“Make it stop,” she whispered. “Make it stop, little dove, I’m so sorry, please make it stop.”

She laid her right hand against her forehead as if she had a sudden headache. Slowly, she scraped her fingers down the side of her face, leaving behind four bloody trails.

Then she started screaming again.

My nurse was the first one. She was not the last. It wasn’t until the butler and the chambermaid had also been destroyed that I realized what was happening.

Mother had wanted the power to protect me, and she had bargained for it with the prince of demons. So her power was to command demons. She could force them to bring me trinkets and sweets. Or she could use them to destroy anyone who made me cry.

She used to weep over beggars and birds with broken wings. She had thought it would be a small price, to become a ghost so she could protect her little daughter. But she had forgotten that ghosts have no pity.

That’s how I learned to smile.

Father married again, and I smiled. Father died, and I smiled. Stepmother slapped me for the first time, and I smiled so hard I thought my face would crack.

“They’re always singing,” whispers my nurse. She clutches my arms, her bandaged fingers digging into my flesh. “They never stop. I’m so sorry, please make them stop, my little dove, please.”

I smile. What else can I ever, ever do?

Then I shove her aside and flee blindly down the street.

I skid around a corner and slam into someone. “Sorry, sir!” I gasp, and duck to the side.

“Maia?”

The voice catches me in place. It’s Lord Anax, and I turn to see him standing by me with a long black coat on his shoulders and a hat on his head.

“My lord,” I say blankly. My whole body feels numb. “I was—going to see you—”

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Maia, what happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened, everything’s all right.”

Everything is exactly the same as it was fifteen minutes ago. The sun is shining, I’m going to spend the morning with the man I would die for, and my nurse is in agony every moment. Because of me.

The chambermaid died the day she met the demons, but the butler also survived. I wonder if he’s still alive and suffering too.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m—” I draw a breath and summon a smile. “A boy tried to rob me. I got away from him. I’m quite all right, just a little shaken up.”

“Do take note: when you smile like that, I can’t believe a word you say. But you seem to be in one piece, at least.” He crooks his arm and sets my hand on it as if I were a lady being led into a ballroom. “Come. I was on my way to the park; I know a quiet spot where you can sit down.”

“In public? With a servant?” I protest as he starts to draw me down the street.

“What is the point of being the duke’s heir if I can’t cause a scandal now and then?”

He marches us briskly to the nearby gated park and draws me to a little bench beneath a pair of willow trees, almost completely hidden by the curtain of their hanging branches. He sits me down on the bench and then stands over me with his hands in his pockets.

“Aren’t you going to sit down, my lord?” I ask him. I’m starting to feel a little less shaky. I’ve learned nothing new. I’ve just been reminded what I’ve done and why he needs to forget me. Why he must promise to marry Koré today.

His mouth flattens. “I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“I’m sure it’s treason if I don’t.”

“No, just impudence, and I really don’t care. I do care, I mean, I care that—” He breaks off. “I was hoping you’d come today.”

“I come every morning,” I say.

“I know, but last night—I made up my mind to tell you something. And then, of course, I was terrified that I’d decided too late, and I’d never see you again.” He looks at me and then at the ground. “The ball’s in four days, you know.”

“I don’t hear about anything else these days,” I say. Every morning at the breakfast table, Stepmother describes an even more elaborate daydream of how Lord Anax will take one look at her darling Koré and fall in love. The dresses are finished; Thea practices her dance steps every moment, and Koré writes letters.

I get to my feet. “I don’t have a letter today,” I say. “But I came anyway, because I wanted—I was hoping you’d finally promise to marry my lady.”

He looks up at me in confusion. “Maia?”

My heart is pounding again. My body feels like a coiled spring. “You’ve read her letters,” I say. “You know—she’s a fine lady, she’ll make a fine duchess, she’ll never lie to you. She’s beautiful, too, have I mentioned that? Please, promise me that—”

“Maia, after all this time, can you possibly imagine that I would ever marry her?”

“You must,” I say. “You said you have to marry, and who else is there?”

“Zeus and Hera, you fool, I want to marry you.”

The words burst out of him, and they seem to startle him as much as me; he rocks back a step as if I’ve shoved him.

I stand like a statue. “That’s . . . not amusing, my lord.”

“I didn’t mean it as a joke!” He presses a fist to his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it that way. But I do mean it. Maia, I had thought that there could never be any honesty between me and a woman, let alone love. And then I found you under my desk, and—I think I loved you since the moment you told me to respect the mistress who was cruel to you, because she was consistent. You’re mad and brave and beautiful, and you tell me the truth. There has never been anyone who did that for me but you. Maia, I don’t care who you are. I love you and I’ll fight the whole world to marry you. Will you grant me the honor of your hand and your heart?”

I feel dizzy. He can’t be asking me. This must be a dream, a fever-born delirium. But the world presses in on me, too real to deny: the sunlight glares through the willow branches, the birds clatter loudly in the trees. I feel the breath rasp in my throat and the skin on every inch of my body.

“You don’t love me,” I say.

He sighs ruefully. “Maybe not. I can’t help seeing you the way a starving man sees bread.”

“You don’t know what it is to be hungry, let alone starving,” I say. “And you don’t love me. You can’t.”