We’ve almost made it to the door of the tavern when the night goes from bad to worse.

A gaggle of finely dressed gentlemen saunter in like they own the place. That’s how they enter any room, really. I know this well enough because I know that between the lot of them, their families own more than three-quarters of the land this fair city sits upon.

“Wha—?” Kiki mumbles into my shoulder. She looks up to see why I’ve stopped moving, and I feel the moment she recognizes the man blocking our path.

“Sebastian,” I say by way of greeting.

He blinks at us for a moment before he sees beyond the breeches and boots and coats. Men’s clothing. The lot of it. Tailored for us but still. His gaze slides from me to the woman holding on to me for stability. “Eustaquia?”

He doesn’t even address me. It’s as if I’m a mere servant, unworthy of his attention. Normally, I wouldn’t give half a rotten shit about a snub from some high-society prick, but this particular high-society prick is standing between me and the door. And worse yet, he’s the one who’s trying to take my Kiki from me through the holy sacrament of marriage. Fuck this guy. What the hell is he doing in Santiago’s anyway? This is our place. Mine and Kiki’s. Not his.

He tilts his head, trying to get a good look at Kiki through the veil of her unbound hair. “Are you quite all right?”

She goes curiously still as she angles her head to look at him. “’m fine.”

Sebastian’s scoff is oddly gentle. “Clearly not.”

One of his companions approaches us. A man with storm-gray eyes, a little older than the rest. He peers at Kiki with a look of concern. “Lady de Sonza? Would you like us to escort you home?”

I angle Kiki away from him. “You’re not escorting anyone anywhere. Who the hell are you anyway?”

His pale eyebrows inch upward. “I am merely a concerned spectator, nothing more.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t need your help.”

Sebastian’s gaze shoots to me, something flashing through his eyes that I can’t quite read. “You’re a fool. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“And you’re a prick,” I say. “Get over yourself. And get out of our way.”

Shaking his head, Sebastian waves his friends off, shooing them away to engage in whatever drunken debauchery they have planned. The gray-eyed man is the last to leave. His gaze lingers on us as he walks away. Then, he shakes his head and turns toward the bar with the others. Sebastian huffs in disapproval.

“I want to say I’m disappointed you’d bring a mourning woman into a den of iniquity, Ana, but that would hardly be the truth.”