"Who let her out?" A harsh slap cracked through the bridal hall. "Down!" Eldon barked. His hand hovered like it could strike again. I tasted copper. My cheek burned. I blinked at a sea of faces, candles, trained smiles, and Laylah's slow, satisfied coo. "She ruined the ceremony," the steward said, loud enough that the servants' laughter tried to hide. "She stepped into the wrong light," Laylah purred. "Suited a fallen woman better than a consort, don't you think?" "Do you hear them?" Eldon asked the room. He never asked unless he already had an answer. "Does anyone else?" someone called. "Shame on her." I folded my mouth into a smile even as the punch bloomed in my face. Smiles were cheap and dangerous; I had a small stockpile of both. "Why are you smirking?" Jarvis, the steward, barked, closing a hand on my sleeve. He smelled of wax and onions. "Because I'm curious," I said. "Curious how everyone confuses costume with truth." A woman near the dais laughed, sharp. Marine's fingers tightened at my other arm. She leaned in, whispering, "Keep quiet. He'll cut you if you answer." "Cut me where?" I asked loud enough that a ripple of amusement moved through the crowd. "The tongue, the purse, the throat?" Eldon moved forward. He had the look of a man who would burn a town if it were a single ember he disliked. "Ayla," he said. He said my name like a verdict. "You