I sat at my dressing table, turning the plan over again and again in my mind. If I could only figure out who killed me, surely I’d be able to turn the tables on them.

But the more I thought about it, the more I felt defeated. I wasn’t a detective. How could I possibly figure out who had wanted me dead enough to actually do the deed?

Fussing anxiously with my long reddish-brown waves, I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror, turning this way and that to see my visage from various angles. I took special pride in knowing that this was the same face that had brought me Prince Emory to begin with.

Back when I had been formally introduced to the prince, he had lamented that before that day, he’d only been able to see such beauty from a distance. The memory had me smiling, which in turn only served to increase my reflection’s charm. I was puzzled. Why would anyone want to destroy such beauty?

I considered the other court ladies who had often vied for Prince Emory’s attention; how they had whispered to each other, heads close, as I was introduced to the prince. The culprit could only have been someone overcome by jealousy. That was the one possibility that made sense.

And, as far as jealousy went, Princess Calliope would be the obvious prime suspect. But the reasoning behind that could only extend so far, because if anyone should be jealous, it was me! The prince had proposed to her, after all. From Calliope’s perspective, she had already won.

What reason would someone who already had the advantage over me have for wanting me dead? It made no sense. Unless…was the radiant princess far more insecure than she let on? After all, she had been forced to watch as Emory lingered at my side during the reception, needing to practically pull him away—and that icy look she gave me!

Still, I found it hard to believe Calliope would feel so threatened that she would have me killed. Who else might make a good suspect?

Clearly, it couldn’t be Prince Emory. His amorous behavior towards me at his own wedding suggested he still harbored feelings for me. My thoughts returned to the other members of the royal court I didn’t particularly trust. There was Lady Hestia, for instance, who had turned to giggle and whisper something to her friend Portia when I walked by them in the courtyard last week—

“Letter for you, Milady.”

I had been so deep in thought that I nearly jumped when one of my younger lady’s maids approached, not having even noticed her entering my room. Good thing the curse mark was still covered by my robe.

The girl handed me the letter with a curtsy. I regarded the seal on the back—blood red, with a rendering of a snake swallowing its own tail in the center. It was not a seal I recognized. “Who delivered this, Mary?”

“It was brought by a courier, milady.”

That was intriguing. I dismissed Mary, who curtsied again before exiting my bedroom, and took a letter opener to the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, which said, in cramped and spindly writing, “Meet me in the Flying Albatross tavern. Private room on the third floor. Four this afternoon.”

It was signed with an M, and there was a p.s.—“Come alone.”

I tossed the envelope and letter into the fire, watching as the flame devoured it from the center.

So. Garnier had come through.

I rooted through my armoire in search of my most simple gown with a hood, as I didn’t want to be recognized, what with the Flying Albatross being in a disreputable neighborhood. As the appointed hour approached, I found Faewin in the library and told her I had business to attend to in town.

My next stop was the stable, where I asked the stable boy to saddle Apple, my favorite horse, and then we were off.

My stomach clenched with nerves as Apple and I approached the Albatross—I’d never dared venture to this part of town, let alone enter a seedy, dangerous establishment well known for brawls and debauchery. I hoped I wasn’t making a grave mistake agreeing to meet an assassin, alone, in a room here. As I neared the door, almost as if in confirmation of my fears, it burst open and two men fell near my feet, punches flying.

I hopped out of the way so as to avoid getting caught in the muddy tussle, and they rolled a little ways towards where a couple of horses were tied up and waiting. With the men out of the way, I slipped my hand under my cloak as discreetly as possible, checking to ensure the dagger I brought was still hidden as I ducked inside the dark interior of the tavern.

Pausing to let my eyes adjust to the low light, I felt that this trip had in fact been a massive error. Men with their faces buried in tankards of ale looked up at me as I entered, stopping to leer in lascivious delight once they realized there was now a woman in their midst. One man made a filthy gesture, laughing when I turned away, shuddering.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a dump like this?” asked another man. The fact that these men were still harassing me with barely enough light to see my silhouette incensed me. I was just a piece of meat to these beasts.

I ignored them as best as I could, and moved with my head down towards the stairwell at the rear of the tavern. The stairs were narrow and rickety, looking like they were liable to collapse at any moment—or with an unwise footfall in just the wrong spot.

I had already come this far, so I began to make the climb, stairs protesting under my feet with errant creaks. The third flight opened onto a short hallway leading to a closed door.

This was it. I took a breath, heart pounding, and knocked. And waited.

Without warning, the door opened, and I gasped as Marlowe appeared, tall and menacing in the dim light. His eyes darted past me towards the hall beyond, making sure I was alone, before stepping aside to let me in.

The narrowness of the doorway forced me to squeeze by him, my breasts practically brushing his chest as excitement and fear jolted through me in equal measure. I nearly yelped as he shut the door behind him—and locked it.

I could feel my breath catching in the chamber of my throat as he leaned against the door, intense eyes fixed on me. He stalked towards me like a panther; I backed up instinctively until he placed a hand on my shoulder, pinning me in place, his other hand pulling my hood down.

“I have to see you before I agree to anything,” he said, his voice so husky I could feel a knot forming in my stomach.

I swallowed thickly as he took me in. His calloused fingers brushed my cheek before tucking a lock of hair back behind my ear, and I shivered. “Do I frighten you?” He growled.

I forced myself to keep my gaze steady against his. “Should I be frightened?”

He smiled, the skin around the scar on his cheek puckering slightly. “That depends.”

I shivered again, my skin prickled with goosebumps, and he shifted. “You are in need of my services?”

“That also depends,” I countered, “how do I know I can trust you?”

He drew his thumb along my chin for a moment, thoughtful. “I’m not cheap. I always go to the highest bidder.”

His words alerted a high warning bell in the back of my mind. “What do you mean?”

He grinned. “Make me an offer that nobody can beat, and I’ll do whatever you need.”

His hand ran down to my neck, towards the hidden curse mark, and I stepped back before he could uncover it, pushing his hand away.

I took a breath. “So, if I hire you, you might still betray me?”

He smirked. “Loyalty is expensive.”

My head spun as I started putting the pieces together, lowering my hand to my hidden dagger.

Marlowe must have double crossed me. Someone had outbid me, and instead of Calliope, he had poisoned me instead.

Rage and fear mixed together rose inside my chest as Marlowe leaned in closer, boxing me against the wall. “So,” he murmured, still sultry, “what do you want me to do for you?”

I grabbed hold of my dagger and slipped it out from under my gown. “I want you to die.”

A flicker of confusion and then alarm crossed his face as I plunged the knife deep into his gut.