“Do you trust me?” Scarlett said.

“With my life. But I’ve met your father and I have a difficult time putting faith in anyone who would make a deal with him.”

“Nicolas isn’t like that.”

When Scarlett had first written Nicolas after learning she’d not truly met him during Caraval, he had been away from the continent mourning her. Her father had lied and said Scarlett and her sister had both died in an accident. He had no idea what a horrible man Marcello Dragna was.

And Nicolas was nothing like her father. He was drawings of plants, and anecdotes about his dog, Timber. He was a rule-follower like her; he believed in tradition so much he’d waited until today to meet her. Nicolas was safe. Scarlett couldn’t see him breaking her heart. Julian had already broken her heart twice, and even if Julian didn’t intentionally do it again, her heart would break for him eventually.

When Scarlett had first written Nicolas she’d only wanted to meet him, to cure her curiosity. Then Julian had left for so long, and Nicolas’s letters had been there when Julian hadn’t. Steady when Julian had been unreliable.

As a part of Caraval, Julian was ageless. He could die and stay dead if someone killed him when a game wasn’t in play, but he would never grow old as long as he was one of Legend’s performers. Scarlett could never ask him to give that up.

She didn’t know if Legend would still hold the games now that he was to become emperor. But given how Julian had just disappeared for weeks, it was clear Legend still controlled him. Any future Scarlett and Julian might have together was destined not to last. And yet even knowing all of this, she couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand away from his.

“I don’t want you to walk back to the palace,” she said. “But if you ruin this, I swear on the stars, I will never speak to you again. The count has to believe you’re a chaperone. We can tell him that you’re my cousin.”

“That’s not going to work unless you’re fine with him believing you have an inappropriate relationship with your cousin.” Julian darted closer and pressed a quick kiss to her neck.

Scarlett felt her cheeks go red. “Don’t you dare do anything like that!”

He lounged back, laughing hard enough to shake the carriage. “I was only kidding, Crimson, although now I’m tempted to follow through.”

8

Scarlett

Sweat beaded between Scarlett’s toes as a servant led her down a hall covered in detailed wainscoting and thick crown molding.

There might have been some cracks in the molding, which gave her a hint of pause. Nicolas had never said it, but at one point, she’d imagined that he’d only wanted to marry her because of her father’s wealth. But she wasn’t connected to her father anymore. If Nicolas ever chose to propose, it would be because of her.

Now the palms of her hands were sweating even more than her toes. She wanted to wipe the damp on her gown, but it would be worse to have obvious streaks marring the deep pink fabric.

Scarlett took several shallow breaths, trying to calm herself as the servant opened the door to a sprawling garden covered in glass. “His Lordship will meet you in here.”

Sprightly hummingbirds zipped from plant to plant, mirroring the state of Scarlett’s chaotic stomach as she stepped through the doorway. Everything smelled of pollen and flowers and budding romance.

Nicolas had recently drawn her a bouquet of hybrid flowers and told her that he enjoyed experimenting in the garden. She’d thought he’d written it to sound impressive, but clearly someone played with the plants in here. There were clusters of white Valendan faisies with velvet-blue vines, silver spider lilies that shined under the light, and yellow stems of sunflowers with jade-green petals.

Not too far from the door rested a copper table set with a bouquet of bright pink peonies, a pitcher of minted lemonade, sandwiches of seeded bread, and tiny tarts covered in white plums. Enough to be thoughtful without going over the top.

Julian eyed the little feast suspiciously, as if the lemonade was poisonous and the sandwiches hid razor blades. “It’s not too late to leave.”

“I’m exactly where I want to be.” Scarlett perched on the edge of a large copper chair. “But you’re free to go whenever you wish.”

“Don’t tell me you really like it here.” Julian’s eyes lifted toward a slice of the glass ceiling covered in ladybugs. “There’s something off. Even the insects want to escape.”

“Ahem.” Someone cleared his throat. “His Lordship, Count Nicolas d’Arcy.”

Scarlett’s breath caught.

Clipped boot steps, heavier than she would have expected, followed the servant’s voice.

She thought she’d imagined her former fiancé as every possible sort of man. She’d pictured him short, tall, slender, wide, old, young, bald, hairy, handsome, plain, pale, dark, brooding, cheerful. She’d pictured him dressed in frilly frockcoats and dour suits as she tried to imagine the first thing he’d say upon meeting her.

She’d imagined what she’d say to him as well. But her words tangled together as he stepped forward and took her hand in his.

Nicolas was a mountain. The large hand holding Scarlett’s could have just as easily crushed it as cradled it. He was almost a full foot taller than her—all muscled legs, burly arms, and brown hair so thick that even though it appeared he’d tried to tame it, a wide lock fell over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance, which was added to by his slightly crooked spectacles.

He looked the way she would have imagined a vigilante who had a secret identity as a gentleman botanist.

Beside him trailed a great black dog the size of a small pony. Timber. Scarlett had heard a lot about him in Nicolas’s letters. His tail wagged and his ears went back at the sight of Scarlett, obviously excited. But the dog didn’t leave his master’s side; he sat obediently as Nicolas brought her hand to his full mouth.

Her dress clearly liked him. Her low neckline was now rimmed with roughly cut gems that sent sparks of light all over the glassed-in garden.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Scarlett managed.

He smiled, wide and sincere. “I’m tempted to say you’re even prettier than I imagined, but I would hate you to think me unoriginal.”

“Too late,” Julian coughed.

A wrinkle formed between Nicolas’s thick brows as he noticed Scarlett’s companion. “And you are?”

“Julian.” He offered his hand.

But Nicolas refused to let go of Scarlett’s. “I wasn’t aware Scarlett had a brother.”

“I’m not her brother.” Julian kept his tone friendly, but Scarlett felt a surge of bruising purple panic as devilry sparked in Julian’s eyes. “I’m not related to her at all. I’m an actor she played with during Caraval.”

He emphasized the words played with, and Scarlett could have choked him. Julian would choose now to finally be honest.

Not that Nicolas appeared disturbed. The young count’s broad smile remained even as he pet Timber with his free hand.

But Julian wasn’t finished.

“I’m not surprised she’s never mentioned me. At the start of Caraval I don’t think she liked me much. But then we were given the same bedroom—”

“Julian, enough,” Scarlett cut in.

Nicolas’s smile finally fell. He released her fingers, as if taking them had been a mistake.

“It’s not the way it sounds. Julian and I are only friends,” she said, deciding not to even touch the word bedroom. “He met my father during Caraval and he was nervous you might be like him. He wanted to come today because he’s protective of me. But allowing that was evidently a mistake.” She shot a narrow look in Julian’s direction.

He appeared unapologetic, shrugging as he sank his hands into his pockets.

“Nicolas, please—”

“It’s all right, Scarlett.” The count’s voice rumbled deeper than before, but the angry lines around his mouth were gone. “I won’t say I’m pleased about this. But after learning the truth about your father and hearing about the fiancé you met during Caraval, I can understand.”

Nicolas turned back to Julian, and Scarlett stared as the young men finally shook hands. “Thank you for watching out for her during the game.”

“I’ll always watch out for her,” Julian said.

“What about when you’re not needed?” Nicolas asked.

Julian threw his shoulders back and stood taller. “I’ll let Scarlett make that choice.”

“Julian, stop,” Scarlett said.

“It’s all right.” Nicolas scratched his dog behind the ears. “I don’t mind a bit of competition. In fact, I’d prefer to know who else is trying to win your hand.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Julian said. “Winning implies this is a game.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” said Nicolas.

“I know.” Julian smirked. “Games are what I do. But I don’t think you were using it figuratively. You want to win her by proving you’re the best.”