The seamstress stopped in front of a closed door at the end of the hall. “Why don’t you go in and get situated, pet? I’ll pop back with your items in a few.”

The woman disappeared down the hall and Tella reached for the doorknob. She half expected to find chandeliers made of poison bottles dangling from an aubergine ceiling, mirrors lined with swords, and dressing hooks made of silver daggers.

She’d not expected to see him.

Tella’s stomach dipped and her heart might have flipped, the same way it always did whenever she met Dante.

He didn’t lounge or rest, he possessed.

In the corner of the suite, atop a raised platform, he sat back in an excessively large black leather chair as if he ruled the world from it. His generous shoulders and chest consumed his temporary throne rather than the other way around. His posture was straight but not rigid, as if he didn’t know how to slouch, only how to take up space.

Arrogant scoundrel. Yet even as Tella thought the words, heat spread across her chest as she said, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

A slow, superior raise of his brows.

Tella’s world tilted once again. “You sent the letter?”

“Disappointed I’m not Jacks?”

She slammed the door shut. “Are you mad? Do you know what my fiancé will do if he discovers this?”

“He’ll only find out if you tell him,” Dante answered coolly. “And there’s no need to pretend with me that you two are actually engaged.”

Silent alarms filled the dressing chamber as Jacks’s words rushed back to Tella:

Take your tattooed friend over there … he’s one of Legend’s performers, so I can’t kill him this week. But if he discovers the truth, I could easily end his life once the game is over.

“Maybe I’m not pretending.” Tella started to put on her sweetest smile, but she imagined Dante would know it was false, and she needed to convince him this was the truth. She twisted her mouth into the sort of smirk usually worn by overconfident young men. “When Jacks and I kissed, did it look as if I was acting?”

Dante’s intense gaze remained frustratingly level, but Tella swore a muscle ticked near the corner of his jaw. “I’m not sure what you two are doing, but I don’t believe you’re getting married.”

“Why?” Tella challenged. “Because you doubt the heir to the throne would want to marry me?”

A slow curl of his lips said more than any insult ever could. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Red burst across Tella’s cheeks. She was trying to keep Jacks from killing him, but Dante couldn’t stop being cruel. “Did you just come here to mock me?”

“What have I said that’s mocking? You leap to too many conclusions, Tella.” He leaned closer as he said her name, drawing out the syllables, as if it were something he wanted to hold on to. “Maybe I was going to tell you that you’re clever and funny and beautiful. I always thought you were too smart to marry a murderer.”

“And I’ve always thought some risks are worth taking,” Tella countered, ignoring the way Dante’s use of the words clever and funny and beautiful continued to flutter about inside her. “Jacks is handsome and rich, and soon he’s going to rule the entire Meridian Empire, which means I’ll be the next empress. So, I suppose I should be thanking you for making our introduction possible.”

Dante’s eyes blazed, a brief spark of fire. He might not have liked what she’d said, but maybe Tella had finally convinced him.

“If you really think I did you a favor—” Dante cut off.

The line of his vision fell, the fire dying in his eyes. He pushed up from his chair, leaped from the platform, and captured Tella’s wrist in one abrupt move. “What happened to your hand?”

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Each sound mirrored her slowing pulse. Dark, red, unforgiving blood fell from her nails, soaking every fingertip on her right hand. Jacks.

Coldness swept over Tella’s skin and started sinking in like claws. That wretched, deceitful, remorseless, pain-enjoying prince of vile. It wasn’t enough that he’d cursed her to unrequited love; he really was killing her. The slower heartbeats weren’t merely in her mind.

White and black spots danced before Tella’s eyes.

Three more fat beads of blood fell from her fingernails, leaving fresh stains on the amethyst carpet. But all Tella heard was Jacks’s mocking voice warning her there would be side effects from kissing his cursed lips.

“I didn’t realize I was still bleeding,” Tella lied. “I caught my hand in a carriage door earlier. I should probably go and get it looked at.”

Dante held her tighter. “I can take care of it.” He yanked off his cravat; his movements were terse, but his hands were excruciatingly careful as he pressed the fabric to her fingers.

Tella’s breathing hitched.

Dante shouldn’t have been touching her so tenderly, or pulling her closer with every movement, and she shouldn’t have been letting him. She should have pushed his giant hands away. Growled at him as he slowly wrapped the warm silk that had encircled his throat around her bleeding hand. Not only because of Jacks’s threats, but because of who Dante worked for.

Tella really tried not to give much thought to what would happen when she handed Legend over to Jacks, but she doubted it would be a favorable outcome. Legend could be wicked, but the Prince of Hearts was evil. The sort who’d rip a girl’s heart from her chest and sink his teeth into it as if it were an apple.

To protect herself, she needed to stay away from Dante. Even if for a brief moment she just wanted to close her eyes and collapse in his arms.

“Tell me what really happened last night after the heir took you away.” His voice was soothing and commanding all at once, like the crackle of flames devouring wood. Fierce and fatal, yet somehow steady and reassuring. The type of voice a girl could have easily been consumed by.

“I really don’t need your assistance.” Tella yanked her hand away, freeing it from the silk and spattering her lacy gown with blood as she broke Dante’s spell before it could be fully cast.

He looked as if he wanted to reach for her. If her unsteady legs so much as swayed his way, she imagined he’d capture her in his arms and hold her so close she’d willingly confess her every sin and secret.

But he didn’t honestly care. He was just acting. Playing a role.

She forced herself to take a step back.

A vein throbbed in Dante’s neck. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!”

Another bead of blood dripped to the floor.

Stars joined the spots in front of Tella’s eyes. And before she could take more than one step back, Dante was there, holding her wrist once more, and maybe he was holding her a little more together, as he finished the job he’d started. Tella wouldn’t admit it to him, but she felt a little less light-headed as his wide, warm hands wrapped her bloody fingers inside his cravat.

“I’d let you go, but you just admitted you need help.” His voice was softer than before. “Tell me what that murderer wants from you.”

Why did he have to be so stubborn? Couldn’t he just wrap up her fingers and leave her alone?

“Can’t you just let this go and pretend you believe it?” she asked. “You’re worried about me, but this endangers you, too. If Jacks finds out you know the truth, he’ll hurt you in ways that not even Legend can fix.” She said it like a threat, but rather than releasing her, Dante gave her a flash of teeth that looked a lot like a smile.