He returned her smile before resting his forehead against hers. I stared at them. I hadn’t seen Jean smile since we were children. “I’m here,” he breathed.

Something shifted in her expression. Her smile faltered. “You’re here.” She blinked up at him in confusion. “Why are you here?”

“Yes, Jean.” I stalked forward, careful to keep one eye on Lou. She kept both on me. Unease snaked down my spine, further inflaming my fury. “Why are you here?”

Lou sauntered forward, still grinning. I refused to retreat a step. Not a single one. “I could pose the same question to you, Chass.” She batted her lashes and trailed a finger across my chest. “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

I caught her wrist and stepped closer. Baring my teeth. I longed for my Balisarda. “Hardly. You’ve clearly tampered with my memories, witch. I want them back.”

She tilted her face toward mine, unperturbed. “Hmm. I don’t think I can help you with that.”

“You can, and you will.”

“Only the witch who cast the enchantment can break it.” Coco’s hip knocked into Lou as she swept past us, pushing Lou flush against me. She winked. “In this case, that means you.”

My jaw clenched, and I lifted my hands to Lou’s shoulders to forcibly remove her. “You lie.”

“Why would we lie? Trust us when we say you aren’t exactly fun to be around—not like this anyway. If there was a way for us to reverse your memory, we would’ve already done it.” Coco lifted a shoulder as she stepped on the path. “You’ll need to do it, or no one will.”

“A pity, that.” Lou thrust her pack against my chest. I caught it instinctively. “Guess you’ll have to stay with us until you figure it out.” She followed Coco without a backward glance, swaying her hips as she went. My lip curled in disgust. She wore trousers. Fitted ones. Leather. They adhered to her delicate shape in a distasteful way—indecent, even. Shaking my head, I tore my gaze away to stare at the pack in my hands.

I suspected she was anything but delicate.

“Answer the question, Jean.” Célie’s voice reclaimed my attention. She scowled up at Jean Luc, fierce and unrelenting. “You said the priests—the king—requested your presence at the conclave.”

“They did.”

“You disobeyed them?”

“I . . .” He tugged at his collar. “I had to see you.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why? Why are you here? Did you”—those accusing eyes cut to mine—“did he think I couldn’t do this? Did he think I would die at the first opportunity?”

“You did almost fall from a cliff,” Jean Luc muttered defensively. When Célie’s face contorted in shock, in outrage, he added, “What? You did. I spoke with Father Achille.”

“You spoke with Father Achille?” Célie’s voice could’ve frozen water. Abruptly, she stepped away from him, her neck and spine snapping impossibly straight. Taut as a bow. “Have you been following me?”

“I—well, I—of course I have.” He rubbed a sheepish hand across his neck. “How could I not?”

“For how long?”

He hesitated, clearly reluctant. “Since . . . since Cesarine.”

Her expression emptied of all emotion. “You abandoned your post. You forsook the conclave.”

“No.” Jean Luc shook his head vehemently. “I delegated my duties before I left. I ensured the king and your parents would remain protected—”

“Do my parents know? Did you tell them that you planned to follow me?”

He looked deeply uncomfortable now. “Yes.” At her intense, cold stare, he hastened to add, “We had to know you were safe, Célie. They—I—couldn’t bear the thought of anything—”

She didn’t allow him to finish. Instead, she bludgeoned him in the chest with her own pack, turning on her heel to follow Coco and Lou. He staggered beneath its weight. “Célie.” When she didn’t turn, his voice grew louder, imploring. “Célie, please, wait—”

She whirled suddenly, fists clenched. “I do not need a keeper, Jean. This may come as a surprise, but I can take care of myself. I may be a woman—I may be gentle and meek and refined, like a pretty doll—but I have survived more in my eighteen years than you and my parents combined. Do not mistake me for porcelain. Do not mistake me for weak.”

She left without another word.

Struggling to hold her bag, Jean Luc tried to follow, but the crown prince clapped his shoulder, further upsetting his balance. He pitched forward with a curse. “Bad luck, man.” Beau didn’t lift a finger to set him right. “I think there might be actual bars of gold in there.” He shrugged. “The melusines liked her best.”

“She’s wearing trousers,” Jean Luc said incredulously, panting now. “Célie.”

Tension radiated across my face, shoulders, neck. I cared for none of this—the witches, their lies, their clothes. Tasteless wardrobes aside, however, the women had disappeared around the bend. We couldn’t afford to lose them. I couldn’t afford to lose them. Not with my memory at stake. Despite their deceit, they would help me restore my memories, or I would cut the very lies from their tongues. I just needed patience. Scowling, I hitched Lou’s bag higher. “Where are we going?”

Beau started after them without waiting for either of us. “I believe to pillage a castle.”

Jean Luc acquired two additional horses at the next village to speed our travel. When he extended a hand to Célie to help her mount his own, she knocked it aside and ascended herself. She now sat formal and straight in his saddle while he perched behind her.

That left four of us.

I glared at the witches, prepared to tie them behind as Jean Luc had tied me. Beau had a different idea. Without giving me a chance to speak—to protest—he ushered Coco astride the second horse, hoisting himself up after her.

That left two of us for the last horse.

And it was unacceptable.

“Give me the rope.” I stomped to Jean Luc’s side, seizing his bag. The coil sat at the top. Right. Squaring my shoulders, I turned to face the witch. The others watched in rapt fascination. “Don’t make this difficult.”