IF LOOKS COULD KILL, SIGNA AIMED TO OBLITERATE FATE AS HE strolled onto

the dance floor with Blythe on his arm. One corner of his lip quirked when he caught Signa glaring. From the placement of his hands to the smug gleam that lit his face, it seemed Fate was making every effort to get under Signa’s skin. Unfortunately for her, it was working.

“Is that Blythe Hawthorne on the arm of a prince?” Bodies pressed in behind Signa, falling into a tizzy of whispers that had her digging her heels into the marble. She’d been a fool to let Blythe out of her sight, too distracted by Byron and Eliza, who even then fought to steal her attention. The pair no longer stood near the dance floor but had excused themselves to a corner of the room. Eliza spared no glance at Byron; in fact, she held her fan out to cover her mouth. Every so often Signa would catch a glimpse of Eliza’s lips and see that they were moving. Byron stood close enough to listen, and though he hid it well, he was speaking, too.

Signa longed to get closer, sensing with everything in her that she was missing something important. But if Fate had made one thing clear, it was that he intended to allow Signa no reprieve. She’d been enough of a fool already to allow Blythe to fall into his hands; she wouldn’t make the same mistake again by allowing him anything more than a single dance with her cousin.

The ballroom fell quiet as Fate bowed to Blythe, who returned the formality with a curtsy. Though she would have heard the whispers by now, Blythe was light on her feet and held herself with the grace of a queen as she placed one delicate hand atop Fate’s arm and allowed his other to settle upon her waist. The swell of a waltz filled the ballroom, and with every step

the couple took, Signa’s pulse throbbed in her neck.

How was it that Fate had managed to convince everyone that he was royalty? He had only to appear and already ladies were fawning while men straightened their vests. Signa thought to ask some of those men for more information—where the prince allegedly came from, or where his parents, the queen and king, were—yet the moment her mouth formed the words, their eyes went glossy and stared blankly back at her. They watched her as though swept into a dream, never hearing the questions.

No one else noticed it. But Signa did, just as she noticed that while the voices had quieted, they wielded their whispers like finely honed blades and flocked around Blythe like wolves circling for the kill. She wished again that Death were present, if only to feel his comforting chill against her bones as she watched her cousin with increasing dread in her stomach. On her own, Signa’s abilities were not yet a match against Fate’s. She thumbed at the belladonna she kept tucked in her dress regardless, just in case. Whether Fate intended it or not, he was broadening the target on Blythe’s back, and one of these days someone was bound to take aim. Signa wished only that she could be Blythe’s shield.

Fate set his hand on the small of Blythe’s back, a small gesture but one that was far from innocent. Like every other unmarried woman in the crowd, Signa readied herself to pounce the moment the song was over, unwilling to watch her cousin continue this parade of tossing her hair back and smiling in some ridiculous attempt to sway a man she undoubtedly hated.

“Look at them,” Charlotte whispered dreamily, leaning her head against Signa’s shoulder. “They make quite the pair, don’t they? Their children would look like little sunbursts.”

“He knows that her father’s been accused of murder, doesn’t he?” Diana flapped her fan against the heat of the ballroom, and for once Signa found herself wishing she had one of her own. Why was it that these events always looked so much more glamorous on the outside than they truly were?

It was a challenge to stand idly by as Fate and Blythe danced. Though, given all the eyes on Signa, she had little choice but to force a smile onto her lips. She needed to get onto that dance floor, which meant that she needed to make herself look approachable at the very least. Already

Charlotte and Diana were being swept away with invitations, names filling their dance cards. Eliza Wakefield, too, had rejoined the others on the floor. Though her dress dazzled as she spun and twirled in the arms of a man Signa had never seen, her smile was frayed at the ends, and her gaze kept flickering toward the corner where Byron stood watching, the sconces cutting grim shadows across his face.

Signa nearly cursed when she realized what she was doing. How much easier it would have been if she’d been honest with Death about her intent to come and had him watching over Byron. As it was, she had to make a choice—there would be time for Byron later. But first, getting Blythe as far from Fate as possible took precedence.

She accepted a dance from the first man to ask her and took her place across from him in a row of other women. Down the row her eyes wandered, searching for Blythe. It wasn’t until she turned her attention back to her partner that Signa noticed the man who stood before her was not the same one who’d invited her to dance. It was Fate himself, silent but for the gleam in his eyes that spoke louder than laughter. There was no time to retreat before the song began.

“Is there something I can help you with, Miss Farrow? I could feel your eyes boring into me from across the ballroom.” Fate stepped forward, the burnished amber of the walls casting a glow on the floor that reminded Signa of a late autumn sunset, almost as though they were dancing upon fallen maple leaves. Yet there was no gentle crunch beneath her footsteps; no settling of her mind and easing of her chest that came from autumn’s stillness. Signa mirrored her partner as he lifted one hand to the air, their palms nearly touching as they circled each other as if on either side of a looking glass.

Heat seared between the open space of their palms, jolts of static prickling her fingertips. Signa kept a straight face despite it all. From the low swell of music to the sunset lighting, everything about Fate was a performance she refused to acknowledge. “Whatever your issue is with me, my cousin has no part of this.”

“On the contrary,” he said, and Signa noticed for the first time that there was the hint of an accent in his voice. It wasn’t like any she’d heard before, but something old and strange and almost guttural. “Because of your insistence that she live, your cousin has now defied her fate three times

over. Three times, she was meant to die.”

Signa’s throat squeezed tight as she realized that the room’s chattering had ceased. Gone was the low sweep of autumn as winter’s silent chill leached in. There were no whispers or laughter, nor even the soft tinking of glassware. While those around her continued to dance, their movements had sharpened, every one of them as precise as the next and perfectly coordinated. Pretty faces smiled at no one, their unblinking eyes filling with tears that streaked down their cheeks and onto grinning lips. They were little more than puppets and Fate their puppeteer, twisting and twirling and bending them to his every whim.

Everywhere Signa looked there were signs of Fate’s power. From the palace and the golden threads spun around it, to his control over so many beings at once. It was an effortless power—one he didn’t even seem to consider as he spun Signa across the dance floor.

“Free them.” While her command was firm, Signa was careful not to let emotion slip in. It wouldn’t do to give Fate anything more to hold over her, though something in his gleaming eyes told her that he already knew how deeply his power bothered her.

“You must have many questions for me,” he said. “Promise me another dance, and I’ll answer whatever you wish me to.”

She had to stop her brows from shooting up. Fate was baiting her, yes, but if there was even a possibility that he was being sincere…

“Anything?” she pressed, scrutinizing his every movement.

“Within reason. Though you must first promise to stop your glaring.” She forced her gaze away from him.

“And your scowling.”

“Very well.” It was Blythe that Signa thought of as she blocked out the image of hollow faces spinning beside her. “I agree to one more dance.”

Dazzling was the only word to describe the smile that spread slowly across Fate’s lips. He made the tiniest motion with his free hand, fingers barely shifting, and suddenly laughter filled the air. There were whispers again, and chatter all around as the dance ended and partners separated in search of the next name on their dance cards. All the while, Fate kept a firm hold of Signa.

He was so indiscreet that Signa could only hope her cheeks did not flush as quiet gasps and tittering laughter rose behind her. First Blythe, and now

her. She could only imagine what Byron must be thinking, though wasn’t it he who had suggested that Marjorie sleep with Elijah to stop him mourning his late wife? Perhaps he believed this was exactly the sort of play that Signa should be making.

“Thank you for that,” she admonished, earning only a grin from Fate as music reverberated through the ballroom once more. It wasn’t a proper waltz but rather an old tune that sounded like something from another time. Something that made her feel as though they should be dancing barefoot in a forest glade rather than a dimly lit ballroom.

Fate was close enough that Signa smelled the wisteria on his clothing, mild and sweet. He drew the first step, leading her through the dance with practiced grace.

“You were right. I do have questions, many of them,” she said, trying to sound less anxious than she felt.

To her surprise, Fate’s touch was firm but careful, and he watched Signa’s face as though she were a puzzle in need of solving. She suspected that her own face looked the same.

“So long as there’s music and we are dancing, you may ask them.” His voice was gentler than she expected.

“Why is it that no one is questioning a palace that has appeared out of nowhere?” Signa demanded, wasting no time. “No one seems to recognize you as the man who accused my uncle. They only see you as a prince.” Her steps were rigid as she counted from one to three in her head. Signa would be damned if she allowed herself to blunder a simple dance before Fate.

“Human minds are easy to placate.” Again, the golden threads around them glistened. “I can control what they see, what they do… If necessary, I could have everyone forget that Elijah’s imprisonment ever happened.”

Fate braced her when she missed a step, as if he’d anticipated her doing so. Only then did Signa allow herself to truly look at this man. She didn’t care for the heat of Fate’s body, or that touching him made her hands clammy. Still, she appreciated that he was gentle with her, and that he handed his information over easily. It didn’t hurt that feigning the role of a prince didn’t feel out of reach for him, either. His face was one that belonged on the pages of newspapers throughout the world, broad and chiseled in all the right places, with a proud square jaw. He was strong, too, his body firm beneath her fingers. And she couldn’t forget the cleverness in

those eyes—always a little squinted, as though he was in a constant state of assessment and perpetually dissatisfied with his findings.

Signa could have sworn she’d seen that look before, though she couldn’t place where.

“Why are you here?” she asked as he spun her.

His answer was too simple. Too relaxed. “I’m here to meet you, Miss Farrow.”

She missed another step, though Fate took her by the elbow and corrected her before anyone could notice.

Signa scowled, trying not to let herself linger too long on his words. It would seem, with increasing evidence, that the man was a true and proper rake with a tongue of silver. “What about your brother? Are you not here for him?”

Fate leaned forward, a mere breath away from starting a new scandal. “I no longer have a brother. I told you already, I’m here for you.”

Signa trained her eyes on his chest, hating herself when she felt her cheeks warm.

The light in Fate’s eyes dimmed when he was unable to catch her gaze. “This song will only play for so long. Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here for you?”

“No.” She had no intention of falling for his tricks, and certainly not when there were more pressing matters. “I want you to leave Blythe alone. The price for her life has already been paid.”

“Yes, by a man who had ten more years left on this earth. Believe me, I’m aware.” Fate’s grip tightened, and though he didn’t show it, she could feel a storm raging inside him. “There is a ripple effect when you toy with a person’s fate. Why don’t you take a guess who’s left to deal with the repercussions.”

Signa’s skin burned beneath his sweltering touch. “I promise you that she’s worth our effort. Mine and yours.”

He puffed an amused breath from deep in his chest. “No one is worth that much.”

“I don’t believe you mean that.” She gave no thought to what she was saying, the words pouring from her even as Fate’s expression went taut. “You can’t tell me that there’s never been someone you would do anything for. That there was never anyone you believed was worth it.”

The music crashed to a halt. All around her, bodies slumped forward, bent at the waist like puppets with their strings cut. The walls flickered, the facade splintering to reveal glimpses of bare gray stone webbed and cracking. Signa shot a panicked look through the crowd in search of Blythe, but her cousin was nowhere in sight.

Fate took a breath, then tightened his hold on Signa as the music started once more. Immediately, the crumbling stone disappeared, replaced once more by gilded amber as bodies snapped upright like tin soldiers and twirled without any sign that they’d ever stopped.

“What exactly did Death tell you?”

“Only that you once loved a woman,” she said in a rush, staring at the walls as they flickered from gray to gilded, “and that he had to take her.”

“Well, that’s a start.” Fate’s laugh was the grate of carriage chains dragging over cobblestone. “But I’m afraid that barely scratches the surface, Little Bird.”

Chills rippled through her, and Signa had to fight every instinct telling her to pull away. “Don’t you dare call me that. He was about to tell me more, but you took away his ability to speak with me. Didn’t you?”

With his square jaw shadowed by flickering candles, Fate’s princely face broke with the smallest crack of pain. There one moment and gone when she next blinked, just like the palace.

“Death doesn’t deserve happiness.” The music was coming to a crescendo, and Fate hastened their dancing until they were moving so quickly that Signa’s vision began to blur.

“What of me?” she demanded. “Does my happiness mean nothing?” “On the contrary, Miss Farrow, it means everything.”

Signa was panting for air by the time the music stopped, sweat beading her temples and gliding down her back. Fate didn’t have a hair out of place. “It’s my turn to ask a question,” he said at last, so quiet she had to strain

to hear him. “When you heard that song just now, did you recognize it?”

She riffled through her mind, hoping to find something there to appease him. The answer he wanted was clear, and with so much at stake, she wanted little more than to give it to him. But no matter how much she strained—no matter how much she looked upon him or let his skin sear hers

—nothing about this man was familiar.

“I’ve heard many songs in my life. I can’t be expected to remember

them all.”

Fate ran his palms down his face, groaning into them. Only when his shoulders eased and his anger ebbed did he extend a hand. “Please.” It was a plea, gentle as a lullaby. “Take it and we’ll try it again. I need you to remember. I need you to listen, and to remember who I am.”

Signa drew back, tucking her hands close to her sides. “Who you are?” Perhaps her initial impression of Fate wasn’t as far off the mark as she’d thought. “I would know if I’d met you before.”

Fate didn’t withdraw his hand but instead pressed it forward as his stare bore into her. “No, Miss Farrow, you might not. Not if we met in another lifetime.”