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‘Stop looking at me like that,’ he says, frowning. ‘It’s only some fruit, not a wedding cake.’

‘You care,’ she whispers, just to irritate him, and he huffs.

Leander has been assigned the Saturn Room. He can tell that Genevieve is curious, craning her neck to peer inside, but he tells her to wait in the hallway and shuts the door in her face. Then he must pause and close his eyes for a moment, attempting to come to terms with the dress the Château has supplied her with that morning, which is so sheer as to be translucent, all clinging white silk and soft curves. ‘Why?’ he mutters to the door. ‘Why?’ And the door rumbles beneath his hand as if it is laughing.

Leander has some food he’s foraged in his drawer. He can vaguely recall where he found some of it, but not all. Mushrooms gathered in the woods; a cluster of cherries. He can’t remember when he took these things, but they still seem fresh enough. It is rare that he grows hungry, but when he does, it’s a comfort to eat something that the Château hasn’t prepared. He wraps up the food in cloth, tying it so the parcel can dangle from one hand. Then he retrieves a woollen blanket from the cupboard, waiting neatly folded for him to find.

When Leander steps back towards the door, he can hear voices outside. He opens it a tiny crack to observe Genevieve and Orestes conversing in the corridor. Orestes is wearing a gaudy suit of tangerine pinstripe trousers, a scarlet spencer, and a tiara of pearls and coral. At least he is the correct height, the top of his head reaching only her shoulder.

‘. . . sorely missed at breakfast,’ Orestes is saying. ‘Was the food not to your liking?’

Genevieve takes a mincing step back from him. ‘Naturally, it was,’ she demurs. ‘I am afraid I was still quite full from dinner.’

‘Oh? But we have noticed you have eaten very little at Château Reverie,’ he says, his expression as open and pleasant as ever. ‘We do all we can to accommodate our guests’ wishes, of course, but if you refuse our hospitality, it may have unintended consequences.’

‘Is that why I remember Saliha Sultan?’ Genevieve asks with impressive boldness. ‘What happened to her?’

‘Nothing that need concern you, mademoiselle, as long as you continue to conduct yourself with such impeccable manners as you have. That said’—and here his eyes glance briefly to the door, meeting Leander’s gaze—‘curiosity and crassness are close cousins; be certain not to mistake one for the other.’

Genevieve has yet to notice that Leander is listening. She wrings her hands. ‘What of Monsieur Ortiz?’

‘What of him, mademoiselle?’

‘Where is he? He was not present this morning.’

‘You will find him soon enough,’ the Auctioneer replies with a smile.

Leander has had enough. He emerges from his rooms, the blanket tucked beneath his arm and the bundle of food dangling from his right hand. He glares at Orestes. Orestes smiles back at him, guileless and uninterested.

‘Ah, Monsieur Sterne. Good morning. Dinner begins at five this evening, and there shall be music and fireworks after, of course, to celebrate the final night of the auction. Bidding is at dawn, as you are aware.’

‘I know,’ Leander says.

Orestes bows, spins on his heel, and walks away.

‘You do not like him,’ Genevieve says once he’s gone.

‘I don’t like anyone involved with this Company,’ Leander replies, which is true enough.

Genevieve tilts her head, flutters her dark lashes. Even when she isn’t trying to flirt, she holds herself with such affected loveliness. ‘I saw you, you know,’ she says. ‘Last night in the garden. Playing music to the birds.’

‘Perhaps you were imagining things.’

‘Perhaps. I do not believe I was.’

Leander considers this. There’s little point in denying it, but little point in confirming it, either. Let her think she was dreaming of him. He can indulge himself that much.

‘I hope you’re fond of cherries,’ he says, raising the linen-wrapped parcel for her to inspect. ‘I have little else. I know a place we can eat, outside the Château’s watch.’

‘No,’ she replies.

‘Pardon?’

‘We must find Monsieur Ortiz first. What if he is in trouble?’

He’s almost certainly in trouble, Leander thinks. Ortiz has done something to accrue a penalty, if the other guests have already forgotten him. No doubt some temptation, some trap that the Lady left for him. Why seek him out? And at that moment, a rare memory arises: at some moment in the Château before this auction, he and Orestes together. His brother saying to him, You must understand, Leander. Mother is cruel because she loves us. For her, it is kinder to be cruel than it is to be kind.

Kinder to be cruel. Genevieve still doesn’t understand. She has seen the Château bleed and knows Saliha Sultan has disappeared; she has witnessed the glazed stares of servants who no longer know who they are. And yet she remains under the illusion that there is some safety in this place, that there is still sense and compassion. She does not know what the Company is capable of, and she does not know what Leander is capable of, either—not when he is so close to understanding the truth of why she is here. And the moment he does understand, she will be in terrible danger.