//CLARA//
Aunt Cornelia acted as if last night hadn’t happened.
Of course she did. That’s what people like her did—swallow the poison, smile, and pretend the room wasn’t still bleeding.
She swept into my room at dawn with a flock of maids trailing behind her like vultures who’d heard sothing was dying. The sun hadn’t even bothered to show up yet, but there she was, armored in pleated black silk, her face painted with rice powder and the kind of poise that cost more than my entire wardrobe.
Hattie stood in the corner, clutching a gown the color of a frozen lake. Appropriate. I felt frozen too.
"You will wear this," Cornelia announced, circling like I was a horse she was thinking of buying. "It covers a multitude of... indiscretions."
Her eyes raked over my fra, lingering on my swollen lip. She thought that was her handiwork. Her slap. Her righteous fury.
It wasn’t.
But I wasn’t about to correct her. Let her take credit. Let her believe she’d left a mark.
The truth—that my lip looked like this because her nephew had bitten it while I begged for more—was none of her damn business.
"It’s lovely, Auntie." I t her gaze in the mirror, my voice dripping honey. "Collared lace. You’ve always had a gift for choosing things that feel like a noose."
Her mouth twitched. The only sign she’d felt the bite.
"Structure is necessary for those who lack discipline, Eleanor." She stepped closer, adjusting a stray curl near my ear. Her knuckles grazed my jaw. I didn’t flinch. "After your clumsy escapade last night, I thought a bit of structure would keep you from falling apart in front of everyone. Sothing you can’t wiggle out of."
"I’m sturdier than you think." I held her gaze. "Though I suppose so people are held together by nothing but lineage and tight laces. Snap the thread, and there’s nothing underneath but hollow vanity."
She pretended not to hear that.
"The prince has requested the first dance." Her voice swiftly shifted into that sickly-sweet, motherly tone that made want to shower and scrub my skin raw.
"You will be a vision of docility. You will prove to him that you are a legacy to be cherished, and not a... fracture that requires permanent nding in a quiet, locked room."
Locked. The emphasis hung on that. She really thought I could be caged.
"Naturally." I smiled, letting it sharpen into sothing dangerous. "I’ll be sure to mirror everything you’ve taught . Especially how to survive when no one actually wants you breathing the sa air."
That landed. I saw it in the way her jaw clicked, the way her fingers curled at her sides.
But she didn’t bite. She just smiled and snapped her fingers at Hattie.
"Get her dressed. We haven’t got all day."
The mont her back turned, I reached for the vanity.
Not the rice powder she’d left out. That stuff was half poison. I’d built a beauty empire in another life, I knew exactly what went on skin. I’d ground my own mixture weeks ago, after I realized Casimir’s idea of foreplay ca with a color palette.
He painted my skin like he was creating sothing. Hickeys. Bite marks. Handprints made out of pleasure. And boy, he was rough. He’d step back sotis, just looking, and I’d catch that flicker in his eyes. Admiration. Like I was a canvas he couldn’t stop adding to.
The problem was, I had to leave the bedroom eventually.
So I’d learned to cover his art. Cornstarch. A little zinc from the chemist. A drop of sothing Hattie called milk of magnesia that was probably the closest thing to prir this century had.
The fashionable ladies used Venetian ceruse—white lead paste that gave them that deathly pale look while slowly poisoning them into paralysis.
No thank you.
I’d rather wear Casimir’s handiwork than paint my face with sothing that would give facial tremors by thirty.
My concoction wasn’t perfect. But I preferred my skin arsenic-free. And it let him keep painting.
Assuming he still wanted to. After the way I’d left him—hard, wrecked, and unfinished—he might have decided I was a special kind of cruel.
I dabbed it over the crescent on my collarbone, watching the purple disappear beneath a layer of pale. Then my ribs. Then the faint bruise on my jaw where Casimir’s thumb had pressed.
Hattie watched in the mirror. She just held the powder puff steady when I reached for it, and her eyes followed every stroke.
By the ti we finished, I looked like a saint. A Guggenheim masterpiece. Eleanor Thorne, perfect ward, fragile and obedient.
Hattie stepped back, her hands folded in front of her apron. Her eyes t mine in the glass.
I gave her the smallest nod. "Thank you, Hattie."
She gave one back. "You’re beautiful, Miss."
The pre-ball dinner was a theater of controlled chaos.
Candles flickered along a table long enough to seat fifty. The Goulds had spared no expense—gold leaf on the chargers, orchids dripping from centerpieces, crystal that caught the light and threw it back in fragnts.
I sat between a senator I didn’t recognize and Prince Felipe, who had arrived looking like he’d stepped out of a painting. His coat was midnight blue, his smile easy, his eyes warm.
"Miss Thorne," he said, rising. "You look magnificent."
"Your Highness." I curtsied. "Flattery will get you everywhere. But I should warn you, I’m immune to charm."
"Then I’ll have to try harder." He pulled out the chair, smiling. "And please. Felipe."
He sat beside . Across the table, Aunt Cornelia watched like a coroner examining a body that hadn’t stopped breathing yet.
I scanned the room between courses. The Goulds. The Astors. A shipping magnate I’d t once and forgotten. But there’s soone in their group that is missing.
Where was he?
Aunt Cornelia noticed my gaze slipping. I noticed her noticing. We both smiled. Neither of us ant it.
I turned back to Felipe, laughing at a joke I’d missed entirely.
"You’re distracted," Felipe observed, leaning close enough so that only I could hear.
"I’m sorry." I shook my head, reaching for my wine. "It’s been a long day."
"Then let distract you properly." He tilted his head. "Tell sothing true, Miss Thorne."
"Eleanor," I corrected.
His smile widened. "Eleanor. Tell sothing true."
I considered it. "I bite when provoked."
He laughed, not the polished royal kind. "Noted. I’ll keep my fingers clear of your teeth. What about when you’re not provoked?"
"Then I’m rely dangerous in other ways."
He raised his glass, eyes still on mine. "I find myself curious about every single one of them."
We talked. About the books he was reading. About the travels he’d been. About the absurdity of Newport’s cottages that cost more than most countries’ treasuries.
He made laugh. Genuinely and easily. He kind of reminds of Oliver actually.
And then the doors opened.
Casimir walked in... with Adelaide Chase on his arm.
I nearly spat my wine back into the glass. Just for the drama. But I swallowed it like a civilized human being. And it would be a waste of perfectly good Bordeaux.
The burn going down was nothing compared to the fire igniting behind my ribs.
She was laughing at sothing he’d whispered, her head tilted back just enough to show off the line of her throat, her gloved hand resting on his sleeve like she’d been born there.
Like she had every right to be there.
The corner of my eye twitched.
Her gown was cream lace over champagne silk. It was a masterpiece, hours of handiwork.
I admired it. I wanted to set it on fire.
And the bastard was smiling too.
Not the cold, tight smile he gave to everyone. I’d seen that smile before. On . In the dark. After he’d called my na like a prayer. But with her? He was giving it away like candy.
The fire spread through my chest. I didn’t bother putting it out. I just kept smiling at Felipe. Kept my voice light. Kept my hands from shaking.
The clawing-their-eyes-out urge was harder to suppress than I thought. My blood had turned to vinegar. But I managed.
Barely.
I remained to be charming.
I didn’t look at him. Not when they were seated. Not when her laughter grated against my ears, sounding like a banshee. Not even when I felt the back of my neck prickle with the intensity of a gaze I knew better than my own na.
I kept my eyes on Felipe. Laughed when he did. Drank my wine and pretended the world was as perfect as it should be.
Casimir wanted to play? Fine. I’d play.
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