“You—you—” Tremblay’s eyes bulged, and a vein appeared on his shiny forehead. “Fille de pute! You cannot do this to me. You cannot—”

“Come now, monsieur, I do not have all day. The prince has returned from Amandine, and I do not want to miss the festivities.”

His chin jutted obstinately. “I—I do not have it with me.”

Damn it. Disappointment crashed through me, bitter and sharp. Coco muttered a curse.

“I do not believe you.” Striding to the window across the room, Madame Labelle peered down. “Ah, Monsieur Tremblay, how could a gentleman such as yourself leave your daughter to wait outside a brothel? Such easy prey.”

Sweating profusely now, Tremblay hastened to turn out his pockets. “I swear I don’t have it! Look, look!” I pressed my face closer as he shoved the contents of his pockets toward her: an embroidered hand cloth, a silver pocket watch, and a fistful of copper couronnes. But no ring. “Please, leave my daughter alone! She is not involved in this!”

He made such a pitiful sight that I might’ve felt sorry for him—if he hadn’t just dashed all my plans. As it were, however, the sight of his trembling limbs and ashen face filled me with vindictive pleasure.

Madame Labelle seemed to share my sentiment. She sighed theatrically, dropping her hand from the window, and—curiously—turned to look directly at the portrait I stood behind. Tumbling backward, I landed squarely on my ass and bit back a curse.

“What is it?” Coco whispered, crouching beside me. Babette released the button with a frown.

“Shhhh!” I waved my hands wildly, motioning toward the parlor. I think—I mouthed the words, not daring to speak—she saw me.

Coco’s eyes flew open in alarm.

We all froze as her voice drifted closer, muted but audible through the thin wall. “Pray tell me, monsieur . . . where is it, then?”

Holy hell. Coco and I locked eyes incredulously. Though I didn’t dare return to the portrait, I pressed closer to the wall, breath hot and uncomfortable against my own face. Answer her, I pleaded silently. Tell us.

Miraculously, Tremblay obliged, his vehement reply more dulcet than the sweetest of music. “It’s locked away in my townhouse, you salope ignorante—”

“That will do, Monsieur Tremblay.” As their parlor door clicked open, I could almost see her smile. It matched my own. “I hope for your daughter’s sake you aren’t lying. I will arrive at your townhouse at dawn with your coin. Do not keep me waiting.”

The Chasseur

Lou

“I’m listening.”

Sitting in the crowded patisserie, Bas lifted a spoonful of chocolat chaud to his lips, careful not to spill a drop on his lace cravat. I resisted the urge to flick a bit of mine at him. For what we had planned, we needed him in a good mood.

No one could swindle an aristocrat like Bas could.

“It’s like this,” I said, pointing my spoon at him, “you can pocket everything else in Tremblay’s vault as payment, but the ring is ours.”

He leaned forward, dark eyes settling on my lips. When I irritably brushed the chocolat from my mustache, he grinned. “Ah, yes. A magic ring. I have to admit I’m surprised you’re interested in such an object. I thought you’d renounced all magic?”

“The ring is different.”

His eyes found my lips once more. “Of course it is.”

“Bas.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face pointedly. “Focus, please. This is important.”

Once, upon arriving in Cesarine, I’d thought Bas quite handsome. Handsome enough to court. Certainly handsome enough to kiss. From across the cramped table, I eyed the dark line of his jaw. There was still a small scar there—just below his ear, hiding in the shadow of his facial hair—where I’d bitten him during one of our more passionate nights.

I sighed ruefully at the memory. He had the most beautiful amber skin. And such a tight little ass.

He chuckled as if reading my mind. “All right, Louey, I shall attempt to marshal my thoughts—as long as you do the same.” Stirring his chocolat, he sat back with a smirk. “So . . . you wish to rob an aristocrat, and you have, of course, come to the master for guidance.”

I scoffed but bit my tongue. As the third cousin twice removed of a baron, Bas held the peculiar position of being part of the aristocracy, while also not being part of it. His relative’s wealth allowed him to dress in the finest fashions and attend the fanciest parties, yet the aristocrats couldn’t bother to remember his name. A useful slight, as he often attended said parties to relieve them of their valuables.

“A wise decision,” he continued, “as twits such as Tremblay utilize layers upon layers of security: gates and locks and guards and dogs, just to name a few. Probably more after what happened to his daughter. The witches stole her during the dead of night, didn’t they? He’ll have increased his protections.”

Filippa was becoming a real pain in my ass.

Scowling, I glanced toward the patisserie’s window. All manner of pastries perched there on glorious display: iced cakes and sugar loaves and chocolat tartlets, as well as macarons and fruit danishes of every color. Raspberry eclairs and an apple tarte tatin completed the display.

Out of all this decadence, however, the enormous sticky buns—with their cinnamon and sweet cream—made my mouth truly water.

As if on cue, Coco threw herself into the empty seat beside us. She thrust a plate of sticky buns toward me. “Here.”

I could’ve kissed her. “You’re a goddess. You know that, right?”

“Obviously. Just don’t expect me to hold your hair back when you’re puking later—oh, and you owe me a silver couronne.”

“Like hell. That’s my money too—”

“Yes, but you can weasel a sticky bun out of Pan anytime. The couronne is a service fee.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the short, plump man behind the counter: Johannes Pan, pastry extraordinaire and halfwit. More important, however, he was the close personal friend and confidant of Mademoiselle Lucida Bretton.

I was Mademoiselle Lucida Bretton. With a blond wig.

Sometimes I didn’t want to wear the suit—and I’d quickly discovered Pan had a soft spot for the gentler sex. Most days I only had to bat my lashes. Others I had to get slightly more . . . creative. I shot Bas a covert look. Little did he know, he’d committed all sorts of heinous acts to poor Mademoiselle Bretton over the past two years.

Pan couldn’t handle a woman’s tears.

“I’m dressed as a man today.” I tucked into the first bun, shoving half of it into my mouth without decorum. “’esides, ’e prffers”—I swallowed hard, eyes watering—“blondes.”

Heat radiated from Bas’s dark gaze as he watched me. “Then the gentleman has poor taste.”

“Ick.” Coco gagged, rolling her eyes. “Give it a rest, will you? Pining doesn’t suit you.”

“That suit doesn’t suit you—”

Leaving them to bicker, I returned my attention to the buns. Though Coco had procured enough to feed five people, I accepted the challenge. Three buns in, however, the two had turned even my appetite. I pushed my plate away roughly.

“We don’t have the luxury of time, Bas,” I interrupted, just as Coco looked likely to leap across the table at him. “The ring will be gone by morning, so it has to be tonight. Will you help us or not?”

He frowned at my tone. “Personally, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. You don’t need an invisibility ring for safety. You know I can protect you.”

Pfft. Empty promises. Perhaps that was why I’d stopped loving him.

Bas was many things—charming, cunning, ruthless—but he wasn’t a protector. No, he was far too worried about more important things, like saving his own skin at the first sign of trouble. I didn’t hold it against him. He was a man, after all, and his kissing had more than made up for it.

Coco glared at him. “As we’ve told you—several times—it grants the user more than invisibility.”

“Ah, mon amie, I must confess I wasn’t listening.”

When he grinned, blowing her a kiss across the table, her hands curled into fists. “Bordel! I swear, one of these days I’m going to—”

I intervened before she could slash open a vein. “It renders the user immune to enchantment. Sort of like the Chasseurs’ Balisardas.” My gaze flicked to Bas. “Surely you understand how useful that might prove to me.”

His grin vanished. Slowly, he reached up to touch my cravat, fingers tracing where it hid my scar. Chills erupted down my spine. “But she hasn’t found you. You’re still safe.”

“For now.”

He stared at me for a long moment, hand still raised to my throat. Finally, he sighed. “And you’re willing to do whatever it takes to procure this ring?”

“Yes.”