If That's What You Want

The last traces of the drug lingering in my body didn't fade until a full day had passed. Whether Lyft had given the word or not, no one entered my room all day. At mealtimes, Marianne left a trolley outside the door.

By lunch I was well enough to get around, but I stayed shut inside, afraid that if they knew I'd recovered, Lyft would come looking for me. I had no idea how I was supposed to look him in the eye. It would have been easier if I couldn't remember. The problem was that I remembered everything far too vividly.

The image of myself clinging to his neck, wringing pleasure from him, rose unbidden — and a groan slipped out of me.

"Think of it as being bitten by a dog," he'd said.

In this case, who had bitten whom?

I stared out the window at the greening April world, mocking myself, then turned away. I couldn't stay in this room forever. I had one more man to kill now. That meant more work, not less.

First, I would have to see Viscount Cecilia again.

A letter from the viscount requesting a meeting sat on my desk. Had he not known Count Noerd would do that to me? Or had he known, and taken me there anyway? I had to see him regardless — if only to confirm whether our arrangement still held, the one in which he would introduce me to the prince.

The next morning, I left for Viscount Cecilia's residence the moment breakfast was over. The viscount started complaining the instant he laid eyes on me.

"What happened that night? Count Noerd was in a fury — said you'd vanished without a word."

"He... was in a fury?"

"A fury? That's putting it mildly. He was raising hell, demanding I bring you back at once. Did something happen between you and the count?"

Viscount Cecilia narrowed his eyes. I could feel him probing. I kept my face blank and turned the question back on him.

"And what did he say happened between us?"

The viscount shrugged, dodging the question. That was all. He would have given me the same shrug even if I'd been brutalized by the count. He changed the subject as if there was nothing more to say about that night.

"At any rate, Count Noerd is no longer cooperating, so arranging a private audience with His Highness has become rather difficult."

"Meaning you can no longer keep your promise?"

"Don't be so hasty. I mean we should look for another way. It won't be easy, but I'll try to obtain an invitation to a banquet hosted by the Imperial Family."

"I can get a banquet invitation on my own."

I answered his show of generosity with a scoff. If it were a small private gathering hosted by the Empress, perhaps. But a banquet hosted by the Imperial Family? The Marchioness of Derian would certainly be invited. If she put in a word, getting into the banquet hall wouldn't be difficult. But I wasn't trying to meet the prince so I could gawk at him from across a ballroom.

My reply — implying that was the extent of his usefulness — earned a loud snort from Viscount Cecilia.

"The Marchioness of Derian could get you an invitation, certainly. But she couldn't introduce you to His Highness."

"And you can?"

"Of course I can! I'll present you to His Highness myself."

Viscount Cecilia puffed out his chest, wearing a supremely confident smile. The words rose to my throat — then why did we have to go to Salon Minerva in the first place? — but I swallowed them with a bitter smile.

It wasn't quite Count Noerd bragging that he could invite the prince to a party of his own hosting, but being able to introduce someone to the prince at an imperial banquet was power of a kind. Even as an associate member of the 27th Street Club, he apparently had that much of a connection to the prince. That was the ceiling of his influence, even after selling out his own wife to curry favor.

"I'll make the introduction, but catching His Highness's eye — that's your job."

"And if I don't catch his eye?"

"Then there's nothing I can do. You should have handled things better that night."

As if everything were my fault. Viscount Cecilia said it curtly. I wanted to ask him what, exactly, I was supposed to have done better. I wanted to seize him by the throat and ask if he'd given Dorothy the same advice before dragging her to that place.

I was growing less and less certain how much longer I could tolerate this man. My palms had been aching for some time, as if they'd split and started to bleed. I unclenched my fists and stood. There was nothing more to extract from the viscount, and I was in no mood for tea.

"Fine. Just send me the invitation."

"I'll say it again — that's as far as I go."

I couldn't say it aloud, but my patience would go no further than that, either.

"Understood. Oh, and don't bother with a dress. Your taste and mine don't align."

I turned my back on Viscount Cecilia's stunned face and left.

I returned to Daisy House with a weary heart, only to find the last person I wanted to see waiting for me.

"I hear you visited Viscount Cecilia's residence."

Lyft rose from the sofa as he spoke. I ignored him, taking off my hat and handing it to Marianne. I caught her as she was about to tidy away the hat and coat and leave, stalling for time.

"Marianne. Tea, please."

"Yes, my lady."

I sat at the dressing table and pretended Lyft didn't exist until Marianne brought the tea. But once the cups were on the table, I could no longer avoid facing him.

I took a sip of tea whose scent I couldn't even identify and set the cup down — and at last, after a long silence, he spoke.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

I fired the answer off before he'd even finished the question, and Lyft closed his mouth again. I drank my tea, avoiding the persistent gaze he kept trained on me, until I couldn't stand it any longer and spoke first.

"Viscount Cecilia has agreed to get me an invitation to an imperial banquet. He says he'll introduce me to the prince there."

"In four days, Her Majesty the Empress will host her regular banquet at the Imperial Palace. That's likely the one you'll attend."

"I'll have seen the entire palace at this rate."

"Every noble close to Her Majesty will be in attendance."

"I don't care what kind of banquet it is. My goal is to meet the prince."

"Count Noerd will be there as well."

I froze, the empty teacup still in my hand. I'd known I would have to face him eventually. I hadn't expected it to be this soon. I still hadn't decided what face I would wear when I saw him again.

I set the cup down slowly and lifted my head. I met the amber eyes watching me and asked,

"My lady."

"I'm just asking. What happens?"

Lyft swept his hair back, looking troubled. He studied me for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether I meant it, then answered with a shallow sigh.

"Anyone found carrying a weapon in the Imperial Palace, regardless of reason, is subject to investigation for treason. If the matter is deemed grave enough, the Imperial Guard may carry out summary execution."

"I see. So even if I want to kill him, I'll have to restrain myself at the palace."

At my answer, something deepened in Lyft's eyes.

"If you mean that, I'll find a way."

I let out a short laugh at the grim resolve in his gaze. I wasn't mocking him. I was almost touched that he would try to match my rage.

"Why? Are you going to drag Count Noerd in for me?"

I'd meant it as a joke. Lyft was serious.

He wasn't a man who made empty offers. He meant it. Which only made it stranger.

Lyft's target wasn't Count Noerd. It was Prince Renjer. Hauling the count in and punishing him would soothe me, certainly — but at this stage, going after Count Noerd would gain Lyft nothing.

What's more, even if he did bring him in, there was no proper charge to prosecute him on. The evidence that Count Noerd had slipped an aphrodisiac into my drink was gone, and no one had witnessed what he'd tried to do to me. All the bartender who'd rescued me had seen was Count Noerd, collapsed after I'd smashed a vase over his head.

If the Police Bureau moved against him, Count Noerd's people would charge me with assault — or attempted murder. The bartender, who seemed to have been an undercover agent of the Bureau, would have his testimony dismissed as a conspiracy: me and the Police Bureau framing him. And since we actually were in league, I'd be the one at a disadvantage. Far from any real punishment, it would only be my reputation that hit the floor.

Lyft couldn't possibly not know this.

"Would putting him on trial help bring down the prince?"

I asked, wondering if he had some other plan. The muscle in Lyft's jaw went taut. His amber eyes darkened, heavy with anger. He was furious — and I couldn't understand why.

As I stared at him, bewildered, Lyft pressed his fingers into the space between his brows and let out a slow breath.

"I didn't mean I would put him on trial."

That made even less sense. If he wasn't going to put Count Noerd on trial, did that mean he intended to abduct him and drag him in — the way he'd done with me? That wouldn't be an investigation. That would be joining me in a private act of revenge.

That, too, would be of no use to Lyft whatsoever. And yet his eyes were still utterly serious.