My rooms at the castle still did not look like mine - or rather, they did not look like anyone’s. I had left most things just as I found them, and what possessions I had brought with me from Raverre had been stored away in wardrobes for me before I moved in. Mary and Raphael, the two servants who seemed assigned to me, had learned that I did not require much from them, but my bed still ended up made perfectly each time I left it untouched. 

The only thing that distinguished my quarters from guest rooms was the darkness - the thickness of the curtains, always drawn, and the fact that my lamps were rarely lit. It was a little kindness, to give my sensitive eyes a break from the sunlight that shown through stained glass nearly everywhere else. 

It was nearly full dark in my rooms when Senka knocked on my door, late in the evening. 

“Your highness,” she said when I opened the door, curtsying much deeper than she had inside James’ room. “I have a message for you.” 

“Come in,” I said, opening wider to beckon her inside. 

She stepped in with a little trepidation as I closed the door behind her. Her hands curled into little fists around the edges of her apron. I moved to light the lamps. 

“Oh - allow me,” she said quickly. 

“It’s alright. It is only fair that you can see me as well as I see you.” 

She frowned. “It’s true, then? That you see in the dark?” 

“Not perfectly.” I blew out the long match as I lit a second lantern, careful to keep it far from my fingers. “Just better than most.” 

Her posture relaxed. “Is it...it can’t be true that you’re hurt by sunlight.” 

“I wear a veil in bright sun because it hurts my eyes. That’s all.” 

Senka stood near the door still, looking at me curiously. I sensed some of the same suspicion she’d shown me when I met her. Fair enough that she should be wary of me around James, with the rumors about my being an assassin. 

“How is James?” I asked. 

She grimaced. “He is...not well enough for visitors, right now. But I will tell him you asked.” 

“I hope he recovers soon.” 

Senka shrugged. “It is less about recovery, for James. He will live with his illness all his life. But it is possible to live with, for better or worse.” She took another step inside the room, seeming to grow more comfortable the more we spoke. “I came to tell you what I’ve learned about Lady Carmen.” 

My heartbeat stuttered. “Yes?” 

“She comes from a noble family with land in the North, on the Perian border. Her father, Laurence Von Mear, was accused of conspiring against the crown, but he disappeared before he could be brought to trial. Lady Carmen refused to give information about where he might be, so she was taken to the dungeons.” 

“She is his heir?” I asked. 

Senka nodded. “The oldest of his daughters. The others are children. I do not think their mother is alive.” 

It struck me as curious that a man in Aveline could name a daughter his heir, when inheritance in this country tended to pass only to men. Perhaps the proximity to Peria allowed for more freedom. 

“Do you know anything more about the Van Mear’s accusation?” I asked. 

“No, your highness. Not anything for certain. The guards spread rumors about it, but it’s all just talk.” 

“Thank you, Senka.” 

As she left the room, I put out the lamps again and stood alone in the dark. 

Carmen Van Mear. The prisoner in cell fourteen, the girl in the dungeon, the one with the dark eyes that met mine without a hint of deference. I thought of the taste of her blood, heady and thick and sweet. Why did I want to attack her every time I saw her, but as soon as she was out of sight I could think of nothing else but seeing her again? 

I slept hungry that night. 

*****

“Ah, my visitor,” she said, when I stepped into her cell for the third time. 

“Lady Carmen.” I stayed in the doorway, watching as she rose from her cot. She regarded me with curiosity and the same wry, mocking smile she wore each time I saw her. 

“What am I to you? A pet?” she asked, stepping forward. “You can’t possibly take this much interest in all your food.” 

I couldn’t answer that. I didn’t know the answer myself. 

“You asked me what your crime was,” I said. “I understand that you have not committed one. Your father has.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “You think so? The crown seems to think that withholding information is also a crime.” 

“Are you witholding information? Or do you not have it?” 

“What’s the difference?” 

I stood still in the doorway, my muscles wound tight with the effort of holding myself there. She smelled like salt and earth and hot, pumping life. 

“What are you doing here, little princess?” she asked. “You’re just a puppy. What do you think you’re going to do for me? Do I look like an innocent damsel in need of saving?” 

This time I was the one who laughed. “You are in a dungeon.” 

“Are you offering to get me out of it? Forgive me if I don’t offer to be your walking snack.” 

“You hate the Queen because you’ve been imprisoned for your father’s sins. You love him, as a daughter should, but you have no control over his actions. Meanwhile my mother is nothing but a figurehead to you. I understand.” 

“You understand nothing about me,” she hissed, taking another step closer, as if she was going to challenge me to a fight. “You know what you’re told, and think you know everything. If you feel uncomfortable as a guard dog to injustice, then bite. But don’t use me to stave off your guilt.” 

My hands shook with the effort of holding myself back from her neck. I should not have visited her without feeding first. I stepped back into the hallway. 

“Go on,” she said, nodding at the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”