To her delight, he missed a beat. His partner ran into a neighbor, and several people cried their annoyance—which only made Safi smile all the wider. Oh yes, this anger was delicious.

“You will dance tonight,” the Emperor said, scattering her thoughts and her smile.

“Your Imperial Majesty?”

“My nephew will ask later, and you will agree.”

Safi blinked. As far as she could tell, this was no joke. Henrick’s expression had not changed; he looked as foul-tempered and bored as he always did.

Every night since Iseult’s departure, Leopold had requested a dance with Safi. Every night, she had refused because she would, with no exaggeration, rather pull out her own toenails than dance with him. Or speak to him ever again.

He had realized what Henrick could do to her, yet he he had done nothing to stop it. Even now, with the Emperor’s Hell-Bard forces tracking Iseult by the day, Leopold did nothing to interfere.

All she said, however, was: “I would prefer to remain here, my Emperor.”

Henrick sighed and shifted his weight. Like the crown, his throne was too tight. “Leopold asks you every night.” He flicked a hand to the floor of dancers below them, where Leopold’s strawberry curls glistened and swirled. “The court notices. The court talks. They wonder why you refuse.”

Safi’s heel tapped beneath her gown. “Please do not make me.”

“Oh, but I will.” A smug smile stretched Henrick’s lips. He toyed with his belt, a blatant warning. “Tonight when he offers, you will accept. No more discussion.”

Safi’s heel stilled. Her ire flamed higher. “Of course, my Emperor.” She flashed a dazzling smile. “I look forward to it.”

Leopold must have sensed that his moment had come because he glanced Safi’s way midspin. And for once, she did not look away. Instead she arched her eyebrows.

He smiled—a beautiful smile because everything Leopold did was beautiful. Then his spin carried him away.

Moments later, the current dance ended and Leopold materialized before the dais. Dressed in silver velvet, he looked lithe and graceful while also looking more virile and masculine than any other man upon the floor. Safi hoped his Aetherwitched tailor was well paid.

“My Empress.” He bowed low, as he had every night. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

He knew she would say yes tonight. Safi could see it in the way his sea-green eyes gleamed. The way his tongue ran over his top teeth in anticipation.

She wished she could knock those teeth out.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Let us dance.” And with those words, she stood. At once, the court took notice. The voices softened, and all eyes slanted her way.

Curse Henrick for making her do this. Curse Leopold for persistently asking—and curse Leopold for every lie, every trick that had landed her here, imprisoned and separated from her Threadsister.