Light flooded the room.

The bodies in the salon gasped and cowered, reaching quickly for their garments as the Archbishop entered the smoky room. They were Adam and Eve discovering their nakedness.

The Archbishop was an old man, his age-worn back curved into a crooked hunch and his golden crozier the only thing keeping him on his feet. He squinted and raised his right hand vaguely, as if reaching for something before him.

"Heathens!" he croaked. "Heathens, all of you! Have you no fear of the Lord?"

"Allow me to order the arrest, Your Grace." A guard leaned down to whisper in his ear. "This room is awash in enough evidence for twenty hangings."

I looked down at Leo. We watched from the shadows of the corner, the darkness that the red candlelight could not touch.

The Archbishop hobbled through the room, eyes sweeping the scene. "I had hoped to be wrong about this place. I could never have dreamed to witness such godlessness. Such twisted perversions! In the Palace of the Lord's Anointed no less! May God have mercy on your wretched souls."

Kisi let out a wild scream when a guard lifted her off the floor. Her limbs flailed, hands grasping and scratching, as he tore her from her lover.

Some of the nobles, preferring to cling to the scraps of their dignity, straightened up and allowed themselves to be herded out of the room. Others scattered like ants to throw on clothes before the guards closed in.

The girl covered in candlewax was still tied to the table. One of the guards picked at the ropes, his eyes glued to the wall to keep from looking at her.

The Archbishop stopped suddenly in the center of the room. The fat man with the leash around his neck backed out from beneath a woman's skirt and faced him with mortified eyes.

"Lord Hudde?" the Archbishop choked. "Is that you?"

"Archbishop!" Hudde flung his naked form at the man's feet and gripped the edges of his linen alb. "All a misunderstanding, Your Grace, you must believe me..."

Leo rose silently and cracked open the back door. More light spilled into the room.

I watched him, frozen.

He nodded in my direction, then beckoned for me to come. It wasn't exactly my finest moment, creeping along in the darkness of the corner, holding my trousers up with one hand. I faced him and he pushed me through the door. "Hurry!"

Amidst the chaos, no one noticed us slip away. We ducked into the golden light of the castle halls, surrounded by grand paintings and twinkling chandeliers.

I buttoned up my trousers as quickly as possible. If I was going to get thrown in prison, I preferred to do it fully dressed.

"This way," Leo whispered, then gripped my hand and pulled me across the hallway to the nearest room.

The footman outside blanched at the sight of us, but said not a word.

My heart raced as the Marquis slammed shut the door and pulled me into the corner. The suite was a lavish but disorganized mess, twice the size of Henriette's room. Vials of creams and perfumes lay on their sides atop the vanity. Crumpled sheets were strung across the floor.

"Whose room is this?" I asked.

"Don't know." Leo smirked. "He's either at the ball or on his way to the dungeon."

All at once his lips were on mine, wet, warm, tasting strange. His fingers, climbing up my collarbone, were long and slim like a woman's with square knuckles and a sharp wristbone like a man's. But this kiss was different. My desire was gone, licking flames extinguished.

I pulled back, but he only held me tighter, eyes shut, lips searching. I covered his hand with my own, feeling the emerald ring on his middle finger, and pulled his hands off me.

This boy who mere minutes ago I had found so beautiful, now felt terribly wrong.

"Stop," I murmured.

You're not him.

I wanted Philip. I wanted my King.

Leo's fingers knotted in my white server's shirt, a soft pout on his lips. "No one will find us here."

My throat was tight as I swallowed. "I'm leaving."

Hurt flickered in his blue eyes.

Something tugged at my chest. Pity.

Then his bruised lips curved into a sneer. "Fine. I'll just find someone else." He knocked my shoulder roughly. "Let's invite the footman in, shall we?"

Before he could wrench open the door, the sound of merry laughter drifted from the hall, a man's and a woman's.

We both froze, two foxes hearing the bark of hounds. Shadows appeared beneath the door.

"Merde..." Leo gasped. "Quick! Hide, hide!"

I spun around. "Where?"

He let out a growl of frustration and for a moment I thought he would strangle me. Then he gripped the collar of my shirt and dragged me behind one thick curtain beside the open window.

My stomach churned as I looked out at the courtyard.

All I could think of was Philip III falling to his death.

The knob turned and the voices grew louder. Leo's eyes went wide. "Mon Dieu... non, non, non..."

"What?" I whispered. "What is it?"

He sucked in a terrible, whistling breath and stared at me with pure terror in his eyes. "Father," he managed to force out.

I peeked around the curtain.

There he stood, before the vanity untying his cravat. The Duc de Montpensier. He set the cravat down and tossed his cufflinks on the polished wood.

I ducked out of view before he turned my way. "Of all rooms you picked his?"

"I didn't know it was his!"

The woman slid into the Duke's waiting arms, taffeta gown already slipping down her bare shoulders. He pecked her lips and murmured something in French.

She let out a purr. "Mmm, Jacques."

"Si belle," he cooed back. The sound of loud, wet kisses filled the room.

"Kill me," Leo whispered.

I shot him a smirk. "I've considered it."

"It's so cold, Jacques," the woman said. She was an Englishwoman. "My heart is but a weak flutter. I cannot take in cold air."

"Close the window, ma puce."

Leo turned to me frantically. "Climb out!" he urged, his voice a strained whisper.

My stomach did another flip. "I'm not great with heights."

"Idiot! Climb out!"

It was too late. The fair-skinned Englishwoman turned an even deathlier shade of white as she brushed aside the curtain. There, her gray eyes fell upon two figures, the blonde Marquis still wearing nothing but that obnoxious string of crystals, and me, the lanky, gauche waiter boy.

"Burglars!" Her shrill screech pierced my eardrums. "Burglars!"

A moment later, the curtains were thrust open and the Duke stood before us, an iron fire poker in one hand.

Leo yelped and ducked behind me, all but naked, burying his face in the back of my shirt.

The Duke's eyes bulged from their sockets. "Son?"

"Father," Leo squeaked.

"Who- who is-" the Duke sputtered and looked at me.

I raised both hands. "Listen, I was just-"

"You bastard! You molest my son!" he roared. "I kill you!"

For once, my sense of self-preservation kicked in. I tore away from Leo and darted between the Duke and the Englishwoman.

"Halt, boy!" The Duke raised his fire poker.

Leo clawed at his father's shoulder to stop him from striking me. "Papa, Papa, no!" The woman muffled a gasp and held her drooping dress pinned to her chest with one hand.

I didn't look back.

I ran.

In the hallway, guests were returning from the ball. Men grunted and women gasped as I pushed my way between them, worn boots thudding on the polished floor. I'd swiped them on my way to the salons, unable to keep those ill-fitting waiter's shoes on a moment longer.

The Duke's shouts followed me. I looked back as I took the stairs two at a time, head whipping to see his wild eyes as he floundered in the crowd.

"Coward!" he howled. "Come face me like a man!"

I surveyed the hall. No guards. Must all be in the salons. The Duke stopped at the top of the stairs, the fire poker still in one hand, and bent at the waist to catch his breath.

I glanced up at him, his face red as a tomato, his hard round stomach heaving beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and couldn't help but grin.

His eyes lifted, a light, almost soulless blue, meeting mine. A moment of acceptance passed between us. Then I turned and ran the rest of the way down the stairs.

The open field behind the servants' hall was quickly becoming my ideal spot to hide. Filled with memories, the kind that plagued my sleep and the kind that gave me a reason to wake up at all. First kill. First drop of blood. First real kiss.

My heart sank at the figure sitting in the grass.

He was shirtless, spine protruding as he bent low and scribbled along the newspaper in his lap.

Still as a statue, I watched the man, the way his fingers jerked the quill across the page in an erratic, almost frenzied flutter, as if his hourglass was nearly empty. I remembered my first night in the castle, meeting him, so hopeful for a friend.

A friend.

I had just wanted a friend.

His head turned suddenly, shoulder blades twisting. It took him a moment to recognize me. "Auden," he said.

"Geoff."

His eyes lowered to my clothes, spotless and freshly ironed, then my boots, dirty and worn. A mismatched outfit. Sort of like me.

"Steal those clothes?" he asked.

"No." I could have explained further, bragged about being inside the royal ballroom, but I didn't need to. With every second that passed, a little more light died in Geoff's eyes.

"Spend your day with the pig?" His voice was sharp, stinging.

Pig. All I could think of was the rotting pig's head in the slaughterhouse, flies swarming the sickening smell, wicked smile cut into its cheeks.

I was so angry. Nothing I did seemed right. Every time I followed my heart, I got hurt. Every time I tried to be good, it all came crashing down around me. I wanted to hurt someone. Unleash all my rage. Make them pay for this life I'd been born into.

"I hate being poor," I said. "So do you. Why do we have to pretend we're proud of it?"

Geoff slammed his newspaper to the grass and got to his feet. My heart picked up, fear and excitement blending into one.

"Because we are poor. We're worse than poor. We're dirt. We're dog shit under someone's boot. The moment we look up to them is the moment we stamp down on our own people."

He was panting, eyes wild and dark. His greasy hair fell around his face like an inky cloud as he stepped closer, backing me towards the stone archway.

"It's too late for you, isn't it?" he murmured at last. "He got in your head the second you met him. I saw it in your eyes."

Philip. He was talking about Philip. My heart tugged. Lips trembled.

"God, Auden." Geoff stepped away from me and scrubbed at his face. I watched him stalk around the field in a wide loop, unable to look at me. My throat tightened, but no tears arose. "Why did you come here?" he hissed. "Why aren't you off having a spot of tea" - he mimicked a refined accent and curled his hand in an effeminate gesture - "with the man who is killing us? Killing our families! That fucking fat pig!"

I looked Geoff in the eye for the first time that night. His tanned skin was smooth, forehead shiny from the day's work. His thick, tangled hair had grown longer in the past months, nearing his shoulders. His beard was short and patchy. He must have cut it with the knife.

The knife.

My chest tightened, belly warmed.

I met his gaze spitefully, trying to control my breathing. His eyes were so angry, so forceful, and at the same time, so vulnerable.

That haunting moment, weeks ago, standing in the servants' hall, suddenly became clear. Geoff wasn't jealous that the King had asked someone else's name. Geoff was jealous that someone else had asked my name.

"I thought you were different," he whispered.

My mind swirled with images. Pig. Butcher. Knife. The guard's blood, spraying over the field. My own blood, drying on my cheek. And Geoff. Geoff smiling with his dripping blade.

"You know who killed Fletcher?" I said. "I did. He was staring at me in the slaughterhouse. And so that night, I went back, I picked out a knife, and I slit his throat." I shrugged, as if it were the most casual thing in the world.

Geoff shook his head. Over and over. He groped for words. "Why?"

"Why did you want to kill that maid in the kitchen?"

He leaned in, his eyes never leaving me.

I waited for his disgust. His chastizing words. I wondered if he would hit me. I wondered if I wanted him to.

Instead, his palm came up and cupped my face, calloused thumb stroking my cheek with a strange mix of firmness and gentleness I had never known. It felt like something a father might have done, if I'd ever really had one.

"Oh, Auden." His eyes were softer now. "I did this to you, didn't I?"

"I make my own decisions," I breathed, but my voice was as weak as my resolve.

His fingertips dipped lower, under my jaw and down the side of my neck. "Too young," he murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself. "Too young."

For some reason, that offended me more than anything else he could have said. "I'm not too young for anything," I hissed.

I had been too young, once, but that was many years ago.

My palms pressed flat against the burly hair on his chest. Then lower, following the black line of hair to his navel. His abs, rock solid, tightened beneath my touch. And then his hands came down and gripped my wrists.

"No. No. Look at me."

I did. His eyes were stormy seas, uncharted waters. I searched for something to like. Something redeeming.

Geoff held my hands tightly and leaned into my neck, inhaling deeply. The scents from the salon were lost to me, now I smelled only earth and wet stone. I stared out at the grass, my lips sealed in a grim line, as he breathed against my neck and murmured pleasurably. I didn't mind letting men get what they wanted from me. But there was nothing I hated more than being passive.

After a moment he straightened up. "We shouldn't."

"Alright," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "Alright? That's all you're going to say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

Before me stood a man, nearly a decade my senior, who thought so highly of himself, and yet seemed so alike a child I wanted to laugh. "I thought you would be more excited," he muttered.

A playful smile grew on my lips. "Then do something to excite me." I shoved him hard and advanced a step, snapping my teeth like a dog. "Let's play."

He backed away.

"What's wrong?" I taunted. "You scared?" I stumbled a little on the next step and had to grip the side of the building. "Think I'll kill you like Fletcher?"

"Auden, don't make me do this..." he warned.

I only laughed and lunged at him.

The drinks I'd downed made my movements slow, awkward. In seconds he had me on my back in the grass, his crushing weight atop me.

Strong. So much stronger.

I clawed at him, grunting and snarling, until he wrestled my arms down and kept them pinned against the earth with his own. His thick hair slipped down and hung over my face, suffocating me in grease and stench. I reared up, my pelvis slamming into his, trying to knock him off me. He only pressed down harder, jagged fingernails cutting into the skin of my wrists.

I began to scream. Wordlessly, senselessly, banging my head against the ground over and over. Everything I'd been through in the last months came pouring out of me, every regret, every fear, every ounce of rage.

"Auden." Geoff's voice was broken. "Auden, please. Please stop."

I screamed until I ran out of air, until my throat felt like it had been torn to shreds. I screamed because no matter what I did, I would always end up back here. Trapped. Held down. Suffocating.

"Auden, stop," Geoff begged.

For a moment, I did. My mind cleared. I looked up into his dark, nearly-black eyes and allowed myself to weaken. Allowed my body to go limp and accept defeat. Accept that I was powerless.

But only for a moment.

Geoff breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled at me. "Look at us. Such fools. What game is this to play anyway?"

In my head, I recited the words he had told me long ago. The problem with getting close, he had said, is how easily someone can disarm you.

"The game's not over." I thrust my head up and slammed it directly into his. The momentary cry of shock and loosening of his grip was all I needed to wriggle from his grasp and reach for his belt.

I groped for the knife, feeling his makeshift pockets instead. Most were empty, but in the last one my fingers landed on something small, circular. A ring.

I froze.

He froze.

"Wait," he said.

I clenched the knife's handle and tore it out, raising the blade to his throat. "Show me," I ordered.

"It's not what you-"

"Show me the ring or I'll fucking kill you!" I growled.

He sat up, breath coming fast, and fumbled to untie the drawstring on his little pocket. Out tumbled the bronze signet ring, landing on its head in the dirt. I didn't need to turn it to see the family crest.

I knew who it belonged to.

"Why'd you take it?" I mumbled.

Geoff's eyes had gone blank, hollow. He stared at me silently.

"Why'd you take it?" I shouted again. Pressed the blade harder. "My moth-" I choked on the words. "My mother gave that to me."

"Auden-" he started.

With trembling fingers I dropped the knife to the grass and reached for the ring. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly get it on my middle finger. "Why didn't you sell it already?" I asked, my voice threatening to break. "Why hold on to it?"

"I was never going to sell it."

I looked up, panting hard, my fingers sliding towards the knife. Even if I jammed it into his chest with all my might, I doubted I'd be strong enough to kill him. My arms felt heavy, as if they were caked in a hundred layers of mud.

"I just-" He broke off hopelessly and shook his head. "I just wanted to have a piece of you."

A piece of you. The words echoed in my head. I searched my heart for a shred of sympathy, a shred of fondness for him. Geoff was a thief. A lowborn. No good. But so was I.

Geoff was a murderer.

But so was I.

After a long pause I lifted myself to my feet, abandoning the knife, abandoning him. "Stay away from me," I whispered.

He didn't move as I trekked across the grass, my back turned to him.

"You're making a mistake."

I turned. Geoff stood barely a foot from me. In his hand was the knife, blade pointed in my direction.

"You're choosing the wrong side, Auden."

My tongue felt thick and awkward in my mouth. I struggled to swallow. "I'm on my side. Always have been. So are you. We'd both do anything to get ahead."

He took a slow breath. "I hope you're able to live with yourself when you do."

Could I live with myself now?

His arm jutted out and I flinched. Then he spun the knife so the blade's edge pressed to his calloused palm and held out the handle. "Here. I want you to have this."

I hesitated. This is what I'd wanted all along. I'd fantasized about winning it in a violent struggle and standing victorious over his defeated body. Walking away with my head held high and blood dripping from the blade.

Never had I imagined he would give it to me.

I reached out hesitantly. "Told you I'd get it back," I joked.

He gave a pained smile. "You were right."

That tug was back in my heart, drawing me closer to him. I almost reached for his hand, but by then he had already turned away.

"Goodbye, Auden."

I watched him walk back towards the castle wall, back to his newspaper forsaken in the grass. "Goodbye, Geoff," I whispered.

"Oh, and Auden." He turned back, only for a moment. A flash of teeth shone in the moonlight as his lips spread in a little grin. "I'm sorry."

My brow pinched, but I didn't think much of his words. I twisted the ring in circles around my finger, clutching the knife close.

The chirp of crickets sounded like war drums as my silent footsteps made their way to the stables. The rest of the night faded to a hazy blur, collapsing into hay, wallowing in self-pity and wrapping my trembling arms around myself as if someone were there to hold me.

Mama, would you hold me if you were here?

Mama, hold me, I am so lonely.