I walk to breakfast like I'm walking to my own hanging. I was too anxious to get a minute of sleep last night. I just laid in bed, my heart pounding against my chest like a war drum, until the sun rose. A copper was once thrown off a balcony for stepping on a fae's gown. I can only imagine the punishment for kissing one. 

But when I reach the kitchens, no one gives me so much as a cursory glance. The coppers are too caught up in their own conversations to notice anything outside of their circles. They huddle in groups and only speak in low murmurs, their faces tight and guarded.

"Where's Madame?" I whisper to the closest copper. Since I started working at the palace, I have yet to see her miss a single day.

"Recovering from last night's vicious snub," he murmurs back. "Apparently, the queen matched Madame's daughter with Prince Silas, hoping she would tame his wayward ways, and he all but spat in her face, choosing a copper in the lady's place."

I swallow hard, keeping my voice neutral. "Which copper?" I know he cannot mean me. He would not be speaking to me if he so much as suspected I was responsible.

"The queen dismissed the only witnesses before they could reveal any truly damning information." 

But as he speaks, his eyes drift to the corner of the room, where a pretty selkie sits alone, desperately trying to catch anyone's eye. I do not know much about her, only that she has a reputation for tumbling with the fae that usually brings her gold and favour, but now has made her the prime suspect in a witch hunt. Guilt nags at my stomach.

"How do we know it was a copper?" I say. "In the dark, it's impossible to tell what color our masks are."

"It doesn't matter what the truth is," he replies gravely. "Only what Madame believes."

When I work on the coronation portrait, my lack of sleep finally catches up to me. I come to when Aerwyna grabs my shoulder, pulling me out of my paints. I swipe my hand along the side of my face and my hand comes back all the colours of the rainbow. 

Despite my protests, Aerwyna insists on dismissing me, for she shall call on my services again when the first round of the tournament begins. On the walk back to my room, a copper catches me, handing me over to a recently returned, deeply unhappy Madame.

"Any preferences for your assignment?" Madame asks cooly.

"The gardens. Or the –"

"Oh, wait. I just realized, I do not care."

While I'm on my hands and knees, scrubbing the main entry's floor, I spy Silas walking down the hall with a couple of fae-knights. My face sours, and I begin composing a letter to Edmond with all the sentiment I could not say out loud. At least, no while keeping my head. 

For the same reason they like looking at him, his image disturbs me. He personifies the blunder artists make when they fall in love with their muse – glossing over every flaw, painting something so perfect it could never actually exist in real life. 

Or in his case, shouldn't exist. Without any flaws, a person is boring to look at. I look at him, and my creativity dries up like a corpse left to rot in the sun... I'd like to leave his corpse rotting in the sun...

I stare at Silas for too long, and he notices. As soon as our eyes lock, I jerk my head away and grab my cleaning supplies to find a new hall to clean. I take a short cut through a servant's passageway, one of the few places in the palace not carved from gold and marble. 

The walls sag and the air in between is thick with foul odors that no one bothers cleaning. It's like leaving the palace and stepping into a cave.

"Isobel."

I walk faster.

"Isobel! You refuse to speak to me now?" Silas falls in step beside me. I am out of breath, but he strolls at a casual pace, hands in pockets. He doesn't even seem to realize we were racing. "Are you still upset about the other day?"

"No, Your Highness," I grit out.

"Aw, was that your first kiss? You wanted to save it for someone special? That's adorable. Honestly, I think that's great."

My face heats up. "Can't you see I don't want to talk to you?"

He fixes me with a look that might have been sympathetic, if it was not so patronizing. "When your deal ends and you get the mask off, I'm sure you'll meet a very nice mortal boy. Or girl, if that's where your heart lies," he adds with a cat-like grin. "Redo it with them, and forget all about me."

"I can not forget. Don't you realize how much trouble you caused me? I can barely concentrate on Aerwyna's portrait anymore. What if she replaces me?" My throat tightens, my vision clouding over. "Working for her is all I have left."

Silas' eyes flicker to the low hanging ceiling. "You can't concentrate enough to paint just because I kissed you? It was that good, huh?"

I slap him across the face. His head whips to the side, and his hair falls over his eyes, shrouding his expression in shadows. Coppers have lost their lives for far less, but I cannot stop now that I have started. "You can't torment me and make me your scribe. Pick one."

"Torment?" he says, rolling his head back to face me. "You ask me for sympathy after the way you treated my brother? You would have ruined his reputation sooner than lose your muse."

"Please, I made your day! Just when you needed a scribe, you stumbled upon the means to entrap one."

"Fortunate indeed," he drawls. "Catching your crime spared me a good deal of trouble framing you for one." 

This time, he catches my wrist an inch before I can slap him. 

"Careful now," he murmurs, his eyes shining in the darkness. After watching Silas spar his brothers, I have some idea of his capabilities, which were plenty strong enough to snap my wrist like a twig. "I let you hit me once because I forced a kiss on you. I won't excuse it again."

"I know you won't," I hiss. "There's a reason you work with a lowly copper in secrecy and threats, the same reason the queen does not trust you, can barely even tolerate you. Does the rest of your family know how you really are? Or have I learned more about you in months than they have in centuries?"

Silas' fingers tighten around my wrist, drawing me closer, inches away from him. "So what I am, then? What have these months taught you?"

I tense as he draws even closer, eating up the distance between us to inches. "Enough," I say. 

This time when I pull at my wrist, he lets me.