“It’s going to be all right,” the count whispered.

Scarlett wondered what type of delusional world he must live in to think such a thing. She almost hoped they’d find a dead body again, giving her the chance to break away. She loathed herself for the idea, but it didn’t stop her from thinking it.

When they emerged from the tunnel into Tella’s razed room, the count made an effort to dust off his coat, while Scarlett debated the benefits of running. It was clear her father had no intention of letting Julian go. He eyed Julian the way a child might ogle his younger sister’s doll right before chopping off all its hair, or its head.

“I’ll release him tomorrow, at the end of the night, after you’ve behaved yourself.” Governor Dragna wrapped an arm around Julian’s shoulder, while the cloth held to Julian’s cheek continued dripping blood.

“But, Father, he needs medical attention!”

“Crimson, don’t worry about me,” Julian said.

Obviously, he didn’t know how much worse this could get.

Scarlett tried a final time. She could see no way out of this for her, but maybe it wouldn’t be too late for Julian. If he got away, he could still save Tella, too. “Please, Father, I will do whatever you wish, but you have to let him go.”

Governor Dragna grinned. This was exactly what he wanted to hear. “I already said I’d release him, but I don’t think he wants to leave yet.” He squeezed Julian’s shoulder. “Do you feel like leaving us alone, boy?”

Scarlett tried to meet Julian’s eyes, tried to beg him to leave with a look, but he was being more stubborn than ever. Scarlett wished he’d turn back into the careless young man she’d met on Trisda. His selflessness would accomplish nothing here unless he had a death wish.

It seemed it was up to her to find a way to end this.

“I’ve got nowhere else I need to be,” Julian said. “Are we all going to go upstairs now, or do you plan to have us sleep in here?”

“Oh, we’re not sleeping together—at least, not all of us.” Governor Dragna winked and a tremor went through Scarlett. He was looking at her with the type of expression that might have lit up another person’s face before bestowing a gift—but Governor Dragna’s presents were never pleasant.

“Count d’Arcy and I have been sharing a suite, but it’s too cramped for four people. So the sailor will stay with me in there, and Scarlett”—Governor Dragna drew his words out in slow, unmistakable syllables—“you’ll be sleeping in your own room with Count d’Arcy. You’ll be married soon enough,” he went on. “And your fiancé has paid quite a sum for you. I don’t see why I need to make him wait any longer before enjoying what he’s bought.”

Scarlett’s horror escalated as her father’s mouth slanted into a new smile. This was so far from how she’d imagined things. It was horrid enough that she’d been purchased like a sheep, that a price had been placed on her, saying this was all she was worth. “Father, please, we’re not married yet, this isn’t proper—”

“No, it’s not,” Governor Dragna cut her off. “But we’ve never been a proper family, and you’re not going to complain, unless you want to watch your friend continue to bleed.” The governor stroked the unmarred side of Julian’s face.

Julian didn’t flinch, yet he no longer wore the placid expression he bore in the tunnels. Everything about him had intensified. He caught Scarlett’s eyes, a silent fire burning in his. He was trying to tell her something, though she had no clue what it was. All Scarlett could feel was the nearness of Count d’Arcy; she imagined his hands eager to claim her body, as her father’s hands were eager to inflict more pain upon Julian.

“Call it an early wedding present that I’m not mutilating him further right now,” said Governor Dragna. “But if you say another word aside from yes, my generosity ends.”

“No,” Scarlett said. “You will not touch him again, because I will not do another thing unless you release him this moment.”

Scarlett turned to the count. He did not appear as if he was enjoying this. Wrinkles marred his perfect forehead. But he did nothing to stop the governor, and just the sight of him, standing there in his crimson cravat and silver boots, made her ill to her core.

Tella had been right. You think your marriage is going to save you, but what if the count is as bad as Father, or worse?

Scarlett didn’t know if Count d’Arcy was actually worse than her father, but in that moment he felt just as vile. He no longer held her hand softly as he had in the haberdashery; his grip was firm, assured. The count had more strength than he let on. He had the power to stop this if he desired.

“If you let this happen”—Scarlett paused to meet the count’s eye, searching for a trace of the young man she’d exchanged so many letters with—“if you use the threat of his punishment to control me, I will never obey or respect you. But if you let him go, if you show some of the humanity I read in your letters, I will be the perfect wife you paid for.” She recalled Julian’s words in the tunnel and added, “Do you really want a bride who will only sleep with you because another man will be tortured if she doesn’t?”

The count’s face flushed. Scarlett’s heart beat faster with every darkening shade on his visage. Frustration. Embarrassment. Wounded pride.

“Let him go,” the count grit out. “Or our deal is over.”