard, it nearly knocks me off my feet. Rosalita senses something shift in me. Over Sebastian’s shoulder, she shakes her head frantically, her eyes wide, her smile plastered to her face like it’s stuck there.

I should listen to her silent warning. I should behave myself better in her place of business. I do not. Instead, I do the one thing I’ve been wanted to do for days. Months. Years, really.

I spit in Sebastian’s handsome, rotten face.

Time slows down as I watch my glob of spittle arc through the air, elegant almost. It lands high on his cheek with a satisfying plop.

I smile, deeply at peace for the first time this week.

Sebastian raises a hand to his cheek. His eyes widen, then narrow when his fingers make contact with the saliva, leaving a slug trail of slime on his face. “Did you just—?”

“Spit on your face?” The hint of a laugh works its way into my voice. “Yes, it was great. I would definitely do it again.”

With the sleeve of his very fine coat, Sebastian wipes at his cheek. His eyes never leave mine. There’s something dark in them. Something vicious. Something cold.

“Now,” he says, his own voice curiously calm, “is that any way to treat your betters?”

I make an exaggerated show of looking around me, my eyes alighting on each of the young nobleman around us. A pall of silence has fallen around the room. Doña Esmeralda is going to kill me. But what a death it will be. “Don’t see any here.”

Sebastian snorts. “Why don’t we teach her a lesson, boys?”