"I know!" Saffron gushed, "I heard he's going to be in a new movie, that superhero one?"

"I met him at a party once," Albany bragged.

"No, you didn't," Fox accused, pausing with her fork halfway lifted to her mouth.

"I did. He's not as tall in person."

My eyes strained as I held back another eye roll. I was so sick of meals with the other Elites, not to mention the entire royal family judging us from the end of the table. I couldn't take all my meals in my room, and tonight I had something important to do, but I might give up if Albany brags one more time about meeting some A-list celebrity.

The princes were characteristically quiet; they barely spoke at meals to begin with, but they had less than nothing to contribute to this conversation.

I reached for another bread roll, grabbing one of the paper napkins from the basket with it. Discretely, I pulled it into my lap and folded it into an envelope. I didn't have any opportunities to speak to Alexandre, so this was the only way I could signal that I had Ari's letter ready. I was still nervous however, knowing that what I was doing wasn't as discrete as I was comfortable with. Unless one of us was planning to go to the other's bedroom, I had to do it.

My eyes slid over to stare at Alexandre, waiting for him to feel my gaze on him.

He blinked and then looked over at me, turning his head fully when he noticed how I held his eye contact. I brought the napkin up to my face, pretending to pat my lips before pulling it back down into my lap, my eyes never leaving his.

Alexandre had a hard look on his face as our eyes met. He looked me up and down with distain, but then straightened when he noticed the folded napkin. Quickly looking away with a neutral look on his face, he reached for his water glass, pausing to look up and then back at me. The roof. I continued to watch him as he took a sip, set the glass back down, and then lingered for one moment, making sure I was still watching.

He pulled up one finger and then the other from the glass before returning them and sliding his hand into his lap. 12. Midnight. Hopefully, I was reading that correctly.

I looked at Anouk, nodding along as if I was listening to her talk. I didn't look at Alexandre the rest of the meal, too nervous that the king or one of the Elites had noticed the exchange. They couldn't reasonably guess what our signals had meant, but that didn't comfort me.

When the king dismissed us with a goodnight, I lingered to look at the prince one last time as he stood and straightened his jacket. His eyes looked over me, and my disappointment grew as he called to Valeera who was just passing behind my chair. I sighed, remembering that our meeting was strictly business. Pushing my chair back in, I kept my eyes focused on the ground, embarrassed that I had entertained the idea it wasn't.

My heart rush into my throat as I felt fingers glide across the inside of my wrist. My head whipped up, but Alexandre was already past me, falling into step next to Valeera. Never had I felt my emotions switch between excited and disappointed so rapidly. I was half convinced that the touch was just my imagination.

------

Time dragged on; no number of books could chase away the anxiety that had settled into my stomach, and midnight didn't seem to get any closer as I kept checking the time. Finally, my maids left for the night, and I immediately jumped up to rifle through my closet for warm clothes. I didn't know how long I would be outside, but I wanted to be prepared. . .

Prepared in case we stayed up there longer than the time it took to exchange a letter.

I felt ridiculous agonizing over which of my winter dresses I would wear, but I still deliberated over a flashy, red, embroidered body con or a simple, velvet, forest green drop waist. I chose the green.

I reviewed myself over in the mirror, my eyes lingering too long on the scar on my face. It looked like my eye had been underlined in red, and it made my face look uneven. As soon as I started debating putting on makeup, I clicked my tongue and rolled my eyes at myself.

Grabbing the first coat, scarf, earmuffs, and gloves I could find, I threw everything on and didn't look in the mirror again before leaving my dressing room. Embarrassingly, I still had a lot of time before midnight, but I decided it might be nice to get some fresh air after being cooped up in the castle all week. I nearly forgot the letter on my way out the door.

I was grateful for the warm clothes as soon as I pushed open the door. Frigid wind whipped around the door, fluttering my skirts as I leaned into the metal to fight against it. I was momentarily enraptured as I walked out onto the roof and spun to close the door so it wouldn't slam. My mouth fell open as I looked up at the crystal-clear night sky and scattering of stars surrounding a waxing moon. The prince had been right; it was beautiful when it wasn't cloudy.

"You're early."

I jumped, gripping hard and wrinkling the letter in surprise as I turned to see Alexandre was already here. He was standing at the edge of the platform and didn't even turn to look at me. It felt a little dramatic, but I walked up to stand next to him, not looking at him either. "So are you," I commented, hearing my boots crunching the snow as I stopped.

"It's my spot," he replied, a thin hint of annoyance in his voice. It reminded me of our fight, and I used his words to dampen the excitement of seeing him again. Ross was sweet and a good conversationalist, but Alexandre had a depth to him that gave his words a warm comfort to them. I hated how much I missed our friendship.

I didn't have a reply for him, but we suddenly fell into silence as we looked out from the castle roof. Snow blanketed everything, muffling every sound so that it was deafeningly quiet. I was momentarily lost as the cold air filled my lungs, waking me up while simultaneously calming me down. It felt familiar, like I was back in Allsport, sleeping in the open air.

I didn't get bored of the feeling, having forgotten again just how claustrophobic all the walls and corridors and rooms made me. I could hear Alexandre's breath deepen next to me, seemingly just as calmed by open space. I knew one of us would need to talk eventually, but for the moment, it was just the two of us in each other's company.

"Here's the letter," I spoke up finally, pulling my hand out of my pocket to give it to him.

"I'll get it to him," was his only reply, crossing over his arm to take it with his left hand. Folding it once, he slipped it into his back pocket.

I bit my lip, waiting a couple seconds for him to say anything else before I'd go back inside.

He glanced down and I heard him slip his hand into his pocket. "Here," he muttered, making me look down to see him holding a small box unceremoniously between two fingers.

I looked at him suspiciously, but inside my heart ached. I took it from him, keeping my face completely passive as I slid the top off the box.

Inside was a thin silver bracelet; the metal work looked like waves connecting gems that were a bluish-green, iridescent even in the dark night.

"It's uh. . . 24 karat white gold," he stammered, "mostly to make up for the Chrysocolla, which is a pretty cheap stone, but it stands for. . ." His voice trailed away, and I looked up to see he had a pensive look on his face. "It doesn't matter what it means, I just liked the color," he added quickly.

"Why."

He shifted his weight to his other leg, sticking his hands back in his pockets. "It was a backup," he explained slowly, not looking at me, "for the Convicting. I wasn't sure what the deal was with you and Ross, and it's custom so I had to start getting it made a while ago."

I closed the box, trying to act nonchalant. "Why didn't you just give it to one of the other Elites?" I asked bitingly.

I saw him clench his jaw, but his words came out smoothly. "It was made for you."

"What am I supposed to do with it?" I snapped, my grief for how different this exchange could have been coming out as vitriol.

He gave me an incredulous look. "I don't know," he replied indignantly, "Whatever you want. If Ross already gave you something, then don't wear it. I don't care. I just don't want it!"

I took a deep breath. "Do you know what's going to happen tomorrow?" I asked, finally looking at him. His lips were red from the cold and the wind was turning his cheek and nose pink; his head turned to watch me warily.

"No," he replied evenly, the passive mask present but not exactly closing him off, "from what I saw, your convicting is just like the other Elites'." He didn't look away from me, and I could see the shadows his long lashes were casting around his eyes to compliment the dynamic emotions I saw swirling around in them. I couldn't guess what he was thinking.

"Is that the truth?" I challenged.

"Yes. . . as far as I know," he replied instantly, but then added, "But I also know who my father is, and I know how he feels about you."

"I'm not afraid of him," I declared, looking out across the gardens again and pulling my shoulders back from where I had hunched them against the cold.

"I don't know what he's going to do," the prince admitted, "I don't know if I will be able to protect you."

I whirled on him, offended. "Protect me? It's a little late for that, Alexandre," I spat, "I don't need or want your protection!"

He stepped back to turn and face me. "You're so-" he started, biting back his words, and squeezing his eyes shut, "Fine! Don't look to me for rescue tomorrow."

"Oh, like you rescued me before?" I asked condescendingly, "When I was whipped?"

He balked. "That's cold, Atlas," he told me scathingly, "Even from you."

"You called me a virus!" I countered, raising my voice as I reopened old wounds, "You called me inept – told me I didn't belong here!"

"I was lying!" he shouted just as loudly, but then took a step back and looked away from me. "I'm. . ." he stumbled, his voice trailing off. I could see him wrestling with his ego, and he looked everywhere except at me when he muttered, "I'm. . . sorry."

He was probably being genuine, but the delivery of his words was callous, and it didn't make me feel any better. "Apology not accepted," I snarled, my brows tilting down in indignation.

"You can't do that," he replied arrogantly.

"I can't?!" I asked incredulously, leaning back on my heels, "You hurt me, Alexandre."

"You said some really harsh things too, Atlas," he pointed out after running his hand through his hair.

I stepped up to him, getting in his face so he had no choice but to look me in the eye or back down from my intimidation. "Was anything I said untrue?" I demanded, searching his face for any reaction.

He looked away from me, back out towards the garden. I could see how tight his jaw was as he ran through our fight again, and then he had that pinched look in his eyes again as he remained silent.

"Don't come up here again," he said eventually, turning his head and leaning closer to my face, "You're not welcome."

"That's what I thought," I replied harshly.

He scoffed and turned away from me with a roll of his eyes. He stalked over to the door, but as he gripped the handle, he turned to look at me over his shoulder.

"Try not to piss my father off too much tomorrow," he told me, "You're not the one that has to deal with his wrath."

I felt the fight drain out of me. I hadn't thought about what would happen to him if I did anything too defiant tomorrow. I didn't care what happened to me, but Alexandre was in danger of being hurt because of me. Suddenly I was very nervous about the Convicting, any confidence being whisked away with one statement.

I waited a few minutes so the prince could reach the bottom of the stairs without us running into each other on our way out. Pulling out the jewelry box, I opened it to look at the bracelet again. It looked exactly like something I would wear, and it probably meant he had been paying attention to the way I dressed. I should have thanked him, but I was still jaded about what he had said to me the other day.

I should have accepted his apology. I felt cold and alone with the Convicting not even 24 hours away, and for the first time in a while, my defiance was replaced with a deep, genuine fear of what's coming next.