While she was alone, Eden busied herself with wrapping her bloodied wrist. Since there were no medical supplies immediately on hand, she tore a strip of cloth from the bed sheet. Atlas returned just as she was finishing tightening the knot with her teeth.

“Really?” he chided, handing her the garment that was hung over his arm. He looked at the mutilated sheet. “You could have just let me heal y—”

“No. Save your strength. I'm sorry about the sheet, though I doubt anyone is likely to see it.”

“Oh? How can you be sure?”

Eden stood up, slipping the silken red robe that he brought over her bed gown. She had always thought of red as an obnoxiously audacious color, but at least the material felt nice on her skin.

She strode past him to the door, satisfied that she was decently concealed. “Because no one lives here except for you. The guards don’t come inside for some reason I can’t fathom, the cooks leave at night, and you either have little to no servants or they leave at night too.” She opened the door and strode into the hall, appreciating the coolness of the marble on her bare feet. So this was what royalty felt like.

Atlas followed closely behind. “How could you possibly know all this?”

“I listen. I look around. I learn.” She slowed her pace a bit so that they were walking side by side. “Why don’t you have guards protecting you?”

“I did for a time, but the attacks on my life… they got so frequent, so violent. My guardsmen were dropping like flies. I delegated them to the palace’s outer grounds, thinking I could handle things inside on my own. I succeeded for a while, when my magic was still relatively strong and I could go days without rest.”

“But you’re not succeeding anymore,” Eden said pointedly.

“And that’s exactly why I don’t bring them back.” He looked down at her, a frustrated crease between his brows. “What would be the point? Do I value myself so highly to command these men to risk their lives for me? It's pointless... especially in my state.”

“It’s their job to protect you!” Eden balked, grabbing onto his wrist when he didn’t seem to react. “What use are they outside, mingling with each other in the courtyard and shooing people away from your gardens when the sun goes down?”

Now he looked at her, a little too sharply.

“Yeah, don’t think I haven’t noticed how the gardens are shielded better than you are.” Eden lifted her crudely bandaged wrist and showed him her palm, where there was nothing more than a scabbed over scratch thanks to Crane’s work. “The gates are lathered in poison. I had the pleasant experience of nicking myself, no thanks to you. What are you hiding in there?”

“I’m not hiding anything. I am protecting—”

He quieted, cut off by a voice echoing down the hall. Something like irritation flickered across his expression as he turned his head towards it. Eden tilted her own a little bit, listening. It was a woman.

She sniffed. “You got them on call, or somethi—”

“Shh!” Atlas was suddenly hissing, reversing her grip on his sleeve and pulling her behind him. The intensity surprised her. “Don’t mock this one. She’ll eat you alive.”

Eden crossed her arms behind him and sighed, looking out the closest window. The sun was getting high. No doubt the pipes would be singing soon.

‘I don’t have time for this nonsense,’ she thought.

“Atlas,” the voice called, lilting and womanly but not particularly soft. The brisk clicks of high heels came closer, a very no-nonsense stride. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” he echoed, sounding disinterested. “What can I do for you, Maureen?”

She was still coming closer. “Oh, don’t be so formal, Atlas. Brontide knows we’re past that point, aren’t we?”

So unapologetically suggestive. Telling. Eden looked at the back of his head and whispered, “Really? Cannibals too?”

He ignored her. She at least had to give him credit for that. “Maureen is this important? I’m busy.”

“I just wanted to compliment you on your charming party yesterday, dearest. It was absolutely breathtaking. The decorations, the music, the lovely girls. Really, you outdid yourself, though I was disappointed that you didn’t make a formal appearance when I worked so hard on my dress. Perhaps I could show you some other time?”

“Notice how she didn’t say she liked the food?” Eden hinted. “She was probably sick all night.”

Click, click. Maureen stepped around Atlas. Eden turned and met the challenge of her gaze with tired indifference.

Maureen was a rare beauty – all sharp angles and leg and ferocity. Her black hair was scraped back into a pin straight ponytail, but the tail was pulled over her shoulder and dipped between her cleavage. The dress – if Eden could call the few strings of beige fabric that – hugged every curve without shame or modesty, and left nothing to be imagined. Really, Atlas wouldn’t have to see her other dress. He could see everything that mattered right now.

“Why Atlas,” Maureen said, disregarding her entirely. A trick to make her feel unimportant. “This isn’t your usual type.”

“I’m not his occasional type either,” Eden clarified.

The woman raised a fine black brow. “How very… astute of you.”

“Thank you, I thought so.”

Maureen’s chin jerked back a little, appearing a little confused with the direction of the conversation. She straightened herself and said, “Forgive me, miss…” she trailed off, waiting for a name. The trick meant to imply she was a nobody.

“Miss is fine,” Eden said.

“Right…” Maureen murmured. “Well, forgive me my rudeness, I should not have presumed that you would have any ill-advised relations with Atlas.”

“An honest mistake,” Eden replied, though she knew very well that it was less of a mistake and entirely a choreographed move meant to make her feel ashamed. “It is always in one’s favor to be informed, and not merely opinionated... obviously you agree.”

Shock flooded the woman’s face. Eden stared her down unflinchingly. She was not overly familiar with the outwardly charming persona that Roselle often had to use to dance through these conversations, but she understood fully the need to deflect the compliments back onto the attacker. These women – women like Maureen – were assassins. Good at gossip and rumors. Good at planting shame in insecure opponents. Skilled at assassinating character.

Assassins didn’t like being confronted head-on.

Gathering herself with a tight smile, Eden was not surprised to see Maureen pull out her next big move. “Oh, Atlas, where did you find this… fascinating little creature?” Her hand reached out tenderly, about to finger a lock of Eden’s hair.

The Loon didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t react. She knew she was supposed to say something to dissuade the woman from touching her, but all her mind went through were various offensive shoulder locks meant to subdue enemies.

Atlas’s hand slammed down on Maureen’s thin wrist, catching it before Eden had settled on a choice.

“No, Maureen,” Atlas said firmly, though rushed. There was an authority to his voice that Eden quite appreciated. “That would be a very bad idea.”

“What do you…” She started, her mask cracking. Her gray eyes flicked up to his face, and then back to Eden. “Who is this woman?”

Eden felt Atlas’s eyes rove over her for a second, perhaps searching for an answer. When she didn’t provide one he just said, “Leave, Maureen. I tolerate these intrusions because of your father, but I can’t have you insulting my guests; especially for your sake,” he pointed to Eden, “this one.”

“I-Insulting? I would never—”

“You can see yourself out. If I require your presence in the future I will summon you accordingly.”

His hand popped open and she wrenched her arm away. Eden could see her fighting to control her temper, her mouth pinched and eyes shining with anger. When she spoke her question it was cagey, forcibly polite. “And when next will that be, may I ask?”

“My wedding most likely. Send my regards to your father.”

Maureen gaped, eyes flying to her for some reason. Atlas swept by the woman, motioning for Eden to follow. Without further word, she did.

They went several minutes and several paces before Atlas said, “You are not going to say anything?”

“Did you need council?”

Atlas actually laughed a bit, and ran a hand through his deep, red hair. “Oddly enough, I think I do.”

“Oh. Don’t pick that one.”

“Why? Too mean?”

They turned into the passage that descended into the kitchen. Eden lowered her voice a little. “Not the right kind of mean.”

“The right kind?” he asked incredulously, laughter compressed into his tone. “Which kind of mean should I be looking for?”

“The kind that doesn’t get caught.”