Tella felt the color drain from her face. God’s blood! Dante was absolutely shameless. “You were spying!”

“I didn’t need to. You were loud.”

Tella should have said she hadn’t meant it—he had to have known she hadn’t meant it—but the last thing she wanted was to boost Dante’s pride. “So this is revenge?”

He leaned even closer. Tella couldn’t discern if the humor had left his gaze or if it had just shifted into something deeper and darker and a little more dangerous. His warm fingers intentionally skimmed the length of her collarbone. Her breathing hitched. Yet she didn’t pull away, even as his eyes became nearly level with hers, coming so close she could feel the sweep of his lashes.

“Let’s just say we’re even now.” His lips moved to the corner of her mouth.

Then, right before making contact, he pulled away. “I wouldn’t wish to repeat something so unpleasant for you.”

Without another word, Dante strutted off, his wide shoulders shaking, as if he were laughing.

Tella burned. After what Dante had just done, they were far from even.

The matron returned several rapid heartbeats later, with a smile tighter than fresh stitches. “It seems we have an available suite in Elantine’s golden tower.”

Tella swallowed a gasp. Maybe Dante had done her a favor after all.

Next to the city’s numerous ruins, Elantine’s golden tower was the oldest structure in the Empire. Rumored to have walls made of pure gold and all sorts of secret passages for monarchs to sneak out of, many believed it wasn’t just a replica of Tower Lost from the Decks of Destiny but that it was the actual tower, with dormant magic hidden inside it.

“Guests are not normally allowed in the tower,” the matron said as she led Tella from the sapphire wing into a glass courtyard, where fancifully dressed clusters of people meandered under opalescent arches and crystal trees with silver leaves. Unfamiliar with palace culture, having grown up on an unrespected conquered isle, Tella wondered if they were part of Elantine’s court, or if these were some other guests that the matron had mentioned.

“You’re not to have any visitors,” the matron continued. “Not even your fiancé is welcome inside your room.”

Tella might have said she’d never dream of letting a boy enter her room, but it was probably best not to pile too many lies on top of each other or they might all come tumbling down.

At the end of the courtyard there was only one set of doors to the golden tower, so grandiose and heavy it took three sentries to pull each one open.

Tella didn’t realize the guard from the carriage house still followed her until he was stopped as Tella and the matron were both let through. Either word of Tella’s engagement had traveled swiftly through the palace, or this head matron was as important as she thought herself. Tella hoped for the latter, knowing as soon as the real heir discovered her ruse, she’d certainly be exposed and kicked out of the palace—or worse. Until then she’d decided to enjoy the charade.

Contrary to the stories, the inside of the tower wasn’t golden; it was old. Even the air smelled archaic, full of forgotten stories and bygone words. On the lower level there were aged stone pillars formed of chipped columns, and decorative capitals carved to look like two-faced women, all lit by crackling black torches that smelled of incense and spells.

From there, the matron shepherded her up floor after creaking floor, each one as old as the first. The door they finally stopped in front of looked so aged, one touch and Tella imagined it might fall off the hinges.

No wonder guests never stayed in here.

“A guard will be posted outside your door at all times.” The matron rang the bell around her neck, summoning a sentry in striking white metal armor. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you as the heir’s fiancée!”

“For some reason, I don’t believe that’s true,” Tella said.

The matron’s smile returned, spreading slowly, like a stain. “At least you’re sharper than you look. But if you really are engaged to the heir, then it’s not Her Majesty’s guards you should fear.”

“I actually don’t believe in fearing anything.” Tella shut the door, leaving the woman in the hall before she could say another pointed word, or Tella could blurt out more things she shouldn’t.

It wasn’t smart to upset servants. Of course, it also wasn’t wise to lie about being a royal heir’s fiancée. She’d have to pay Dante back for that one.

Though, to his credit, he had garnered her a fantastic suite. The tower might have been a relic, but her rooms were marvelous.

Moonlight flooded in through the windows, casting everything in a dreamy glow. Someone had already set a tray of good-night sweets atop one of the sitting room’s dainty glass tables. Tella plucked a star-shaped cookie as she wandered past two white stone fireplaces into a lavish bedroom covered in carpets of glory blue. They matched the heavy curtains hanging from the inviting canopy bed. Tella wanted to collapse atop it and sleep all her troubles away.

But she needed to write Scarlett first and let her know she was—

Two voices tripped out of the corner.

Tella’s eyes cut to a cracked door in the crook of the room, which likely led to the bathing room.

She heard the whispers again. Servants, who must have been unaware Tella was there. One voice was light and chirping, the other warm and soft, making her think of a petite bird talking to a plump bunny rabbit.

“I honestly feel sorry for her,” said the bunny girl.

“You’re saying you wouldn’t want to be engaged to the heir?” chirped the birdy one. “Have you seen him?”

“I don’t care what he looks like. He’s a murderer. Everyone knows there were seventeen people between him and Empress Elantine’s throne. Then one by one all the other heirs died in horrific ways.”

“But that doesn’t mean the current one killed them all.”

“I don’t know,” murmured the bunny. “I heard he’s not even part of the noble bloodline, but he’s murdered so many people the real heir won’t step forward.”

“You’re ridiculous, Barley!” The bird girl squawked out a laugh. “You shouldn’t believe every rumor you hear.”

“What about the rumor that he killed his last fiancée?”

Both maids went abruptly quiet.

In the tense silence Tella thought she heard Death’s rasping laugh. It grated like rusty metal sawing into bone. The same exact sound had greeted her as she’d plunged from that awful balcony during Caraval. A gruesome welcome to a hideous kingdom. Now it served as a chilling reminder that she’d once been Death’s, and he wanted her back.

Tella was going to kill Dante. Slowly. With her hands.

Or maybe Tella would use her gloves to kill him—she’d tie the sheaths of satin around his throat—then she would use her naked hands to finish off the job. Not only had the brooding bastard given her a fake fiancé with a bad temper, he’d chosen a murderous one. Tella might have been able to appreciate how well constructed his petty vengeance was if she’d not been the subject of it.

9

Tella continued to think of different ways to harm or embarrass Dante as she stumbled out of bed the next morning. She could find him that night at the ball, when Caraval began, and accidentally spill wine all over him. Of course, since Dante was so fond of black, that might be a waste of wine, and most likely just make her appear clumsy.