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He had a gambling scheme going, one that was rigged. He has a monster ally in the city, one who seems to know which Offering will make a strong match and which won’t. Edward didn’t tell me what he had on the monster, but I knew it must be something good.

Because Edward knew the best matches already before the night had even begun. That monster had given him his foresight and allowed Edward to make risky bets, ones that had earned him a lot of money.

Enough to buy my trust? I wonder as my dress changes color and form, courtesy of my peach-flavored tonic. I’m about to see Edward for lunch, but I’m feeling rather lethargic.

There’s a pit inside my stomach that only seems to grow. I hunger for something I can’t have. Something dark, depraved.

Something dangerous.

Sniffing, I grab another one of the tonics.

The one that keeps me awake.

I haven’t slept in four days, and I don’t intend to sleep tonight. Sleep is something I can’t face, not until I’m satisfied that I won’t encounter figments in my dreams.

Yet, my treacherous body yearns for what it can’t have. The sensation of being poked full of holes until I want to scream makes me woozy, and I waver on my feet.

Beatrix scowls again as she steadies me. I know she doesn’t approve, but she doesn’t chastise me. Instead, she seems resigned.

Footsteps at the door make me glance up with a practiced smile.

“I was just finishing up, Edwa—” I begin, only to cut myself off when I see Duchess Rinhold, not my future husband.

And she seems furious. A pinch in her brow makes her look older, despite her plentiful use of anti-aging tonics. Her curls fray around her head as if she’s been grasping at them.

A staff of cloaked figures stand around her, making my spine go stiff. Whatever she has in mind, it can’t be good.

Her lips twist into a snarl when I try to smile at her. It’s an odd reaction, and I certainly don’t expect the foul word that drips from her mouth.

“Whore.”

My eyes fling open wide. “Duchess Rinhold,” I begin, not sure what to say against such an accusation. “If you presume I’ve been unfaithful, I assure you⁠—”

“I know,” she says, dipping her chin with finality as if I should know what that means.

“Know what?” I ask.

She sighs as if I’m being ridiculous. “Did you think there wouldn’t be any evidence?”

“Evidence?” I parrot.

She actually growls at me. “Edward’s courtship mark is gone!”

My jaw drops open.

Why would it disappear?

Unless…

“Check her,” the Duchess says with a snap of her finger.

The blood drains from my face when I realize who the cloaked figures are. Reflective metal glints on their chest as they move, betraying stethoscopes hiding underneath the fabric. They’re not servants.

They’re medical doctors. All of them male, based on their physiques.

Check her.

What are they going to check?