The sound of Father Derrik zipping up his pants seems to echo through the room. I rest my hands on my knees, kneeling on the floor. My head hangs low. The top half of my dress has been pulled off, the bottom rucked up around my hips. I can’t manage to move my gaze off the ground as I wipe at my lips.

My tears have dried by now, but I still feel wretched and dirty. While Father Derrik hears my confession, he whispers things to me. Things like how perverse I am, making him behave this way. How I’m a seductress and I have no right to act as I do. How he will purge me of my sins if it is the death of him.

“Get up,” Father Derrik orders, stern now. “People will think you were raised poorly when you’ve been practically spoiled since you’ve been here. I would hate to have to bring your sister Amabel in here during our next session, to have her witness the depravity you show.”

Next session? My heart hammers in my chest, pressing against my ribs. I didn’t think that I would continue to have confessions with the Father, not after I married Prince Henrick.

My cheeks burning, I climb to my feet. I loathe the idea of Father Derrik bringing my sister into these sessions, which I think he knows. The idea that my sister would know what happens in here, that she might turn away and be ashamed of me… that is almost too much to bear.

Then there is the fact that Amabel is genuinely prettier and more pious than I am. I’m afraid that Father Derrik wouldn’t be able to resist her.

And I don’t want Ama to ever feel the way I do right now. Plus, a little tiny piece of me gloats whenever I’m pulled away for this.

I’m special.

I’m different.

The fact that I have these thoughts is another layer of shame, heaped on top of all the others. But none of that matters just now, as I pull the sleeves of my dress back onto my arms and right the itchy black wool skirt.

Father Derrik tsks. “You are such a disappointment. Do you know that? If your mother and father were still alive, they would be embarrassed to call you their daughter.”

I suck in a breath. That barb landed, but I’m careful not to let it show. When Father Derrik knows that something hurts, he does it more, for longer, and harder. He’s been giving me private confessions since I was fourteen; by now it’s just instinct to hide my emotions.

Not too much, of course. It’s better to let him see that I’m scared of him.

A knock comes on the door. Father Derrik walks around to my front, grabbing my chin and raising my face to meet his eyes. “Prince Henrick is coming. You will behave, or you will be punished. Am I understood?”

I nod stiffly, and he releases me with a huff of disgust.

“Enter!” he calls, his hand moving to my shoulder for a moment. I can’t help the shudder that slides down my spine.

I swear one corner of his mouth ticks up at the involuntary reaction. The door opens to admit Sister Marguerite.

“Are you finished, Father?” she asks, her tone saccharine.

“Yes, I think that Rue’s sins are absolved for the moment.” He presses his lips together in a polite smile.

She curtsies, not even bothering to look at me. “Prince Rastoder is waiting for you in the sanctuary of the church, Father Derrik.”

“I’ll go now.” He casts an eye over me. “See that she’s spotless before you bring her to meet her husband to be, won’t you?”

“Of course, Father.”

He looks unimpressed with her simpering. He strides off, leaving Sister Marguerite and me alone. She shuts the door to her office and then turns to me, her expression bitter.

“What did you do to make him so angry?” she admonishes me. “God help you, girl. Heaven above only knows why someone like the royal Prince is even considering wedding you. Now come, you have a scant few minutes to get ready.”

Grabbing me by the arm, she hauls me down the hallways and into the lavatory. She forces me to remove my dress and wash in the cold tap water while she watches.

“Get every single filthy part of you clean,” she hisses, standing by the door. She hitches up the thin black cincture the holds her habit in place on her bony frame. “And be quick about it. The Prince doesn’t have all day.”

I grit my teeth, reminding myself for the umpteenth time of what it was like before Ama and I came here. How we lived on the streets, how we barely avoided being kidnapped and used by strange men while we were trying to make ends meet on the outskirts of London.

It was some kind of luck that we found a convent that was willing to take children in, even if it was here in Liechtenstein. No matter what life is like here, it’s undoubtedly worse out there.

She hurries me out of the lavatory, entirely naked, and to my room. Being naked in the halls of the convent is a different kind of shame, but I don’t want to put the clothes that I was wearing before back on.

In my room, I pull on the dress, Sister Marguerite’s dour gaze on me the whole while. I run my brush through my hair, trying not to imagine that the tangles I find there are from Father Derrik gripping my head as cruelly as he could.

As we rush to the church, I try to imagine Prince Henrick. Will he be dashing, as storybook Princes so often are? Will he fall in love with me, with just one look?

My heart flutters. My stomach rumbles, nervous and empty. What will he be like?

As I step into the church, the sound of Father Derrik’s voice bounces off the vaulted ceilings. It’s met by an answering laugh, rich and deep.

My heart freezes in my chest, but Sister Marguerite grabs me by the arm and moves me along. Father Derrik turns, his eyes sparkling.

“Ah,” he says. “There she is now.”

Prince Rastoder turns and my jaw almost drops. With inky black hair, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and a cleft chin, the Prince looks like… like a comic book superhero.

He’s gorgeous.

Sister Marguerite clears her throat, pushing me forward. “Your Royal Highness.”

She curtsies deferentially. I do the same, stumbling through the gesture. I feel his gaze land on me, see his mouth turn down slightly.

Oh, dear Lord.

He finds me displeasing.

He wishes he had chosen his own bride.

My heart thrums as he looks me up and down. Without missing a beat, he turns to Father Derrik.

“You’re sure of her lineage?” he asks, looking aggravated.

His voice is like thick, dark silk. His accent is strange and formal. I swallow heavily.

Father Derrik bows his head. “I am. She’s the firstborn daughter of the Rebel King.”

My eyebrows jump up. What? Why is Father Derrik lying about my circumstances? Ama and I were born in a London slum to a cocaine-addled mother. There is nothing the slightest bit royal about either of us.

Prince Henrick slides a look at me.

“You wouldn’t know it, would you?” He gestures to me. “Come here, girl.”

My heart starts beating quickly again. I feel Sister Marguerite’s hand on my back, pushing me a few steps closer. Prince Henrick makes a disapproving noise and closes the gap himself in a few strides.

As he comes closer, I realize how very tall he is. He dwarfs me in his light grey suit, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. My eye is drawn to the thin black necklace and silver token I see hanging there.

The Church’s token, marking all true believers. I’m not surprised to see it there, but I am a bit deflated.

He grabs my face, disorienting me. “Open your mouth.”

When I do, he looks inside, judging me like someone judges a horse. He releases me and then turns me around a few times, looking at my body.

“She’s thin. And redheaded.” His mouth twists. His gaze isn’t the least bit sexual as he calculates my worth. Finally, he dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Enough. She’ll suit, I suppose.”

“Take her back to the dormitory,” Father Derrik demands. Sister Marguerite hurries to my side and grips my arm, dragging me away from Prince Henrick.

As we leave the church, I can’t help but overhear Prince Henrick. He makes no effort to keep his voice down. “It’s like you said, Father Derrik. She only has to give me an heir. Then she can be… disposed of. You said she has a prettier sister, didn’t you?”

I gape. There it is, my life laid out right before my eyes. I marry Prince Henrick, I bear his child, and he has me killed. I’m to be a placeholder for my blonde-haired sister after all.

“I did indeed,” Father Derrik says dispassionately. He pauses a beat. “Will you stay for a church service while you’re here?”

A sob escapes my lips as Sister Marguerite hustles me down the hall before I can hear more.