Barthl is lingering too close for my comfort. He hasn’t noticed us, fixated on the study doorway, spidery fingers gnarling in hiskrebatte.
“Fine. But no more excuses. If there’s an opening to eliminate her, you take it. We’ve put a significant amount of effort into identifying and organizing sympathizers, and committed more of our treasury than you have any right to.”
“I’ll decide what I have a right to.” Adalbrecht’s voice leaps to a crescendo; she’s struck a nerve. “I am the margrave and yoursuperior—”
A loud and unmistakable floorboard creak splits down the hall. The study falls silent.
Barthl blanches, then scuttles back toward the servant corridor.
“Hello?” Irmgard calls out. “Who’s out there?”
The coal dust of bad luck begins tumbling through my sight.
Emeric and I look at each other, wide-eyed. The linen-closet door is still conspicuously ajar. I hastily pull it as close to shut as I dare, but if that latch clicks it’ll sound like a thunderclap in this quiet.
“Stay here,” Adalbrecht orders. Footsteps fall like the stroke of an executioner’s axe, passing the closet. From the angle he’s at, it’s hard to spot that the door’s cracked open, but when he comes back, it’ll stick out like a
sore thumb. And I know he’ll spot it, because misfortune rains around us.
We’re trapped.
I steel myself and whisper, “Well, this is happening. Canoodling youths it is.”
Emeric wrings his jacket in his hands. “There has to be an alternative—”
“We get caught and probably die, that’s the alternative,” I hiss back. I pull his jacket free and toss it haphazardly on a shelf, like it was discarded in the throes of a very unlikely passion, and undo a few buttons on my blouse to add to the illusion. Then I make myself grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer. “If it’s any consolation, this isn’t how I envisioned my first—”
“No.” He braces a hand on the shelf behind my head, leaning away like I’m poison. “I don’t—I don’t want to do this.”
I let go, a little staggered.
He doesn’t want to kiss me.
No—not justdoesn’t want. The notion is so repellent, he would rather get caught by Adalbrecht, the monster at both of our throats.
Oh gods, I want todie. I want the floor to cave in. I want to shrink until I’m small enough to hide behind the towels. It’s not that I want to kiss him—I don’t think I do—it’s just gutting to be reminded that without the pearls, I’m not . . .
Not Gisele.
It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself.
I don’t know what I expected.
I may not be a good person, but I know too well how it feels to have something forced on me, and I won’t do that to anyone. “We don’t have to, actually,you know, it just has to look close enough,” I say in a rush. “Just follow my lead. All right?”
Adalbrecht’s footsteps have reached the end of the hall; he’ll be doubling back any moment now.
Emeric gives a pained nod. I swipe some of the charcoal smudge from his cheek onto mine. Then I move his free hand to my waist, wrap my arms around his neck, and give his hair a quick tousle for good measure. “Head down.”
I should have pinched my cheeks before this, but I’m pretty sure I can hear all of my blood rushing to my face anyway. What a fool I was, thinking it distracting when Emeric only exhaled on my hand. It’smuchworse when I can hear his every uneven breath an inch from my ear, feel the heat of it on my throat.
“I’m . . . sorry,” he mumbles into my shoulder, “I—”
The closet door swings open.
I let out a squeak and make a show of pushing Emeric away. He stumbles back, and the shame and flush on his face really helps sell this lie, even if it’s wretchedly authentic.
“Prefect Conrad,” Adalbrecht says slowly. “This is unexpected.”
