Vasi’s eyes burned, but the ache in her chest made her acutely aware of the inch of space separating her from her father. She fought the lull of his warmth and the rocking of the cart as they approached their home in strained silence.

No—not their home. His and Marika’s.

Vasi glared at the thick decorative columns and the elaborate façade of vines and flowers carved in the stone of her childhood home. It would probably be sold soon, regardless of who owned it now, to the lecherous Lord Baine.

The ride was nearly over, the wagon closing in on the entrance, and Vasi realized her chance to reveal to her father the extent of Marika’s cruelty was rapidly disappearing. Vasi cleared her throat, feeling as though a small stone were lodged there.

“Father—” She coughed as the wagon slowed to a stop.

Casimir either didn’t hear or chose to ignore her. He jumped from the wagon, rounded it, and without another word, scooped Vasi back into his arms and carried her to the door. Dirt flaked around them as Casimir stomped up the stone steps.

A new wave of exhaustion washed through Vasi—perhaps it stemmed from the comfort of her father’s arms, but her last reserves of energy drained away, and she sagged, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Her father adjusted Vasi in his arms, rousing her, and kicked the door. After the boom of his foot, the brass knocker made a light thumping sound, but no one answered. Instead of setting Vasi down, Casimir leaned in, grabbed the doorknob, and awkwardly managed to open the door.

A tinkle of laughter interrupted a low murmuring of voices. The happy sounds floated into the Great Hall, and Casimir stormed through the large room and into the solar. Marika, Roza, and Lady Granth sat around the mistress’s tea table, chatting over a late luncheon. The heavily laden table held tiered dishes with éclairs, teacakes, scones, and cookies, a large quiche, and finger sandwiches. Pots of lemon curd, raspberry jam, and clotted cream sat on the table. Fresh brewed tea and lemon perfumed the air along with bouquets of hot-house roses. The three women glanced up, and shock doused their features. Roza froze with an éclair halfway to her mouth, and Lady Granth’s mouth formed an O.

But Marika’s painted eyes only widened.

“What is the meaning of this?” Casimir asked as his gaze swung over the party.

Marika plastered on a smile and stood. “Casimir, darling, you’re home. I—”

Vasi’s fatigue fled as adrenaline pumped through her. Her gaze focused, and she studied her father.

Casimir shook his head, and his gaze swept over the party. “I . . . I cannot think of any explanation for this.” He stared at Marika, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you entertaining company while my daughter is filthy, starving, and slaving in the garden? Did you know she is faint from malnutrition while you gorge yourselves?”

Vasi braved a glance at the group. Marika’s pale skin reddened even under her layer of paint.

Lady Granth gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh dear, Casimir, darling, I’m sure you don’t understand. I know this will come hard, but from what Viscountess Pleth has told me, the girl has been a torment.”

Casimir turned to the Marchioness. “I beg your pardon—”

Lady Granth nodded. “I’m sure this conversation isn’t one you’d prefer to have with company, but as we’re practically family—”

“You’re quite right, Lady Granth,” Casimir snapped, his kind eyes turning to ice. “This conversation is not fit for company, and you are not family. You should leave.”

“Casimir,” Marika said. Her face, if possible, reddened further, but she blustered on. “You can’t be serious. Lady Granth is not only our guest—”

“I am serious,” Casimir growled at his wife. “I assure you, Viscountess, I am quite serious. Remove yourself from that seat, Lady Granth, so that my daughter may eat. She is in far more need of nourishment than you. Or any of you.”

The Marchioness sputtered incoherently.

“The girl has you fooled, my dear!” Marika exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Her hands shook as she waved them in the air. “She’s feeding you lies.” She turned to Lady Granth. “I beg your pardon, Lady Granth. I’m so humiliated. He is under his daughter’s manipulations—”

“Get out!” Casimir bellowed. “Now!”

Pushing back from the table, Lady Granth stood, her face turning as red as a tomato. “I’ve never been so mistreated.”

Her bulging bosom heaved as she crossed the room. When she stood in the doorway, she pointed a closed fan at them and said, “This is what comes of marrying tradesmen, Marika. I warned you.”

“No,” Marika cried, rushing toward Lady Granth. “Please, for our friendship’s sake, keep this regrettable exchange between us. I am so ashamed, but you can see he is not himself.”

Casimir ignored them as he deposited Vasi into the vacated seat. He poured tea into a clean cup and added cream and sugar like he’d done a hundred times. His hand remained steady, but his lips quivered as he handed Vasi the cup and saucer.

Lady Granth sniffed, then standing ramrod straight, nodded. “Marika, my sympathy goes out to you. Clearly, you’ve had to withstand and endure more trials than I could fathom.” She directed the next comment at Casimir. “Your loving wife is quite tormented by that girl—I hope you come to know it before it’s too late.”

Vasi shook her head, her trembling hand spilling tea on her already dirty clothes. “No. That’s not true.”

Casimir stood and faced the Marchioness. “Leave now, Lady Granth. We won’t be entertaining you again. Ever again.”

The woman’s face ripened from scarlet to purple.

“I should say not,” she snapped and then disappeared out the door.

“Oh, Casimir,” Marika wailed. Sobbing loudly, she wiped at nonexistent tears. Her perfectly painted face was contorted with rage, but her makeup remained unsmudged. “You’ve disgraced us! You will ruin us!”

Casimir stared at his wife for a long moment before he glanced down at Vasilisa.

The tea had moistened her mouth, and Vasi greedily drank the rest of the warm, sugary liquid. Leaning forward, she lifted the pot but fumbled it.

Casimir caught the teapot and poured her another cup. “There now . . . better, little dove?”

“Much.” She nodded at her papa with a grateful smile.

Roza leaned away from Vasi, her hand covering her nose. “Mother?”

Marika ignored her daughter and wailed louder. Covering her face with her hands, she cried, “Oh, Casimir, how you mistreat me! How you belittle me!”

Casimir stood stiffly, looking between his daughter and wife. A strange tension held them fixed while Marika’s wails echoed through the room.

Vasi finished her second cup of tea and pushed the cup and saucer onto the table. Her stomach churned, either from the cream or the carrot, and she willed herself to not be sick.

“Master Casimir?” the valet gasped, entering the room.

The entire party startled, and Marika’s wails ceased.

Mister John stood in the doorway, his gaze bouncing between them before settling back on Casimir. “Master Casimir, you’re home. I thought . . . Well, a summons came for you from the palace. I told ‘em you weren’t home, that you weren’t ’xpected for days. He insisted you were and said guards been keepin’ an eye on the roads, and they saw you comin’.”

Casimir closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, John. Do you by chance know when the summons is for?”

The white-haired man grimaced. “Immediate, sir. I’m sorry. The page said it’s urgent. Tsar Baine would like to speak with you right away.” He rubbed his hands on his trousers and repeated under his breath, “Right away.”

“Of course it is,” Casimir muttered darkly. With a sigh, he turned to Marika. While her face remained tear free and her makeup perfectly preserved, sadness and exhaustion ravaged Casimir’s features. With a deep breath, his expression hardened. “We’ll discuss this when I return home tonight.”

As he turned to leave, Marika’s lips tipped up in a smile.