“How?”

“How is she a witch?” Though I knew I shouldn’t bait him, I also couldn’t help it. “I believe when a witch and a man love each other very much—”

He struck me across the face. The slap echoed in the silence of the empty auditorium. Somehow, the audience had been cleared away as quickly as the crew. Clutching my cheek, I glared at him in silent fury. The Chasseur shifted uncomfortably beside me.

“You disgusting child.” The Archbishop’s eyes bulged alarmingly. “How did it help you escape?”

“I will not betray her secrets.”

“You dare to conceal information?”

A knock sounded from stage right, and a constable stepped forward. “Your Holiness, a crowd has formed outside. Several of the attendants and crew—they refuse to leave until they learn the fate of the girl and Captain Diggory. They are beginning to attract . . . attention.”

“We will be along shortly.” The Archbishop straightened and adjusted his choral robes, taking a deep breath. The constable bowed and ducked outside once more.

He returned his attention to me. A long moment of silence passed as we glared at each other. “What am I going to do with you?”

I dared not speak again. My face could only handle so much.

“You are a criminal who consorts with demons. You have publicly framed a Chasseur for assault, among . . . other things.” His lip curled, and he regarded me with palpable disgust. I tried and failed to ignore the shame churning in my stomach. It’d been an accident. I hadn’t framed him intentionally. And yet . . . if the audience’s misapprehension helped me escape the stake . . .

I’d never claimed to be honorable.

“Captain Diggory’s reputation will be ruined,” the Archbishop continued. “I will be forced to relieve him of his duties, lest the Chasseurs’ holiness be questioned. Lest my holiness be questioned.” His eyes burned into mine. I arranged my features into a contrite expression, lest his fist get twitchy again. Appeased by my repentance, he began to pace. “What am I going to do with you? What am I going to do?”

Though I clearly repulsed him, his steely eyes kept drifting back to me. Like a moth drawn to flame. They roved my face as if searching for something, lingering on my eyes, my nose, my mouth. My throat.

To my dismay, I realized the ribbon had slipped during my scuffle with the Chasseur. I hastily tightened it. The Archbishop’s mouth pursed, and he resumed staring at me.

It took all my willpower not to roll my eyes at his absurd inner struggle. I wasn’t going to prison today, and I wasn’t going to the stake, either. For whatever reason, the Archbishop and his pet had decided I wasn’t a witch. I certainly wasn’t going to question their oversight.

But the question remained . . . what did the Archbishop want? Because he definitely wanted something. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, and the sooner I figured it out, the sooner I could use it to my advantage. It took several seconds before I realized he’d continued his monologue.

“. . . thanks to your little sleight of hand.” He spun on his heel to face me, a peculiar sort of triumph in his expression. “Perhaps a mutually beneficial arrangement can be made.”

He paused, looking between us expectantly.

“I’m listening,” I muttered. The Chasseur nodded stiffly.

“Excellent. It’s quite simple, really—marriage.”

I stared at him, mouth falling open.

He chuckled, but the sound was without mirth. “As your wife, Reid, this distasteful creature would belong to you. You would’ve had every right to pursue her, to discipline her, especially after her indiscretions last night. It would have been expected. Necessary, even. There would have been no crime committed, no impurity to disparage. You would remain a Chasseur.”

I laughed. It came out a strangled, desperate sound. “I’m not marrying anyone.”

The Archbishop didn’t share my laughter. “You will if you wish to avoid a public lashing and imprisonment. Though I’m not chief of the constabulary, he is a dear friend.”

I gaped at him. “You can’t blackmail me—”

He waved a hand as if swatting an irksome fly. “It is the sentence that awaits a thief. I would advise you to think very carefully about this, child.”

I appealed to the Chasseur, determined to keep a level head despite the panic clawing up my throat. “You can’t want this. Please, tell him to find another way.”

“There is no other way,” the Archbishop interjected.

The Chasseur stood very still indeed. He seemed to have stopped breathing.

“You are like a son to me, Reid.” The Archbishop reached up to clasp the Chasseur’s shoulder—a mouse comforting an elephant. Some disconnected part of my mind wanted to laugh. “Do not throw away your life—your promising career, your oath to God—for the sake of this heathen. Once she is your wife, you can lock her in the closet and never think of her again. You would have the legal right to do whatever you please with her.” He shot him a meaningful look. “This arrangement would also solve . . . other matters.”

Blood finally returned to the Chasseur’s face—no, flooded his face. It raced up his throat and into his cheeks, burning hotter than even his eyes. His jaw clenched. “Sir, I—”

But I didn’t hear him. Saliva coated my mouth, and my vision narrowed. Marriage. To a Chasseur. There had to be another way, any other way—

Bile rose in my throat, and before I could stop it, I heaved a spectacular arc of vomit onto the Archbishop’s feet. He leapt away from me with a disgusted cry.

“How dare you—!” He raised a fist to strike me once more, but the Chasseur moved with lightning swiftness. His hand caught the Archbishop’s wrist.

“If this woman is to be my wife,” he said, swallowing hard, “you will not touch her again.”

The Archbishop bared his teeth. “You agree, then?”

The Chasseur released his wrist and looked at me, a deeper blush creeping up his throat. “Only if she does.”

His words reminded me of Coco.

Take care of yourself.

Only if you do.

Coco had said I needed to find protection. I stared up at the copper-haired Chasseur, at the Archbishop still rubbing his wrist. Perhaps protection had found me.

Andre, Grue, the constabulary, her . . . none of them could harm me if I had a Chasseur as a husband. Even the Chasseurs themselves would cease to be a threat—if I could keep up the act. If I could avoid doing magic near them. They’d never know I was a witch. I’d be hidden in plain sight.