“But—but—it’s forbidden to pick them. They belong to—”

He laughed softly. “Another rule broken. My dearest, I would break them all for you.”

Her mind spun rapidly. No wonder Dain had been so at ease, so full of smiles and compliments this evening. He had mistaken her happiness. By wearing his tribute, she had given him all the wrong ideas.

“My lord,” she said quickly. “Please don’t.”

He was kissing her hair again, his lips moving tenderly down to her ear.

She stiffened and stepped away from him.

“Do I frighten you?” he asked.

Something was wrong with her lungs. She could not believe this evening had gone so completely wrong. She wanted to weep, and yet she had to explain. “No,” she managed at last, her voice unsteady. “I—you mustn’t touch me that way.” “I’m sorry,” he said, but his voice held no apology. “Pheresa, I love you. From the first time I saw you I have been consumed by your beauty and grace. You are—” “Stop!” she cried, trying to turn away from him. She wanted to flee, and yet his words touched a yearning emptiness inside her. If only it could be Gavril saying these compliments to her. “You mustn’t. I am not—” He caught her hand and held it against his chest. “Are you not free?” he asked.  “There is no betrothal. You are not bound to Gavril. Or am I mistaken in this?” Tears stung her eyes. She was grateful for the darkness that hid her bitter shame. “No,” she said, her voice choked. “You are correct.” “Then let me declare my love for you,” he said eagerly, lifting her hand to his lips. Their caress seemed to burn her fingers, and she trembled in his grasp. “I ask for your hand, my lady. I have been given the king’s permission to marry whom I choose, and for me there can be no other than you.” “Oh, Dain,” she whispered.

Her emotions careened inside her. He was so sweet, so tender, and yet she found herself astonished by his boldness. How had she let things go this far? How had she been so blind to Dain’s growing infatuation with her? Had she been too friendly? Had she led him into believing her affections were the same as his? By wearing his flowers tonight, she had certainly given him every reason to think so.

But he was no one, really. King’s favorite or not, he held only a minor rank, and that through dispensation rather than actual birthright.  Dain cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Of course I cannot offer you a—a kingdom,” he said. “I am not Gavril, but only a second choice. Perhaps less than that.”

“Dain, please,” she said quickly, but he put his fingers against her lips to silence her.

“Thirst Hold is plain and modest compared to all this. It’s not a palace at all.  But it’s a decent place. And what I cannot give to you in riches, I would give to you with my heart.”

“Dain,” she said, touched to the core by his words, “please say nothing else.

Please.”

He obeyed her, standing there patiently with his hand still gripping hers.  She marveled at him and his big, simple heart. Under his new sophisticated manners, he was still an impossible boy who did not know or understand his place here.

And yet, she could not fault him for his honest declaration. He loved her. She doubted it not at all, and despite his rough edges, there was something undeniably appealing about him. Pheresa, with no better offer before her, found Dain’s tempting. After all, had she not just made up her mind to seek marriage with someone other than Gavril, who did not, would not ever, want her? And here was this pagan boy who loved her, who’d risked punishment to give her flowers, who did not know that she was as far above him as the stars above the ground.  Yes, she was tempted. Her heart held such churning anger and resentment at Gavril that she almost told Dain yes out of spite.

But just in time, she held her tongue. Sighing, she leaned her head against Dain’s powerful chest. His arms encircled her, and he too sighed, with happiness, while she struggled not to weep.

She did not want to hurt him, but she could not accept his offer, not even to punish Gavril. Oh, the prince would hate it if she married Dain. She knew how little the two liked each other. Gavril clearly had never forgiven Dain for beating him in the tourney, especially after Gavril had made such a spectacle of himself beforehand.

Well, she knew now that she didn’t love Gavril. Dain had showed her what love should be. She could feel his happiness as he held her close. It made her own misery and confusion that much more acute. For she loved neither of them, not like this, not with Dain’s simple honesty. And for the first time she understood that the depths of her ambition to be queen went far deeper than she’d ever realized. Gavril had been hurting only her pride, not her heart. She wanted to rule Mandria someday, and Gavril was her only means of doing so.  And not even to be cherished by Dain, not even perhaps to be happy, was she willing to surrender the chance to rule.

“We will be happy,” Dain promised her. “I cannot give you much now, but one day, when I have—” “No,” she whispered, sliding her hand up to his cheek. “No. I am sorry.” He started to speak, but she withdrew from his embrace.

“Pheresa?” It was Gavril’s voice that called to her in the darkness.

Startled, she and Dain both turned.

“Would you dance with me, my lady cousin?” Gavril asked her.  Dain drew in a sharp breath as though he would protest. Pheresa gripped his arm in warning, and he stayed silent.

Relieved, she struggled with her emotions a moment longer, then walked forward.  So it has worked at last, she thought. The attentions of his rival have finally stirred him to notice me.

Gavril stood there in the doorway. Light spilled across his blue-clad shoulder and illuminated half of his face. This was the moment she’d dreamed of and waited for, when her handsome cousin would offer his arm to her and ask her to dance with him. She went to him, waiting for joy to fill her heart, but even when he took her hand she felt only numbness.

“Dearest cousin, I believe we have some matters to discuss,” Gavril said with a glance at Dain.

Pheresa heard Dain walk up behind her. Her heart leaped in alarm, but he stopped and came no closer. Sighing, she gave Gavril a slight curtsy and allowed him to lead her back to the ball.

The candlelight blazed around her, hurting her eyes. Despite the overpowering heat in the room, she felt cold to the marrow. She had scarcely a coherent thought in her brain.

Across the room, the king sat on his throne, with the countess beside him. He smiled at Pheresa and saluted her with his cup. She gave him a stiff, wooden smile in return as Gavril led her to the dancing.

It was a slow madrigal the musicians played. Together, she and Gavril joined the line of dancers, taking up the stately and dignified steps of a gliande. Pheresa could hear the whispering that ran across the room at the sight of her and Gavril in each other’s company at long last. Her cheeks felt hot, but defiance flashed in her eyes. Let them talk, she thought. She no longer cared.  “You look lovely tonight, cousin,” Gavril said. Even had it not come on the heels of Dain’s compliments, this remark would have sounded wooden and insincere. A few hours ago Pheresa would have smiled modestly and said something agreeable, but not now.

She flashed him a look of scorn. “Thank you. I cannot compare to your highness in looks or fashion, but I do contrive to be my best.”

He frowned, clearly taken aback. “Forgive me. How have I offended you?” “How have you not?” she replied sweetly as she circled beneath his upraised arm, spun, and faced him once more in the line of dancers.  Red tinged his face. “You have grown a tart tongue, my lady. Is your personality as shrewish as your manner?”

With a start she realized how dreadfully she was behaving. She clamped self-control on herself and bit her lip for a moment. “No,” she replied at last, her voice completely different. “I am no shrew, your highness. I am merely angry and seeking to pick a quarrel.”

His brows shot up, and he began to look intrigued. “Oh? For what reason? Was my asking you to dance an offense?”

“No.”

“Then I interrupted your private conversation.”

“Yes, it was an interruption,” she said in cool tones. Annoyance flickered in his dark blue eyes. “Shall I return you to where I found you?” “No. I am content with your company now.”

“My lady, I do not understand you at all. Your mood is very strange tonight.” “How would you know that?” she replied, meeting his eyes. “Perhaps this is my normal mood.”

He smiled a little. “No. I have seen you elsewhere, standing quietly with that simper on your face, looking meek and well-bred. Tonight, your eyes flash with spirit. You are very different.”

“Is that to my advantage or detriment?” she asked. “Tell me,” she went on before he could reply, “have all the other ladies begun to bore you?” “In what way?”

“Well, you have finally chosen to dance with me, your simpering cousin. I wondered if your highness could find no amusement elsewhere.” “You have the sting of a little scorpion,” he told her, frowning.

“It seems I do. I quite surprise myself tonight.”

Abruptly the prince stopped dancing. He held out his hand, and when she placed hers in it, he led her away.

More murmurs and speculation followed them, but Pheresa delighted in it. She could see Gavril’s ears and the back of his neck turning pink. She hoped he felt embarrassment tonight. Yet at the same time, she was appalled by her own behavior. It was as though she had climbed aboard a runaway wagon that she could not stop, and at any moment she expected to come crashing to harm.  Gavril led her over to an empty corner far in the back of the room and faced her with a glare. “Whatever has put you into this mood, my lady, it is less than charming. I have—” “You asked if you interrupted something out there on the balcony,” she broke in.  “Yes, you did. Marriage was being proposed to me.”

He stared, his mouth slightly open, and seemed unable to reply.

Pheresa had the sensation of having burned her bridges.  Clasping her hands together in front of her, she went on, “I do not know why your highness has chosen at last to speak to me. You have ignored me for so long, I fear I have quite lost my composure. But then, I am not used to receiving unexpected proposals on balconies.”

Anger filled Gavril’s face. His eyes shifted away from her and he glared across the room. “That miserable cur,” he muttered. “I’ll have him whipped for daring to offend you.”

“Please don’t,” she said curtly. “I was not offended by the offer, and you would only make me more an object for harmful gossip than you already have.” Unwillingly, Gavril returned his gaze to her. “Do you dare reprimand me, my lady?”

“Were you not a prince, I would do so,” she replied.

“ ‘Twas you who chose to come here to court, displaying yourself like a prize ware.”

Anger fired her cheeks. For a moment she was too incensed to speak. “How dare you!” she uttered at last. “Is that what you think of me?” “It is precisely what I think of you.”

Her eyes flashed, and her chin lifted. She wished she wore a dagger so that she could run him through. “How arrogant and judgmental you are. Knowing only a part of the whole, you can still make up your mind.”

“What is there to doubt?” he asked with a sneer. “I see your behavior. Before I even returned from my fostering, you had already ensconced yourself here like some strumpet—” “I had no choice,” she said furiously. “The king summoned me. Would you have had me refuse his majesty’s express command? You may be permitted to rebel, sir, but I am not!”

Gavril frowned, saying nothing.

She glared at him. “What assumptions you make! If you wish to see a strumpet, look about you. Look at Sofia de Briard, married but still not respectable. Look at the majority of the ladies who wait on the king’s mistress. See how they dress? See how they flirt and throw themselves at men? I have had to live here in this court without even the protection of a betrothal. I have witnessed scandalous behavior and wild licentiousness. I have been shocked again and again. Because I am only a simple maid, with a nuncery upbringing, I am considered contemptible. Did you ever think about my position here, in a court like this, without a queen to keep moral order, with greed, caprice, and vicious gossip at every turn?”

Gavril’s frown had grown thoughtful, but he shrugged. “You did not have to join Lalieux’s circle.”

“No,” she said bitterly. “I did not. I could have gone on sitting in my room, night after night, hiding there. I could have read my two volumes of poetry by candlelight, bitterly alone, while the music played here and people laughed and talked to each other. I could have hidden, as I did while there were two royal mistresses in the palace and every occasion such as this was a battleground. But when Lalieux became the sole favorite here at court, it became an offense to the king to snub her.” Pheresa sighed. “One must survive political intrigue, even of the feminine sort, your highness. It does not compare to your level of statecraft between kingdoms, but it can be just as dangerous.” “I see.”

“Besides, when your highness returned to court,” she said with a bitter little smile, “I was obliged to appear, was I not?”

He looked uncomfortable, even possibly apologetic. “You have explained yourself very clearly. You are intelligent and articulate for a maiden. But so composed have you always appeared that I thought you in no need of rescue. You are very poised and assured in public. There was no evidence that you felt humiliated.” She wanted to cry over this stupid misunderstanding. Her training and deportment had helped her endure life at court, but it seemed it had also cost her dearly.  She made a little gesture of frustration. “I am of royal blood, your highness.” she said. “I do not know how to display histrionics in public, but my feelings are as easily hurt as anyone’s.”

“I see that now,” he said.

She drew in a breath and looked away from him. Across the room, a tall, broad-shouldered figure caught her eye. It was Dain, watching them.  Gavril turned and saw whom she was looking at. His face darkened. “I’m glad I did interrupt his proposal. He should be whipped for it.” “You would not do so,” she said in quick defense of Dain. “Your highness speaks in jest, I’m sure.”

Gavril frowned. “You are, of course, too sensible to have accepted him.”

Her chin lifted. “Why does your highness say that?”