Victor nodded slowly. “As long as you’re sure.”
She cleared the lump from her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Victor held up a basket. “Lunch?”
She lifted her foot. One of the thorns was still embedded in her heel. “You do realize I have to sing for your father in one day.”
Victor crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind him. He took a knife from his pocket and braced the flat of the blade against her foot. He had the thorn out in a few seconds and then traced the punctures up her calf, looking for more.
Each press of his fingers was a reminder of the years that had passed between them. They weren’t children anymore. He wasn’t that mischievous boy; he was something else entirely. A man who’d crossed seas and earned his calluses. Still, she felt safe with him, slipping into the familiar pattern of friendship. As far as friends went, he might be the last person she had in this world, now that Gigi was gone. She let him take care of her, just for this moment. His fingertips lit little fires in her skin.
“I thought you were singing for me?”
She thought of the ghost’s fingers moving over the slick black keys. “And why would I do that?”
“I make an excellent audience.”
“Unless you’re putting frogs in the piano.”
He winced. “There wasn’t a trouble I couldn’t find, was there?”
“No.” She wondered what kind of trouble he was bringing to her now.
He reached into his basket, brought out a jar of honey, and peeled off his shirt. He was suntanned and salt flecked, as if he’dbeen to sea that morning. The muscles in his back rippled, still marred by the scars of childhood. The patterns on his back were familiar, so like the ghost’s. She hadn’t expected to see so much of the sun in him, to see years of earned strength beneath his skin. He wasn’t just a captain, sipping rum and shouting orders. He worked alongside his crew, and he had the body to prove it.
He caught her eye, mischief gleaming in his. He’d caught her staring.
Selene cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
“Honey promotes healing.” He applied it gently to each wound, his sticky fingers moving tenderly over her punctured flesh. Carefully, he bound each cut with strips of cloth. When he was finished, his shirt was in tatters. Selene’s leg tingled. Sticky, but snug. “I’ve moved up in the world, ma chérie. I am now second in line for the throne.”
Selene’s eyes went wide. “I wasn’t expecting this type of trouble. What happened?”
“Alexandre has abdicated. Thinks he’ll make a better priest than king.”
Alexandre was such a gentle soul. He’d spent so much of his time in contemplation, pressed like lavender between the pages of an old book. Selene had liked him enough, though she was never sure he had the will to be a good king.
“He’s not wrong.”
“Ah, but that leaves us with Henri.”
Selene let out a breath. She couldn’t think of a single kind thing to say about Henri. He’d set fire to newborn kittens when they were in the palace. Beat a serving girl so badly that she’d lost an eye. Beat Victor, too. Even at ten, he was a self-proclaimed sadist. He could not be king.
“And you,” Selene said, certainty settling around her.
“I’m not cut out for it,” Victor said. “Which I’ve tried to make abundantly clear in these last weeks. Who knew that acting the disastrous rake would actually endear me to the people?”
“So you admit it’s all a ruse?”
Victor held out his hand. “Come with me and find out.”
Selene’s heart pounded in her throat. Everything always seemed so easy for Victor. Every moment a prize to be won. “I’m not allowed to leave.”
“Is this a prison?”
Yes,she thought.
“None of us can go this close to the competition.”
