“Do what? I won’t hurt you, Evangeline. Nothing in the world could ever make me do anything to hurt you.” The firelight lit half his face and left the other half in darkness. His breath was warm and sweet on her face, his calloused grip strong.

“I know,” she breathed out in a sigh.

“I’m glad.”

Gregorio’s lips skimmed her cheek and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Her breathing hitched in her throat and her heart beat faster. Her body reacted, her sex growing warm and wet, her nipples going hard. She had strong feelings for Anatol and she wanted to be able to use them to push Gregorio away. Yet, there was a ragged emotional wound somewhere deep inside her that seemed to need what Gregorio was offering her.

His hands were rougher and stronger than Anatol’s, and his touch made her shudder with desire. He took her hands and pinned them above her head. Her wrists were so thin and his hands were so big, he only needed one to immobilize her.

“Do you want me?” His low voice rumbled through him as he limned her jawline with his mouth. “Tell me to stop, Evangeline. Tell me to stop and I will.”

She wished she could, but she yearned for his touch and for his kisses.

And so when he bunched her skirt up and slid his hand beneath the hem, she didn’t stop him. He found the edge of her panties and pushed them to fall at her ankles. “Step out of them,” he growled against her lips. “Spread your thighs. I want to touch you.”

She did as he asked and his broad hand was on her, finding her wet and swollen before his first touch. He caught her dampness on his fingers and spread it over her clit, slipping back and forth over it until her hips bucked and she moaned low.

He groaned, too, closing his eyes for a moment as though touching her gave him great pleasure. “Do you like that?” he asked her in a low, husky voice.

She sunk her teeth into her lower lip and nodded her head. “More.”

“More? Is this what you want?” He slid a finger deep inside her and thrust in and out. His fingers were large and when he used two within her, it made her gasp out loud. He fucked her with them, his hand pinning her wrists above her head and the action rocking her against the wall.

“Your cunt feels so sweet.” He nipped her lower lip and then licked the slight wound he’d made. Slanting his mouth over hers, he kissed her, sliding his tongue deep into her mouth. He found her clit and rubbed it back and forth, his thumb nestling in her curls to press and rotate.

Her orgasm burst over her as delicious as a ripe berry in her mouth. She moaned and he caught it against his tongue, swallowing the sounds of her pleasure as she climaxed against his hand.

He released her wrists and tore the bodice of her beautiful dress, the one he’d bought for her, her breasts spilling free, the buttons popping off and hitting the floor. His mouth covered one nipple and then the other, nipping lightly, sucking and licking. Her nipples were hard, bright red, and tingling when he was done.

Gregorio unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down to his waist. Then he bunched her skirts up again and, parting her thighs further, hooked one knee over his hip and thrust the head of his cock inside her.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders and she gasped against his mouth. He was bigger than Anatol and Anatol was already large. But she was wet, dripping from her climax, and it eased his way. Inch by thick inch, he slid root-deep inside her.

Grasping her hips to keep her steady, he began to thrust in long, deep, driving strokes that made her bump the wall behind her. Pleasure blossomed over her body, growing and growing until it exploded over her in a sweet, all-consuming wave.

He cupped her buttocks and, grunting, thrusting harder and faster, extending her climax until she wanted to scream. His cock jumped deep within her and he groaned her name. Then he held her to him, kissing the top of her head as they came down from their sexual peak.

Both breathing heavily and sweating, they clung to each other.

“Evangeline,” he breathed into the curve of her neck. His voice trembled with heavy emotion that she didn’t need her magick to sense. He’d been deeply affected by this encounter and little of it had to do with reaching orgasm. Joining with her in a physical way was only a metaphor for what he really wanted from her—to join with her in love.

Shock stole her ability to respond. She’d known deep down that she’d never hated this man as much as she pretended. Lusted after him a little, yes, ever since the day in the alley. But this? She’d never expected to have sex with him tonight in his study.

And love? What he wanted from her was impossible. Couldn’t he understand that?

Clinging to him, breathing heavily and sweating, she closed her eyes. Yet joining with him had been good. Almost as if it had calmed a part of her riotous soul, something she’d needed.

He cupped her face in his hands. Forcing her to look up at him, he searched her eyes. Seeing something there he liked, he relaxed, then leaned in and kissed her, his tongue easing deeply and tenderly between her lips to mate with hers, his cock inside her slowly going flaccid.

When he stepped away, he straightened her skirt and scooped her panties up from the floor.

She accepted them, staring down at the bit of silk in her hand. “I hardly know what to say, Gregorio.”

“Say it won’t be the last time I get to touch you.” There was a note of desperation in his voice. “Say that the next time I can put you in my bed and take you slow. Say I’ll be able to savor you. All night long, my body on yours.”

She shivered and looked away, then busied herself with her bodice. He’d snapped off two buttons. Licking her lips, she turned from him. “I should let you sleep.”

As she turned away, he caught her upper arm. She turned back to him and saw fear on his face. “Gregorio,” she breathed and went back to him. Going up on her tiptoes, she kissed him. “You are a special, complicated man. I would like to know you more.”

Then she backed away and left the room.

And even she, herself, was shocked.

But maybe Anatol wouldn’t be. He had given her his permission, after all, to sleep with Gregorio before she’d even known she wanted to. That was Anatol. He saw into the truth of all things. It must be a heavy burden to bear, as heavy as the backlash of her own magick had been, she thought as she gazed at him. His long dark hair was unbound, falling over his shoulders. Sweet Joshui, he was beautiful.

He looked up at her from his book, gazes catching and holding for a moment, before she turned and began to get ready to bathe and then go to sleep. She cleared her throat, which seemed suddenly clogged with unnecessary guilt. “I expected to find you asleep.”

“Come here, Evangeline.” The sheets rustled and she heard him lay the book on the bedside table.

“I was going to take a bath and then come to bed.”

“Come here.” The words were laced with compulsion, a definite command. He already knew. He’d probably seen it all over her as soon as she’d walked into the room.

She hesitated a moment, then left her panties hanging over the edge of the drawer she’d pulled out. He watched her cross the room toward him, his keen eyes taking her in from head to foot. She reached the edge of the bed and looked down at him.

He slid his hand under her skirt and she flinched as his fingers traveled slowly up her inner thigh to her sex. He slid his fingers inside her and pulled them out wet. His eyes flicked to the bodice of her dress. “Buttons are missing. You and Gregorio were together.”

“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a sobbing rush. “I care for you, Anatol. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You have no reason to feel sorry and you haven’t hurt me.” He paused. “Evangeline, I love you. I know that you need me. I can see that in you. I also know that I cannot claim you like something I bought in a store. You are trying to find your way in a brand-new world filled with feelings you’ve never experienced before. It would be wrong to tie your hands.” He paused, searching her eyes. “Do you think I feel threatened by Gregorio?”

“Another man would feel threatened. Another man would call me a whore.”

“But I’m me, not another man. I want you to know that I love you no matter what. Forever and always. I will be here for you until the day I die. Take off your dress and come to me. Now.”

She flinched at the command in his voice, but her fingers found the remaining buttons of her bodice anyway. Undoing them, she let the dress drop to the floor and the chill air of the room bit into her skin and made her nipples hard.

“Straddle me.”

“What—”

“Do it.”

She climbed onto the bed and straddled him over the covers.

From the bedside drawer, he brought out the cylinder he’d used on her before. “Your body is ripe for sexual experimentation. Ready. Willing. Hell, Evangeline, it’s exploding with eagerness for it. You’re twenty-five years old, I was the first person you’ve ever had real sex with, and you’ve been having sex since you were eighteen, at least.”

“Younger,” she whispered.

He smiled. “I know. Remember, I’ve known you your whole life. I’ve been aware of you for as long as I can remember. I knew the very first day you lost your virginity and who you lost it to. I grieved it wasn’t me.”

“You did?”

“Gregorio was the second person who has ever made you come. Your sex is still fresh from that orgasm. I’m going to make you come again. I like making you come. I like to watch you.”

He slid the cylinder inside her. It was thick and ridged and spread her until she moaned. He held the end of it as she positioned herself on it, slowly stroking her clit with the thumb of his opposite hand. “Tell me how he took you, Evangeline. I want to hear it. Tell me how he made you feel.”

“He—”

“No. Grab the headboard and ride the cylinder while you tell me.”

She gripped the headboard and moved her hips. The object rubbed deep inside her, hitting places that felt so good she wanted to purr. Anatol kept stroking her clit as she rode it and soon pleasure was once again filling her up.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“He—oh, gods, it just happened.” She panted the words, building up a steady rhythm on the object inside her. “We were talking and then he was there, pushing me up against the wall. He—pinned me there, touched my—” She broke off on a long moan, her head whipping back.

“He touched your what? Tell me.”

“He stroked me between my thighs.”

“Go on.”

“He made me come with his fingers and the sound of his voice. He—he pinned my hands above my head so I couldn’t get away.”

“Did you want to get away?”

“No. I wanted him.”

His thumb pressed and rotated on her swollen clit, sending ripples of pleasure through her. “Did you like being restrained?” His voice sounded as thick and breathy as hers.

“It was exciting.”

“Why?”

Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she tried to examine the reason why she’d enjoyed it. “It took my responsibility away. It was as if I didn’t have a choice in the matter, though I truly did. The conflict was out of my mind and I could enjoy it.”

He hummed as though absorbing that. “Tell me about when he slid his cock inside this sweet, pretty cunt.”

She moaned, the cylinder thrusting deep inside her with every roll of her hips. Anatol was controlling her orgasm, trying to get her through her story before she came. The pressure of his thumb on her clit would increase and decrease, the pace quickened and slowed. He kept her on the edge of an orgasm in that masterful way that only he could manage. She would come when he wanted her to come and not a moment before.

She licked her lips. “He was impatient, nearly tore his pants trying to get his cock free. Then he pushed me roughly up against the wall, hooked my thigh over his hip, thrust inside me, and fucked me there. Hard. Fast. Quick. It was almost guilty.”

“Did you come again?”

“Yes, almost immediately. My orgasm was longer and harder with his cock inside me.”

He rubbed her clit with just enough friction, just the right pressure. “Come for me now, Evangeline.”

She did. Throwing her head back and arching her spine, her sex pulsed and rippled around the cylinder as she came. Anatol stroked her, riding her through it, lengthening it. It went on and on until she collapsed in a fatigued mess on the bed.

She lay, weak from the emotional turmoil of the night and her muscles limp from the climaxes she’d had. She felt the cylinder slip from her and a wet washcloth clean her up.

Anatol lay down beside her. “Sleep.”

She reached for him. “No, Anatol. I won’t be selfish that way. Come to me.”

He kissed each eyelid in turn. “Sleep. I love you, Evangeline, more than you will ever understand.”

Evangeline averted her gaze from Gregorio’s as soon as she walked into the dining room. Her heart hammered. She hadn’t expected to see him this morning at all. “Why aren’t you at the palace?” She poured herself a cup of coffee from the sideboard, took a piece of toast, and stood awkwardly.

Gregorio sat at the end of the table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and an oversized sheaf of papers at his elbow. “Please sit down, Evangeline. I won’t bite you.”

Yes, maybe not bite, per se . . . She could still remember the feel of him between her thighs and the press of his mouth on hers. It was not an unpleasant recollection. She sank down into one of the chairs farthest from him.

“The Council has declared today a holiday in honor of the revolution. Every year on this day, from now on, will be a day of rest to celebrate the independence of the masses.”

“Ah.” She looked down at her coffee. For her, this “holiday” would ever remain drenched in blood.

She changed the subject. “Well, I guess we’ll be spending the day together considering Emily had to reschedule our sewing lesson.”

“Yes, I ran into her in the foyer and she told me as much. I thought maybe you and Anatol would like to go with me to the Tinkers’ Guild to see what they’re working on now. Maybe we can even take a ride in a balloon, if that’s what you’d like.”

Her gaze lifted from her cup and her unease was suddenly forgotten. The Tinkers’ Guild had been the organization that had published the book about the inventions that she’d loved so much. They were the ones who had created the stitching machine that Emily was teaching her how to use. They had immediately taken over the building in Milzyr where the Edaeii family had locked up all the in-progress inventions they could find. “Yes! I would love to do that. I’m sure Anatol would like to go, too.” It had been a very long time since she’d ventured any farther than the porch. It was time she left the house. She looked at the sheaf of papers near him. “What is that?”

He picked it up and she could see that it was covered with small black markings. “It’s a newspaper.”

“A newspaper?”

“It reports what’s going on in the city of Milzyr every day.” He held it out to her. “Come and take a look.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She rose, walked over, and took the paper into her hands. “It’s not hand copied like a book?”

“No, it’s ink, printed by a machine. It allows them to produce hundreds of copies.”

“How do they get the print on there?” She scratched at it with her fingernail and it came away black. “Incredible.”

“It’s called a printing press. The Tinkers’ Guild has all sorts of interesting inventions they’ve been introducing during the last month. Things the Edaeii suppressed for decades. We’re entering a very exciting time.”

“A printing press. How odd.” She laid the paper down on the table, frowning. “Why would the Edaeii have wanted to suppress such a thing?”

“A printing press gives the people power, Evangeline. A daily newspaper, a way to disseminate information, gives the lower and middle classes more power than the Edaeii wanted them to have. It will make it easier to produce books, too.” He grinned. “Subversive books like mine, for example. It would make them more affordable and far more widely read.”

She still didn’t want to believe that the Edaeii had done anything like that. “The middle class, maybe, but most of the lower class can’t read. This newspaper is useless to them.”

“No.” He shook his head. “All it takes is for information to travel into the right channels. From there it spreads easily enough by mouth. Even now there are town criers stationed through the slums of Milzyr, yelling out the headlines for the benefit of all. The press is printing books now, too.”

“Yours?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t read your books yet.” She looked away when she said it. She’d meant the words to sting, but she couldn’t quite mean it. Not now.

“That’s all right. I hope one day you will. I think you’ll like them.”

She wasn’t so sure about that.

The inside of the carriage smelled like Gregorio—tobacco and leather. She was probably the first female to enter his carriage in Joshui only knew how long. Maybe ever.

She’d worn one of the gorgeous gowns that Gregorio had had created for her. Made of peach and cream silk, it set off her complexion, hair, and eyes to perfection. The bodice was drawn tight, pushing her breasts up pleasingly at the top. The skirts were heavy and belled out wide in the latest fashion—a fashion, she supposed, that the middle class embraced now that there was no more royalty left.

Her hair was done up on the top of her head, leaving a few tendrils to curl becomingly around her face. She wore a pair of white gloves and clutched a matching purse, but wore no jewelry—since she had none. That was fine. She’d been assured more than once that the length of her neck and the shape of her face were adornment enough. She hoped so, since she had no other valuables but her looks to fall back on these days.

She was trying very hard not to examine why she’d taken so much care with her appearance today.

Gregorio sat on the seat opposite her, his huge body taking up almost all the space in the small area. His gaze swept over her in clear male admiration, though with him it was always a touch more feral than with other men. Gregorio knew all there was to know about the world, it seemed, yet there was a brutishness to him that didn’t fit with the bookishness and intelligence. He defied every stereotype Evangeline knew.

When Gregorio looked at her now, she could see—almost feel—him thinking about how her body had felt the night before when he’d taken her up against the wall. It was clear he was replaying the event in his mind and wondering how soon he could get this gown off her.

At least in this way Gregorio was the same as most other men. It was the only way.

“You are breathtaking,” he murmured.

“Thank you. Your money did this, of course, and I appreciate it.”

“I would have you no other way, Evangeline, but kept in the finery to which you are accustomed. I want the same for all the J’Edaeii. They deserve nothing less.”

She almost called him on that statement, accusing him again of treating her like a kept woman: buying her clothes, feeding her—in exchange for sex. But she didn’t actually believe he meant it that way. And she believed he meant what he said about the J’Edaeii. That seemed to be Gregorio’s way. Never in her life had she met a stronger idealist than him.

He rapped on the outside of the carriage and they set off with a lurch, the hooves of the horses clip-clopping on the cobblestone street.

She peered out the window at the passing shops. Only a small bit of snow still remained on the streets, mostly in the shadows where the sun didn’t reach. Winter was very nearly over.

The world appeared back to normal after the time she’d spent behind Gregorio’s walls after the incident with Anatol at Belai. People bustled here and there on the street—women dressed in folds of velvet and silk, belled skirts flouncing as they tugged children behind them, and men dressed in fine suits, hurrying wherever it was they were hurrying to. It was as if the nobles had never existed—never even mattered.

They passed Belai. The gates were thrown open and the flag of Milzyr waved at the entrance. The guillotine was gone. No trace of blood stained the steps. Nothing remained to mark the days of carnage. She understood that the governing council met there now, of which Gregorio was head.

“Have you seen any others?” Her voice held a note of wistfulness. The carriage rumbled past the sprawling palace lawns that were still being well cared for, as far as she could see.

“Any others?” He paused. “Do you mean the Edaeii?”

“The Edaeii, the nobles, and the Jeweled. Do you ever see any but me or Anatol?”

“There aren’t many left in the city, though some nobles have remained to make a go of it here. The magicked have left or are in hiding. The Edaeii that survived have been exiled, so they had no choice but to leave. They’ve traveled to Arabelle and Garhe, mostly.”

“Roane Edaeii?”

He inclined his head for a moment, then looked out the window. “He was given the option to emigrate, but he chose to kill himself instead.”

“Ah.” She gazed back out the window. That wasn’t surprising given the amount of pride Roane possessed. “Do you know any more about the magicked who have left the city or have gone into hiding?”

“Most of them have been reunited with their families. The new government is helping them resettle where they choose, those who have been brave enough to accept our help that is.”

“The new government is doing that?”

He nodded. “The Council saw my reasoning that the J’Edaeii and the adepts were victims of the nobles just as much as the peasantry. They have been made to see that the Jeweled are very special, a unique part of our country’s heritage, and they need to be protected and not slaughtered.”

Victims? “They’re not afraid of us?”

Gregorio stroked his chin. “There is fear, yes. Fear that the magicked are powerful beings, fear of the unknown. That’s why, for now, the J’Edaeii who have survived are living in secret. Hopefully one day that will not be necessary.”

“Anatol and I aren’t displaying our magick on the street corners, but we’re not living in secret either.”

He leaned forward and his face took on a rigid expression. “Anyone who tried to harm either of you while under my protection would be asking for a lot of hurt.”

She looked away, unwilling to admit that she liked Gregorio’s protectiveness. “The J’Edaeii were not victims, Gregorio. Once an adept proved herself, she was given the world on a platter. Money. A good marriage. Palace life until the day she died. She became the most direct extension of royalty that was possible without pure blood. It was an honor to be J’Edaeii, not a burden.” It felt strange to talk of the J’Edaeii in the past tense.

“I suppose it depends on your perspective. From my perspective, being forcibly taken from your family as a young child, imprisoned, worked to the bone to develop your magick, and then forced into a royal marriage like some stud or broodmare to take advantage of your magicked bloodline hardly seems like a good life to me, Evangeline.”

“And I should have stayed in Cherkhasii, perhaps? Mucking out the pig stalls?”

“You would have had far more control over your life if you had.”

She snorted. “You and Anatol would be in agreement on this. He thought of the J’Edaeii as lapdogs for the royals, performing tricks for table scraps.”

“Not a bad analogy.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Are you familiar with any sciences of the mind?”

She gave him a blank look.

“There is a man in the south, name of Enrich Gaustenburg. He is developing a theory of behavior for the condition of men. He believes there is such a malady of the mind that gives abductees sympathy for their abductors. It’s a phenomenon that can be likened to a reorganization of the victim’s thought processes. It happens over a long period of time, reconstructing the victim’s reality to—”

She bristled, the heavy fabric of her skirts rustling. “And that’s what you think happened to me?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You think that I’m so weak-minded. So—”

He held up a hand. “Your eyes are flashing, and although you are particularly beautiful when angry, I don’t want to make you that way. And I don’t think you’re weak-minded. On the contrary. It’s not a question of weak-mindedness.” The carriage lurched to a stop. “Luckily, we’ve arrived and I can cease enraging you.”

He was amused. She could feel it coming off of him. She had a mind to pluck the emotion from him and toss it into the street at random, trading it for something else—humility, maybe—but she resisted. It was tempting to use her magick in such selfish ways, but it wasn’t right.

Thunder crashed outside the carriage and made her jump. A soft pitter-patter of rain began. Gregorio glanced outside. “Cozy. It’s a pity we can’t stay inside and enjoy it a little.”

She gazed outside at the darkening skies. The wind had begun to pick up. She forgot her anger in the face of the thunderstorm; she loved them—even when they came during such cold temperatures. “That will wash away the last of the snow for certain.”

“Spring is on its way. The end of a long, hard winter and the rebirth of a new season.”

“Feels like the rebirth of many things,” she murmured.

“Hopefully good things.”

She glanced at him. “I hope so, too, but then I have no choice but to go forward either way, do I? No sense in living in the past; the past is done with.”

“And the future is full of possibility.”

“Yes.” Her stomach fluttered with fear. And uncertainty. Risk.