Alicia paced, wringing her hands. How could she be so foolish? How could she overreach her status like that?

  Turn around.

  To put her hand on the Prince, to stop him from writing, from his way of speaking. She should have known better.

  Turn around.

  Should have known to stay in her place. She spoke on behalf of her Baroness, that was bad. Then she spoke on behalf of the house, which was worse.

  Turn around.

  And grabbing the Prince’s hand was the sharpening of the blade. The block was probably being set for her execution while she moved from wall to wall.

  Turn around.

  He seemed so simple. Infuriating but simple. Not a Princely prince by any means.

  Turn around.

  Perhaps he will be merciful.

  Turn around.

  No, that’s not possible. He just became Prince, not even coronated yet. He must make an example of—turn around—her.

  She bit her fingernail with her front teeth. Her heart was racing. How long would she have to wait before they brought her for her execution. There would be no trial. She grabbed the Prince. There were witnesses. There were guards. Both the Baron and Baroness were right there.

  Turn around.

  She couldn’t stop. The idea of lying on the filthy mat of straw with a cloth dropped over it as a bed made her lightheaded. She could already hear the squeaks of rats. There was an itch in her hair, like someone was constantly swiping it when she’s not looking. Whenever she felt it, in between thoughts, she would scratch and frisk her hair to get the spiders and their webs out of it. She had yet to see any, but the itch was always there.

  Maybe, if she could have a chance to speak to the Prince, he would be merciful. No—turn around—it’s the Baron who will have her executed to show his fealty. The Baroness, she wouldn’t let her be executed would she? Of course not. Baroness Clarissa loves her.

  Turn around.

  If she could get word out, perhaps she would hear her apology.

  Turn around.

  She’d demote herself to the kitchens, like when she was young.

  Turn around.

  Clean the lavatories again. Scrub pots.

  Turn around.

  Polish. Mop. Brush.

  Turn around.

  Clean. Everything. Everywhere.

  Turn around.

  Hope.

  Turn around.

  That.

  Turn around.

  She’s.

  Turn around.

  Merci…

  Turn around.

  …ful.

  “You look miserable,” Valmond said calmly from the other side of the iron bars.

  She stopped and turned to him. The only mirror she had was the look of glossy eyed pity behind his slight grin. She rubbed at the wrinkles in her dress and stiffened proudly.

  “Here to gloat, I presume,” She mockingly smiled at herself. She refused to look at him. She looked at the cracked mortar of the bricks on the wall now visible by the lamplight. The ground was dust and grime covered stone with straw scattered across it. Her bare feet were already black from standing and walking on it. The ceiling was also stone. One giant stone. Perhaps this was once a cave and they sectioned it off with brick walls and paved the floor.

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  “To gloat?”

  She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bring herself to meet those familiar lines and glasses crooked across his long nose. She wouldn’t let herself look into those eyes that had been at her side for so many years. No, she had to look at the wall. The ceiling. The paved floor.

  “Look at me, Alice.”

  She had to stretch her jaw and look up to keep from crying. She would have been looking for God up there, but all she could see was the porous stone slab crowning the dungeon cell they had tossed her in.

  “Alice.”

  “No,” She didn’t fold her arms in front of her the way she ought to. She didn’t look to whom she was speaking. She only shook her head with her eyes toward a sky she would only see one last time. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

  “Ever stubborn,” Valmond began laughing. Hushed—strained even—but laughter all the same. “Will you just look at me?”

  She let her head fall and her eyes followed. The look on his face. The face that was always reserved and upright, was now bloated and red. There were no tears, but she knew he was crying. He wore his smile with a sunken posture, but those eyes glistened as they pierced into her heart. Old, tired eyes, taking her in as if this were the last time they would see her.

  “I’m looking at you,” her back straightened. Her chin lifted. Her hands were folded together in front of her. If not for her hair being full of straw and pulled into tufts, her dirty feet and elbows, the stains on her dress, she would be as she always was. The Head Mistress of the House Strasse, who had watched the Baroness from a rotten little priss into a proud, noble, mother of a dynasty. “Do you like what you see?”

  Valmond’s grin faded and his brows pressed together.

  “No more arguments over tableware, no more ledger marks, you have the run of the house. Miss Vera will be much more to your liking. She’s always been more agreeable with men.”

  “Oh, for Saint Peter’s sake, Alice,” he growled. “Lift your chin and straighten those curls, girl. I didn’t come here to see you spewing at me like some halfwit after a drunken brawl.”

  Alicia opened her mouth, bearing her teeth, ready to yell right back at him, but he beat her to it.

  With a hard step forward until he was nearly running through the bars, Valmond said, “I came to see a friend. A dear…very, very dear friend. And I brought you this,” he slid something wrapped by a cloth from in his coat. “Truffles. Your favorite.”

  Alicia reached, trembling with guilt. “Thank you.”

  “You are,” He caught her hands through the gate before she could pull them away, refusing to let go, “My dearest friend.”

  It was hard to breathe through the trembling. She wanted more than this. She wanted more than just his hands through the bars. For the first time since she delivered Clarissa’s first stillborn all those years ago, she needed him to comfort her, to tell her that it will all be alright in the end. She took the truffles from his hand and stepped out of his reach with them, lifting her chin and straightening her back.

  “I think of you the…” Alicia began.

  “You don’t have to lie to make me feel requited,” Valmond stepped back from the bars, mirroring her stance. “I know you have always seen me as a rival.”

  Alicia opened the cloth to find four freshly washed round truffles. Their smell alone made her eyes water. “I did,” she whispered as if the still air of the dungeon cell would carry her words away and make them fade with their meaning.

  “I came to tell you,” Valmond had to stop and clear his throat. “I came to tell you that I have brandished my resignation. If he doesn’t release you by noon tomorrow, I will be handing it to the Baron myself. I will not be part of a House that does this to one of its own. Even if she is a self-righteous priss most of the days, she is our self-righteous priss, and there will be no other while I am here.”

  Alicia looked up to him with her widest smile and a louder snivel than she expected. “I am a self-righteous priss. Do you know what is to happen to me? No one will say down here.”

  Valmond let out a long breath.

  That can’t be good. Alicia braced herself.

  “You…well…if I were to put it into words…”

  “I plowed this one into the nine hells,” She said sardonically.

  “To put it lightly,” Valmond’s teary eyes twinkled behind those glasses that made him lift his nose to look at her. “You endangered us all. If the Prince wanted to, if the Baron had not made an example of you, he could have our entire House stripped and cast out. If he’s as fickle as the Baron seems to think, then he just might. It is unfortunate, really, that you pressed it so. It was for all of us, I know that. You would never do anything to purposely endanger us. But…”

  “I did.” Her knees buckled. She barely caught herself before her head hit the floor. She could barely hold herself on her haunches. “He has no choice.”

  “I’m so sorry,” He said through a long breath. She could feel the weight in his words.

  She rolled onto her side. There was no point in standing. No point in pacing.

  “I will try to see you at least once a day until then. Whether I am still the steward or not, I will see my friend through to the end.”

  The click of iron echoed through the dungeon. The lamplight waned. She didn’t see him leave. She didn’t walk him to the exit or give proper goodbye. She just lay there. A part of the floor. One of many specks of dirt and grime from a thousand prisoners who spent their last days as she will; alone in the dark, silenced by stone and filth.

  At least her death would be a sign of loyalty for House Strasse to their new prince. Her death will be her greatest duty to the Baroness. No point in dragging it on with hopes and speculation.

  He never called her ‘Alice’ before.

  She lifted herself to taste one of the truffles. It was soft and delicious.