Her magick burned inside her now like a foreign thing, eating at her. She sensed all emotion around her, as well as felt her own. It made her sick to her stomach to be near crowds, but try as she might to find some barriers to protect herself, it was like forming walls from water.

Here and there, they picked up odd jobs. It was the only thing that sustained them. Anatol loaded shelves at nearby stores sometimes for a few crowns. Evangeline picked up a little work at a local bakery that garnered them some of the leftover stock as her payment.

Then one day Anatol landed a more permanent job—down at the docks of the Tibrian Port. It offered him steady pay, if not much. It was enough to pay the rent on the room and to buy food, at least.

He came into the room one afternoon, after a morning of work, and threw a heap of tangled material on the end of the bed where Evangeline sat, looking out the window.

“I thought you could do something with it, maybe make some clothes.” He gestured at the pile of fabric. “I know you only sew a little, but Martha, the daughter of the hotel’s owner, said she could give you some instruction. I thought it would be a good thing to occupy your time.”

He was apologizing for dumping work in her lap, but she would be happy to have something to do. She picked up a coarse length of blue material. “This is a good thing, Anatol.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

Over the next week, with Martha’s help and with quite a few errors that she learned from, she transformed the heap of scrap into a new wardrobe for them. Apparently she had some aptitude for something other than magick. Amazing. She made two new shirts for Anatol and a pair of pants.

She even made a new dress for herself. The style wasn’t anything like what she was used to, and the material chafed her skin instead of kissed it, as she was accustomed, but she’d created it and somehow that made it the most valuable piece of clothing she’d ever owned.

She turned in front of the mirror, admiring the way she’d bunched the material just under her breasts to push them to overflowing a little at the bodice. The sleeves were flared and the waist hugged her waist perfectly. Turning to view the side, she frowned, thinking about different ways she could improve the design the next time.

A warm sensation filled her chest, an emotion she recognized as contentment. It made a smile play around her mouth. There was an advantage to feeling emotion. Happiness and contentment were nice. Lust was pretty good, too. Anatol made her feel that on a nightly basis.

Overall, things were looking up for them. She gazed at herself in the mirror. Funny she should think that. Her cheeks were hollow, dark smudges marred the skin under her eyes and her hair seemed thinner than it had when she’d lived at Belai. And yet . . . she could say she wasn’t unhappy. At least, not all of the time.

“That looks incredible on you,” Anatol said from the doorway.

She turned, smiling. “Thank you. I just finished it this morning.”

He walked toward her. Sunlight streaming in from the window seemed to catch on him. He was dressed in a pair of worn trousers that fit him just right and a heavy, dark brown sweater and work boots. His job loading boats down at the docks left enough for sewing supplies and even the occasional extra hot water.

Evangeline never would’ve imagined she’d be so happy to have so little.

“The dress does look incredible,” Anatol murmured as he approached her, pulling her up against him. He fitted his mouth to hers—a place she liked it often these days—and whispered, “But you’d look even better if you were out of it.”

She smiled against his mouth. “You have to go to work.”

He kissed her lower lip slowly, dragging it gently between his teeth, making her knees go weak. “I still have some time before I leave.”

He drew her back toward the bed and pushed her gently down onto it, coming after her to pin her wrists to the mattress. He stared into her eyes in that way that made her heart beat faster and moisture pool between her thighs. That intense look said, you’re mine. Nothing in the world will keep me from having you. It spoke to the part of her that wanted to be claimed by him, even as the idea of it scared her nearly witless.

They’d made love daily since the first time they’d come together. It didn’t matter the time of day or how tired he was—he wanted her. Sometimes he woke her in the middle of the night, slid between her thighs, and brought her to a sweet, shattering release while she was still drowsy from sleep. Sometimes it was the afternoon, up against a wall, or while he pinned her facedown on the bed. It was like he had to touch her to survive, as though he lived to give her pleasure. These days she knew his body as well as her own, where best to touch him and how.

She’d been forced to find birth control after their first encounter. Luckily, it wasn’t difficult. Palace life had taught her how to prevent pregnancy with a certain combination of herbs, a concoction she’d been taking since she’d first lost her virginity.

He reached down and slowly undid the buttons on the bodice of her dress one by one, revealing more and more of her skin as he went. Her breath came faster as he reached her waist, and his gaze ate up the sight of her breasts only barely covered by the material of the dress, her nipples hard as diamonds under the thin fabric. He pushed one half of the bodice away, the scrape of the material erotic against her nipple and the cool air of the room making it tighten even further. Then he pushed the other half away and lowered his hot mouth to her breast, letting his tongue explore every hill and valley of her nipple while she watched. He covered her other breast with his hand and toyed with her nipple, pinching and rolling it until she tossed her head and moaned.

She reached up and pulled at the hem of his sweater until he dragged it up and over his head, tossing it to the bed. Her palms ran over the muscled expanse of his chest and arms, down his back to the waistband of his trousers and pushed past it to cup his gorgeous rear.

Reaching down, he bunched her skirt up higher and higher until he could slide his hand between her thighs. He found her hot, wet, and bare. Pausing for a moment, he raised an eyebrow.

She laughed. “I was trying on the dress, not waiting for this.” Which wasn’t perhaps completely true.

“Whatever the reason, I like it.” He pushed two fingers inside her at once and she gasped, her spine arching. His thumb found her clit and petted it, making her moan his name and close her eyes.

“Anatol,” she breathed, licking her lips and swallowing hard. “It’s getting late. You’ll have to go. You can’t risk . . . losing your job.” She could barely think, let alone speak with his hand working its magick between her legs. If he touched any more like this she’d go completely incoherent.

“I only plan to make you come, Evangeline. I know you’re close.”

Her eyes flew open. She reached out and cupped his rock-hard cock through his pants. “No. You can’t do that. You’ll be miserable all day.”

“How are you going to stop me?” He stroked her clit a little harder and a little faster, rotating in a devilish circular motion that nearly made her come.

With a shimmy of her hips, she pulled up and away, going on her hands and knees on the bed and throwing her skirts up over her waist. She spread her thighs and raised her hips, showing him her pink, slick, swollen sex—just waiting for him—and twitched her rear. She looked over her shoulder at Anatol—he looked stricken . . . and hungry. “That’s how.”

His hand went immediately to the button and zipper of his trousers and she hid a smile. The bed squeaked under his weight and then he was there behind her, hands to her hips as he pulled her back against him and fitted the head of his cock to her entrance. He pushed inside and Evangeline threw back her head and cried out in pleasure. He rocked in another inch and then another.

Soon he was riding her fast and hard, the sound of their bodies coming together and their labored breathing the only sound in the room. They’d made love like this several times before, sometimes in front of the mirror. Evangeline could remember the sight of his thick, long cock pushing in between the pink lips of her entrance, disappearing deep inside her over and over. He filled up every inch of her, stretching her muscles so far that it rode the sweet edge of pain, yet managed to be only pure, complete pleasure.

Every outward thrust seemed to drag the crown of his cock over a place deep inside her where it felt extra good. Bunching her skirts in his hand, he brought his hand down between her thighs from the front and stroked her clit with strong, slow fingers, rotating and releasing, rotating and releasing, until delicious ecstasy broke over her body.

Her groans of pleasure were nearly animalistic when she came, her inner muscles pulsing and releasing as she orgasmed long and hard. Anatol cried her name and she felt his cock jump deep inside her and spill as he came, too.

They collapsed to the mattress in a tangle, breathing hard. After a moment, Anatol reached out and pushed her tangled hair away from her face. She laughed, a post-coital reaction she had often these days.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I love it when you come. You’re so uninhibited.”

She felt her face color and smiled. “Well, I love it when you make me come. You’re the only one who has ever been able to do that, you know.”

He studied her for a long moment and then kissed her tenderly. “I know you can’t get pregnant now, Evangeline, but one day . . . one day . . . I want children with you.”

Her breath arrested in her throat and her smile faded. Children? She’d never even considered the possibility of ever having them. She wasn’t sure . . . children? Did she want them?

Anatol’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m pushing too hard.” He sat up and stood, searching for his clothes.

She grabbed his wrist before he disappeared into the bathroom. “It’s all right, Anatol.” She sat up, holding the bodice of her unbuttoned dress to her bare breasts. “It’s just that this is all really new to me. I’m not sure what I want.” She looked up at him. “But I know I want you.”

He blinked, looking surprised she’d said that. Then he sat on the bed beside her and pulled her to him. His arms wrapped her tight, fingers tangling in her hair. He nuzzled her throat and inhaled, as though trying to breathe her into him to keep forever.

“You’re going to run away from me,” he breathed against her skin.

“What? Anatol—”

His grip tightened. “I can see truth, remember? I’m not everything you need.”

“Anatol ...” she trailed off, not knowing what to say. Her feelings for him scared her to death, it was true, yet she knew what he was saying was not the truth. Of course he was everything she needed. “I’m not going to run away.”

“Yes.” He pulled away from her, looking deeply into her eyes. “You will run eventually. But I’m going to do all I can to stop that from happening. I won’t let you go.” He paused, then added fiercely, “Not ever.”

She stared at him, lips parted and eyes wide, at a loss for words.

After a moment, he rose, dressed, and went into the bathroom to get cleaned up. After he’d kissed her and left for work, Evangeline sat on the edge of the bed, her body still tingling where he’d touched her. Brushing off the disturbing bit of conversation they’d just had, she buttoned her bodice and adjusted her skirts.

No matter what Anatol thought she might do in the future, she knew better. It was very possible she was falling in love with him.

She wasn’t exactly sure what love felt like, but whatever emotion filled her when she thought of him was good. Warm. Soft. All-consuming. It was the kind of emotion that, if given the option, she would choose to feel all the time.

She missed him when he was gone and cherished the moments when they were together. She loved to hold his clothes to her nose when he was absent, just to catch the stray scent of him. She loved to sit up into the early morning hours talking to him. She loved his mind; she loved his heart. She loved his compassion and the way he saw into her so clearly, uncovering facets of her personality she’d never known were there. In his eyes she felt valued, and he was helping her to feel valued in her own eyes as well. His addition into her life had improved her in ways she never would have imagined when she’d been at Belai. She didn’t know what she would do if she ever lost him. In fact, that was a thought she couldn’t hold in her mind. She couldn’t even think about it.

Was all of that love?

She wished she had someone to ask. Her mother, maybe. Her mother would be the right person to talk of these things with, wouldn’t she? Or maybe a good girlfriend? She had neither. There was Lilya, of course.

She looked toward the window. There was snow on the ground and it was still very cold, but the sun was bright today. Perhaps she would take a trip to the Temple of Dreams and see if Lilya would talk with her about this.

It would be nice to know if she could call what she felt for Anatol love. It would be nice to tell him she loved him and know she wasn’t lying or deluding herself. At any rate, she was happy. In fact, she could go the rest of her life living here in this room, if only Anatol were here with her.

But that was only a stray thought in one moment. After that came the next one.

Shouting in the street beyond the window drew her attention. She ran over, her hand going to her throat as she glimpsed Anatol in the middle of the icy street, corralled by five commoner thugs she recognized from the beheadings on the steps of Belai. They had him on the ground and were kicking and hitting him.

Forgetting even so much as a coat, she raced barefoot out of the room, down the stairs, and onto the street. She ran over, barely noticing how cold it was, pushing through the gathering crowd, but was caught immediately by a fine-gloved hand on her upper arm. “Don’t say a word, little rash one, or they’ll have you, too.”

She turned wild eyes to find Lilya gripping her. “But they’re taking him!” She couldn’t say the rest. They had to be taking him to Belai. Somehow, they’d discovered he was J’Edaeii.

“Yes, he’s been recognized.”

The men tied Anatol’s wrists at the small of his back and lifted him. Anatol’s gaze went first to the window of their room and, not finding her there, searched the crowd. Their gazes collided and his bruised and bloodied expression beseeched her to stay quiet.

They dragged him down the street toward the palace, his boots making furrows in the snow.

Evangeline’s knees went weak and she almost sank onto the street. Lilya steadied her. Her eyes swept her. “You’re nearly naked, girl.” Her voice was a harsh whisper. “Come with me, we’ll go back to the Temple of Dreams and have a chat, you and I. A nice cup of tea?”

A nice cup of tea? Lilya wanted a nice cup of tea when Anatol was being dragged to his death for the crime of being who he was?

“No.” She shook her head and tried to pull away from Lilya, but the courtesan was stronger than she appeared. “I need to do something.”

“You need to do nothing,” Lilya whispered into her ear. “You are about to lose your head, Evangeline. Don’t you understand? Anatol has been outed and it’s only a matter of time before someone remembers the woman he shared a room with. You are in grave danger. Not only from the mob, but from the Revolutionaries who are cleaning up the magicked the rabble misses. You cannot go back to that room. You must come with me.”

Oh, it didn’t matter anymore. Anatol was captured and as good as dead. Nothing mattered now.

“Tea. Now.” Lilya’s voice and grip were firm as she guided her through the dispersing crowd.

She let her lead her through the frigid afternoon to the Temple of Dreams. It was a tall, ornate building that took up a corner of a busy intersection of the city. It was a place Evangeline had passed many times on her way to the nearby upscale neighborhood of Rhimes, where all the best stores and cafes were located. She wondered how that part of town fared now that all the people who had supported those businesses were dead. It was an inane thought coming from her shocked mind. Who cared how the area was doing now that Anatol was going to die? Who cared about anything?

Once inside the building, she caught the stares of everyone in the sitting room. Her teeth were chattering, she noticed vaguely, and her feet and calves were completely numb.

“Misa!” Lilya gave a sharp yell.

A young woman in a servant’s outfit appeared in a moment, her eyes wide as she took in Evangeline’s appearance.

Lilya was all business. “This is a friend of mine. Help get her into a warm bath and take some clothes from my closet. They should fit her.” She gripped Evangeline’s arm when she staggered. “She’s a bit in shock, I’m afraid, so be gentle. I’ll have some hot food waiting in the kitchen when you’re done.”

Evangeline barely heard the words. Images of bloody, rolling heads were dancing through her head and all of them wore Anatol’s face. She wanted to tell Lilya that she wasn’t hungry and would never be hungry again in her life, but she couldn’t make her vocal cords work. She turned to Lilya and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Lilya’s face went soft and she smiled sadly. “Go, Evangeline,” she said. “You’re blue with cold. Go warm up in the water, then come to the kitchen. We’ll work this out.” She rubbed her arm. “Please, take care of yourself.”

A hand reached out and snagged hers. Evangeline looked up to see Misa smiling at her. “Come on,” said Misa with the rolling accent of a person from the rural Arkian Province. “Come with me now.”

She went.

The bath drove the numbness from her body, but not so much her mind. She sat in the waist-deep water, staring, trying to process the unprocessable. After she’d soaked in the warm, scented water long enough to drive the cold from her body, Misa urged her out, dressed her in a soft pink gown, and gave her a pair of doeskin slippers. Then she brushed her hair out, pinned it up, and led her down to the kitchen, where Lilya waited for her.

Lilya was sipping a cup of tea at the large table. She looked up when Evangeline entered. “Do you feel better?” Her face fell when Evangeline didn’t answer. “I guess that’s a stupid question.”

“They took him. They’re going to kill him.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

Finally, her shocked numbness gave way. She blinked and took a step forward. “Don’t know? Lilya, haven’t you been seeing the executions?”

Lilya stood. “Life is not so predictable. Come and have some tea. It’s an herbal brew that will help to calm you.”

She hugged herself. “I don’t want tea.”

“It will help you to think clearer, Evangeline. Drink it for Anatol.”

She hesitated for a moment, then walked over and let Lilya pour her a cup. It was hard to believe that she’d only an hour ago been thinking of coming over here to talk of love.

She held the cup in hands that didn’t feel like they’d ever warm up, staring down into the dark swirl without taking a sip. “I’m getting him out.” She stood and set the cup down on the table, sloshing tea over the side. “I’ll go and offer myself in his place.”

“Don’t be stupid. They’ll just capture you and behead you along with him.”

“I can’t let this happen. I can’t allow Anatol to be killed. He’s a good man.” She paced the room, shaking her head. “He even believes the revolution was a positive thing. Can you imagine the irony? He thinks the people should have a chance to govern themselves. As if they could ever do such a thing on their own.” She made a frustrated sound. “If I ever meet Gregorio Vikhin I’m going to scoop his eyeballs out with my bare fingers.”

“I offer you the chance to try,” came a deep voice from behind her. Evangeline stilled, recognizing the deep timbre from the alley. “Some days I’d be happy to let you.”

Lilya’s chair scraped the floor as she stood. “Evangeline, meet Gregorio. Gregorio, Evangeline.”

Evangeline whirled to face the brute who’d killed the rapist in the alley two weeks ago.

“Actually, we’ve already met.” Gregorio’s dark eyes met hers. “Haven’t we?”

“What are you doing here?” Evangeline narrowed her eyes, her hands fisting at her sides. She tried to drudge up some gratitude for what he’d done for her in the alley, but it was drowned out by the knowledge of his identity. “Need a quick fuck during the break in the executions at the palace?”

Gregorio winced as sure as she’d slapped him. “I want you to know that this was not what I’d planned. This was nothing like what I’d hoped for when the lower classes rose up and took their fates into their own hands. I’m deeply shamed that the executions going on at Belai are being done in my name.” He paused, seemingly at a loss for words. Then he spread his hands. “I was too much of an idealist.”

Evangeline stalked toward him. “I don’t care how you feel, sir. I don’t care what you would have wanted, or if you were too much of an idealist.” She sneered the last. “The only thing I care about is that an exceptional man is in the claws of your rabble-rousers and is soon to lose his life for the mere crime of being who he is. Anatol’s blood is on your hands, Mr. Vikhin. This is your fault!”

He said nothing in response, but he didn’t need to speak to let her know what he was thinking. Nor did she need to taste his emotions to know how he felt. Thick, dark hair shadowed eyes heavy with guilt. He shifted, looking away from her. “You’re right.”

“I am right. I’m right about something else, too.” She gripped his sleeves and forced the huge man to look at her. “You started this madness, and that means you’re the only one who can end it. You are the only one who can save Anatol now.”

Gregorio had tried to stop the madness. Oh, he had. Over and over. He’d tried the impassioned speeches that had worked to call the lower classes to arms. He’d tried coercing them. He’d appealed to their sense of right and wrong and asked them to have mercy.

But the bloodletting never stopped.

The lower classes were drunk on the carnage, lost in the joy of their newfound freedom. It was an outcome he’d considered but had never actually thought would come to pass.

Some gifted intellectual he’d turned out to be.

And now here was this beautiful J’Edaeii female before him, pleading with her eyes for the life of the man she loved. A J’Edaeii who had a gift, a wondrous gift bestowed upon her, one she couldn’t help possessing but would be killed for if the mob discovered it.

Like in the alley, a powerful sense of protectiveness rose up in him, only this time it was natural and genuine, not the result of this woman’s magick. He would protect her from harm with his dying breath. He would protect her lover, too . . . somehow.

Maybe he clung to this woman and her lover as a way to find redemption. Or perhaps he’d fallen into her expressive, soulful eyes and found some sort of connection with her. Maybe he’d even fallen in love with her a little back in that alley, after she’d emptied him of his emotions and then filled him back up as easily as a serving woman managed her wine carafes. Gregorio didn’t know what drove him to do it, but he did it anyway.

He reached out, cupped her cheek in his hand, and said, “I will.”

But it was wrong to make promises he might not be able to keep.