"Show me what's in the basket," Julian said.
He sat across from Isolde in the carriage. Milky light filtered through the window, leaching colour from his blue eyes. They hit a bump, and Julian ducked to avoid smacking his head against the ceiling. Isolde clutched the wooden basket to her chest and tried not to smile.
"No."
"You have to," Julian said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"It could be a security threat."
"It's not," Isolde said. "Relax, Julian. It's nothing dangerous."
Julian didn't look convinced. And maybe he had a point, Isolde thought; in the three weeks that she'd visited the poorhouse, she'd brought blankets and buttermilk biscuits and card games, but she'd also brought honey wine and knives. Last week, she'd brought a dull sword for a young boy that had just finished reading The Great Tales of Sir Gulaine. Julian hadn't spoken to her for the whole ride back to the palace.
She shifted the basket. A small yowl escaped.
Julian's eyebrow inched higher. "Did the basket just... mew?"
"Nope."
"Isolde." Julian rubbed a hand across his face. "Please tell me that you don't have a cat in that basket."
"Okay," Isolde said. "I don't have a cat in the basket."
A heavy silence fell. The basket mewled again.
Julian sighed. "Do I want to know where you got that from?"
Isolde shrugged. "The servants like me."
She'd asked Emily, who brought her tea in the morning. The girl had been reluctant to speak to her at first — fiddling with her skirt, sloshing tea on the tray — but now they had regular chats about books and politics and everything in between.
Julian's mouth tightened. "The servants aren't supposed to talk to you. Halson doesn't like it. He prefers..." His fingers tightened on the ledge beneath the carriage window. "He has a certain way of running things."
"Well," Isolde said, "Halson isn't here, is he?"
"No," Julian said slowly. "I suppose he isn't."
The carriage stopped. Isolde kicked open the door, shifting the basket under one arm.
"Come on," she said. "We're here."
Isolde hurried down the tunnel. Her glass leg flashed silver beneath her gold skirts, glittering like a star. She emerged into the abandoned museum; light spilled through the cracked ceiling, illuminating polished marble statues. People played cards, and the sound of laughter split the air. Everything smelled of cooked onions and spice.
Isolde shifted her basket. A young boy was hopping from table to table, waving his wooden sword around. Julian sighed, muttered something about poking an eye out, and started in that direction.
"Isolde!" a voice cried.
A whirl of blonde curls collided with her waist. Isolde let out a little oof sound — mostly for Rosie's benefit — and buried her hand in her curls. The younger girl pulled back, giving her a gap-toothed grin.
"Did you bring biscuits again?"
Isolde set down the basket. "I brought something even better."
Rosie bounced up and down on her toes. Isolde smiled.
"Go ahead," she said.
Rosie dove into the basket. She emerged carrying a squirming bundle of orange-and-white fur, her expression exultant.
"A cat!" Rosie cried.
The younger girl clutched the animal to her chest. The cat gave Isolde a long-suffering look that indicated he would have preferred to be left in the palace kitchens.
"Can I keep him?" Rosie asked.
"Of course you can," Isolde said. "What are you going to name him?"
Rosie didn't hesitate. "Julian."
"Julian?"
"Yeah." The younger girl kissed the cat's forehead. "I like his ears. They're so floppy."
"Why are you going to name your cat Julian?" Isolde asked.
Her voice came out sharper than she'd intended. She looked at Julian, who was crouched by a table, patiently showing the young boy how to grip the wooden sword. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he demonstrated a swing.
"I like Julian," Rosie said. "He brought me a bracelet last week."
Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Did he?"
"Yeah," Rosie said. "And he always makes funny drawings for us." She set down the cat. "Do you want to see?"
The younger girl turned, marching up the stairs. She didn't look back. What a thing, Isolde thought with amusement, to be so certain that you were going to be followed. Must be nice. She kicked off her shoes — towering heels that were clearly designed by someone that hadn't factored in a prosthetic limb — and gave chase.
Rosie led her to a small room. It was a converted attic, Isolde realized, littered with old paints and canvases and white sheets; she had to duck to avoid smacking her head on the ceiling. Rosie stabbed a finger.
"You see?" Rosie asked.
Isolde swallowed.
Dozens of drawings were pinned to the wall. Doodles of cats reading a newspaper, scribbles of an irate doughnut chasing a carrot... She removed the nearest one. A young boy was fighting an army of flesh-eating gryphons; it was a scene from The Great Tales of Sir Gulaine, she realized, but where the boy starred instead of a knight.
Isolde lowered the drawing. "Jules did all of these? My—?"
She caught herself. My Jules, she'd been about to say. Rosie plucked a drawing from behind a shelf, holding it out.
"This one is my favourite," Rosie said.
Isolde's stomach tightened. The cartoon woman was holding a bow, her eyes narrowed in determination. Wisps of blonde hair fell about her face. Julian had written a caption at the bottom. A good day.
"Wow." Isolde's throat was dry. "It's very realistic."
Rosie glanced at the door. "Can I go downstairs and play with my cat now?"
"Yes." Isolde pocketed the drawing. "Yes, let's go."
Rosie thundered down the stairs. Isolde stood at the top, barefoot, holding her shoes in one hand; her golden skirts cascaded down the sweeping stairs in a waterfall of silk. Julian stood at the bottom. There was an odd look on his face as Isolde approached, but it vanished the moment they locked eyes.
She drew a breath. "Did you—?"
"We have to—" Julian began.
They broke off. Isolde's smile was sheepish.
"Sorry," Isolde said. "You go first."
The drawing felt like a hot coal in her pocket. Julian rubbed at his chin. There was something about his face, Isolde thought, a shard of ice crystallizing in her chest; he looked different than she'd seen him before. Nervous.
Julian dropped his hand. "I've received an urgent missive from the palace. We have to return at once."
***
They rode in silence.
Snow fell in thick flurries, dusting the cobblestone in white icing sugar. She could hear the clop-clop of horse hooves outside, accompanied by the occasional creak of an iron fence or a pub sign. Gas lanterns cast odd shadows across Julian's face, turning his skin waxy. He could have been a stranger.
She cleared her throat. "Penny and Grayson—"
"I've sent word ahead," Julian said. "You remember Alexander?"
Isolde nodded. "He fitted my leg."
The carriage hit a bump. Julian's mouth tightened. "I've asked him to escort them to the cottage by the stables for the evening. Just in case."
"Their companion?" Isolde asked.
"Maribel?" Julian clarified. "I've moved her to a cottage, too."
She swallowed. "Thank you."
The empty wicker basket sat on her lap. Isolde pushed it down, feeling it dig into her skirts. Her stomach rolled, and she wondered whether she might be sick. Was Halson back at the palace? Was that the reason for their hasty return? She couldn't bring herself to ask Julian. She rubbed her wrist, feeling the bruises that lived beneath the skin.
The carriage stopped. Julian leaned forward.
"Isolde..."
She waited. But Julian turned away, opening the door.
"Next time," he said, "you should bring a cloak. It snows a lot this time of year."
They stepped into the palace together. Cheerful yellow candles flickered in the sconces, and fiddle music drifted down the corridor. A servant — her arms full of crimson ribbons — was scattering rose petals and thistles, humming a jaunty tune.
Isolde and Julian exchanged a look.
They barrelled towards the dining hall. The fiddle music grew louder, accompanied by shouts of laughter. Servants danced through the long room, setting out plates and wine goblets and platters of smoked fish. A butler was chasing a kitchen girl around with a roasted hog, snapping at her playfully. Unease prickled at the back of Isolde's neck.
A platter was shoved toward her. "Would you like a biscuit, Your Holiness?"
"Thank you," Isolde said, accepting the biscuit automatically.
"Your Holiness!" A red-cheeked girl waved at her across the room. "I read that book you recommended. I've just got to the part where Count Muristo seduces the young sailor. Proper page-turner, it is."
Isolde forced a smile. "I'm happy you're enjoying it."
She pushed through the dining hall, scanning the long tables. No sign of Halson. Several courtiers were already taking their seats, looking mildly scandalized by the uproar. Isolde's heart slammed in her chest.
"Gods above," Julian muttered.
He was scanning the room, his eyes the colour of winter storms. Isolde swallowed.
"Jules—"
"I know," Julian said softly. "He can't see it like this."
"Your Holiness!" Emily called. "Come dance with us."
The servant girl grabbed Isolde's hand, yanking her toward the fiddle music. It was nothing Emily hadn't done countless times before — showing her a book in the library, or dragging her to see the newborn puppies, or sledging through the snow — but Isolde pulled back abruptly, cradling her hand to her chest.
"Wait." Her pulse thundered. "There's something I must tell you."
Emily's smile was radiant. "Do you see that man over there? The one smoking a pipe?" She nudged Isolde's ribs. "That's Joseph. He works in the stables, and he's just asked me out. He's handsome, don't you think?"
"Emily—"
"I really fancy him," Emily sighed.
Isolde gripped her shoulders. "Emily, listen."
Her heart felt as if it might break through her ribcage. This was wrong, Isolde thought, all so wrong. And if Halson were to see it— if he arrived at the palace right now...
The double doors opened.
Heavy footsteps entered the hall. The fiddle let out a squeak and plunged into silence. Any laughter died. The dining hall was completely still, save for the footsteps drawing closer. Isolde closed her eyes. She didn't need to look up to see who it was; she could sense him, even before he spoke.
"Well, well," Halson said, his voice silky. "What's happening here?"