“I never said—” His voice rises before he catches himself, glancing around to see if anyone noticed, but the other dancers all seem engrossed in their own conversations. Still, he lowers his voice. “Where is this coming from?”

“Art said it was your idea to have me poison Crescentia. There’s enough Encatrio for two people and there are plenty of others in this castle who prove much more of a threat than one spoiled girl. So tell me it’s not just another fire you want me to walk through to prove my loyalty.”

His shoulder muscle tightens under my hand and his skin almost feels warmer.

“It’s not your loyalty I’m worried about,” he says after a moment. “It’s your mind. The Kalovaxians have had you for ten years, Theo. That isn’t something that’s easy to leave behind.”

He’s only giving voice to my own fears, but the words still sting. “I told you, I’m fine. And you’re in no position to be judging someone’s sanity. Don’t tell me five years in the mines didn’t leave their mark on you.”

I can feel his temper roiling, but I don’t flinch from it.

“Every move we make is dangerous, Blaise,” I continue. “And I need people who I can trust. Who trust me.”

He laughs, but it’s a joyless sound. “And yet you clearly don’t trust me, Theo.”

I want to deny it, but he’s right. I believe we want the same things; I believe he would lay down his life to protect me. But I also believe it’s a secondhand loyalty, filtered through his promise to Ampelio. It’s diluted, bound by duty, not necessarily by choice. I thought maybe he cared about me when we kissed, as a person instead of a symbol, but I can still feel his hands around my wrists holding me away, the awkward way he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I’m a duty to him, and that is all.

He’s right: I can’t put my trust in him any more than he can put his trust in me.

“Give me a reason,” I say. “One real reason to poison Cress.”

He licks his lips, eyes darting around, searching for an answer. “They say she’ll be a prinzessin soon enough.”

“We both know she’ll never be a prinzessin. Søren will be dead long before she has a chance to marry him,” I point out. “Give me a real reason and I’ll do it.”

His mouth tightens. “She’s a Kalovaxian. She’s the Theyn’s daughter. Those should be reasons enough,” he snaps. “Why don’t you give me a reason not to kill her?”

“She has no blood on her hands,” I tell him. “She likes to read books and flirt with boys. She isn’t a threat.”

A battle rages behind his eyes and he tightens one hand on my waist. “Captive animals grow to love their captors all the time, even when they beat them. It’s not surprising that you love one of yours.”

The words light a fire in me, though I know in his own way, he means them as a comfort. “I’m not an animal, Blaise. I’m a queen, and I know who my enemies are. Being born to the wrong man doesn’t make her one of them.”

I pull back from him as the song comes to its end and I walk away, half expecting him to follow me. But I suppose he knows me well enough not to.

I’m not halfway across the ballroom when the Kaiser’s broad form cuts into my path, effectively blocking me. I drop to a curtsy, but when I rise he’s still there, still watching me the way he has been all night. My stomach sours.

“Your Highness,” I say.

I keep my eyes averted. I am Thora, docile and broken, I tell myself. I will not anger the Kaiser and he will keep me alive.

“Ash Princess,” he replies, an ugly curve to his mouth. “I hope you thanked the Theyn for his services in the mines these past weeks, subduing the riffraff.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” I reply, though the thought of it makes me sick. How many more of my people did the Theyn kill in his inspections?

He moves aside to let me pass, but when I do, he brushes against me and runs a hand along the curve of my waist and over my hip. Shock floods through me, followed by repulsion. I force myself not to shudder or jerk away, because I know that’s what he wants and it would only make things that much worse. The dagger in my bodice is within reach, and for a moment I let myself imagine pulling it out and drawing it across his throat before he could even realize what was happening. I want to do it so badly it’s painful to hold back. My hands shake, and I struggle to keep them still and at my sides. Guards would be on me in a moment if I tried, and our rising rebellion would be cut short.

It isn’t worth it. Not yet.

He bends his face to mine, close enough that I can smell wine, sour on his breath. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.

“You’ve grown awfully pretty, for a heathen,” he says, low in my ear.

I keep my expression neutral even while his words feel like grime coating my skin. Soon, I promise myself. Soon I will kill him, but not tonight. Tonight I have to play a different part.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” The words aren’t mine, they’re Thora’s, but they still burn my throat.

My heart is hammering so loudly it feels like the whole room can hear it, even over the orchestra. He lingers a moment longer, his grip on my hip tightening, before he is gone. I let out a long, shaky breath and hurry in the opposite direction as quickly as I can.

Blaise stares after the Kaiser, fury clearly etched in his expression. He doesn’t know how to hide it like I do, so it shows in the hard line of his mouth, the crease in his forehead above the mask. When his eyes meet mine, they soften. We remember who our real enemy is.

He makes a move toward me, but I give a minute shake of my head. He already drew attention to himself by dancing with me, and his lies about his identity will hold only until someone asks him the wrong question.

There’s too much at stake to risk a moment of comfort, and I’m not sure I want it from him anyway.

The crowd parts for me, not out of any kind of deference but because no one wants to get ash on their pretty clothes. I cling to the edge of the room, as far from the crowd as I can get. The ghost of the Kaiser’s hand is still on me, his sour breath lingering in my nose. The memory will haunt my nightmares tonight, and probably for a long time to come.

“Still playing games, my little lamb?” a soft voice says from the shadowed alcove behind me.

The Kaiserin waits there, her skeletal frame nearly disappearing in a gray dress that swamps her. Her mask is a strip of black organza that wraps around her temples, with holes cut for her eyes. She is more ghost than woman.

“I’ve never enjoyed games,” I tell her, surprised that my voice comes out level.