Jainan looked at the floor, reflexively straightened his shirt, and walked through the crowd without meeting anyone’s eyes. The next thing he knew, he was back in their rooms. Their silent, white, empty rooms, with just the ringing memory of what he had done. He crumpled into a chair.

Who would Kiem tell? With Taam there had always been the safety of knowing that both of them would rather crawl over broken glass than shame themselves in public. Kiem didn’t care about his reputation. Would he talk to the press? Jainan couldn’t stop him. He could not go back to Thea. He pressed his hand over his face and tried not to think about the fact there was no way out.

He would have to talk to Kiem later and attempt to salvage something. They still had to try to find some way of fixing the treaty—though it seemed more and more unlikely with every hour. Jainan felt the weight of the station atmosphere

on his shoulders as if it had substance and mass, pressing down. Was his marriage dissolved? How likely was it that Kiem would keep up the charade after a scene like that?

The door chimed. Jainan looked up, adrenaline surging through him until he realized that the door would have just opened for Kiem without announcement.

He sank back. He was not going to receive company on Kiem’s behalf, not now.

The chime sounded again. It cut off halfway through, with a harsh beep, and the door opened of its own accord. An arm slammed against it as it drew fully aside and someone slapped a manual lock on the frame to keep it open.

Jainan was only halfway to his feet by the time the visitors entered. There were five of them: a corporal strode into the middle of the room, and his four soldiers fanned out into a loose semicircle. Their incapacitator guns were out.

They weren’t pointed, but everyone’s attention was on Jainan.

Jainan stopped his instinctive scramble to stand and rose the rest of the way slowly. He was in a place beyond emotion. “Ah. Good evening.”

“Count Jainan.” The corporal didn’t even incline his head. “I would be obliged if you refrained from sudden movements.”

“To what do I owe this visit?”

“You are under arrest for the murder of Prince Taam,” the corporal said, “and the attempted murder of Prince Kiem.”

Jainan breathed in slowly. Everything was suddenly very simple: the smallest of movements, like the wavering mouth of the capper nearest him, had a sharp, almost otherworldly clarity. A direct hit on the skull would be fatal; anywhere else would knock him out. “I see,” he said. “If this is legitimate, then you will not mind if I inform my partner.”

He slammed his hand down toward his wristband to trigger an emergency command. Before he could finish the sequence, the mouth of the capper blazed with a shimmer of force. It hit Jainan’s chest; he fell back, his conscious thoughts ripping like wet tissue. He had failed in so many ways. It was almost a relief to black out.