“Why do you insist on making my life more difficult than it already is?” I demanded, slamming the door to my office shut. “She’s furious at us both now.”

Tristan had his boots up on my desk, lists of market prices held in one hand. “I do make your life more difficult,” he agreed, cloaking the room with magic. “But in this case, I’m making it easier.”

“How is that?” My voice was acidic, and I flung myself down on a chair, the wood creaking. “I’m supposed to be spending time with her, but she ran out like she wants nothing to do with me.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “That’s not why she ran off.”

“Really?”

“Stones and sky, but you are as blind as a bat when it comes to her.” Tossing the lists on my desk, he leaned forward. “Whether she realized it or not, her arrival was timed to coincide with you meeting with the traders. And whether you realize it or not, she’s more than capable of listening to a conversation while seeming to be embroiled in her work. She does it frequently.”

I glared at him. “You were spying on me?”

“I spy on you all the time. You and Jérôme might’ve been vague, but Pénélope isn’t stupid. She knows you were up to something – a fact you all but confirmed in your attempts to apologize for my poor behavior.”

“How is that helpful?”

Tristan made an exasperated noise. “It’s helpful in that it gives her something useful to report back to her father, but nothing so damning that we need worry about being discovered. She’s bolder when she’s angry, and I can all but guarantee that she’s off to find Christophe to exchange that sketch for information about what they’re bringing in for you. He dislikes me enough and wants the portrait badly enough that he’ll tell her that it’s all very cloak and dagger, which will arouse her suspicions even more. And if he hesitates, well… Pénélope is probably the most beautiful girl he’s ever spoken to. She’ll get the information out of him.”

My fingers ran cold. “Tristan, they’re retrieving pamphlets. If they’re caught bringing them into Trollus…”

“That’s why you’ll have Esmeralda delay the pamphlets and order something more innocuous to come via the Girards. Indecent drawings or something like that, so it makes sense they’d be ordered in Trianon rather than produced by the guild. I’ll have the twins take the delivery, and they can use them for some form of prank or another. But it gives Pénélope some evidence that we’re willing to break my father’s laws.”

It was a good plan. A really good plan. Of course it was, given that Tristan had come up with it. I picked at a scratch on my desk, knowing that I should be relieved. But I wasn’t.

“This is what we need to do to keep her safe,” Tristan said, removing his boots from my desk, his tone serious. “We toe the line and trust that she’s smart enough to make use of what we give her.”

“How long will it work?”

“As long as we need it to.” He leaned forward. “And once I’m on the throne, you have my most sincere word that I’ll pluck her out of that home and ensure her safety, no matter what Angoulême thinks about it. Then you two can… Well, we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

I bit down on the insides of my cheeks to hold back a caustic retort. Because of course he saw no future between me and Pénélope.

“I know you hate this,” he said. “But it’s not enough for you two to walk up and down the promenade drinking sweet wine and eating pastries. She has an agenda, and so do you. That must always be forefront in your mind.”

“I take it you were spying on us then, too.”

“Anaïs was.”

Of course. Someone always would, whether it be for Tristan or for the Duke. No doubt Pénélope would realize that too, if she hadn’t already. We’d be spied upon as we played this game, our interactions souring and growing less genuine until all the affection between us had been burned away.

“Why can’t we tell her the truth?” I asked. “You know she’d help us.”

Tristan went very still. Then he said, “No. Absolutely not.”

“But–”

“This is the kind of secret that needs to be kept in a steel box, Marc. Not a wicker basket. You will not tell her.”

The analogy made me bite the insides of my cheeks with anger once again – as did his ordering me about – but I knew there was no dissuading him.

And I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“What of you and Anaïs?” I asked, changing the subject. “Have you put more thought to her proposal?”

It was Tristan’s turn to look uncomfortable. “It’s the only way I can think to meet with the sympathizers without risk of discovery,” he said, scraping a hand through his hair. “But already I ask so much of her. Too much. I don’t know how she sleeps at night.”

“It’s a good plan.” I searched his expression, trying to find clues to his intentions, but as always, there were none. “If you wish to take the reins with Tips and the rest, there may be no other way.”

“I know. But farce or not, it will be damaging to her.”

“Or not?” I lifted one eyebrow, then asked a question I knew he wouldn’t like. “Just what are your intentions toward her?”

He looked away. “In what regard?”

“Don’t be cagey. Do you intend to make her Queen one day or not?”

Silence.

“Do you love her?”

His jaw tightened. “In a way, I suppose. She’s my friend. She’s loyal. I trust her.”

“But not enough to risk the affliction in her family’s line?”

“It’s not that. It’s…” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “It’s a problem for a distant day.”

Which wasn’t at all what he’d been about to say.

“Unless you plan to make her Queen then keep it a farce,” I said. “Because if you let it go further than that only to replace her with another, it will break her heart.”

Anger filled his gaze. “I would never hurt her on purpose.”

“Then don’t let it come to that. Don’t let it go too far.”

He was on his feet in a flash, heading toward the door, but once there, he hesitated. “It’s good advice, Marc. And given your own situation with Pénélope, you might want to take it to heart.”