"Is everything all right?" the Duke asks with mild concern.
Mirelle's glare says keep your mouth shut. I press my lips together and dare her to try me again.
Ysolde, the eldest of my sisters and the most serene of us, places a hand over Mirelle's. Mirelle's nostrils flare. Then she turns to the Duke with a sweet smile.
"Everything is quite all right," I manage. "My boots pinch."
I rub the top of my foot. It isn't for show. Godsdamn. I knew Mirelle was good in combat. I didn't know her skills extended to footwear.
And I know why she did it. She doesn't want me causing trouble with this family. For three months, she has attended balls, come home smelling like cologne, and believed herself invisible. She's well-bred, but she isn't half as sly as she thinks.
The human boy she has chosen is the son of the man at the end of this table.
I don't like Caden Voss. I haven't met Caden Voss. How can both things be true?
I don't care. Something is wrong with this family. I can feel it every time the Duke looks at us, and whatever is wrong will reach Mirelle eventually.
And I swear it isn't only because she's the last one. The last unattached sister. The last...
"Glad it's quite all right," the Duke says, returning to his food. "You never know with boots these days. Inferior craftsmanship."
I breathe slowly through my nose and give him a pleasant smile.
Mirelle's expression says everything when I look back at her.
Ruin this and I will end you.
Ysolde leans over and whispers something too softly for me to hear. My sisters have always been like that. There are four of them, and they understand one another without needing to explain. The only brother stands outside the circle.
I've stood outside it my whole life.
Most days, it doesn't hurt.
The vial presses against my chest. The spell isn't permanent, but would a month be enough? A month for Mirelle to see Caden clearly? A month without whatever hold he has on her?
She'll be distracted at some point tonight. Servants refill the cups. No one watches every goblet.
I could keep her safe.
The hair on the back of my neck rises.
Ma is watching me.
Not glancing. Watching. She has had that same sharp attention since before I could walk. It misses nothing and forgives only when it chooses.
There is no way she knows what's in my pocket.
Does she?
"Torgan," she croons, and I know that tone. There are reasons the females of our kind are considered deadlier than the males. "Escort me outside. We could both use the air."
Saskia and Mirelle snicker. Everyone at the table recognizes a reprimand when they hear one.
"Please, Torgan," Ma adds gently. "My breathing pains me a little tonight. The fresh air would help."
Her injury is over a decade old, and she uses it because she knows I can't refuse. Not that.Never that.
Pa's attention lifts from his plate.
