“But this is what you want, isn’t it? This way you can have both. I’ll be your wife. I’ll be the mother of your child. Pretty soon people will forget all about the one that died, it will just be me and you and our perfect family, and you’ll be a prince, Evret, which will be so much better than being a guard and—”

“Stop it!”

She froze, the fire in her veins doused with the anger in his tone. His breath had become ragged and he was leaning so far away from her she worried he would fall over. Scowling, Levana released the power she held over his feet and he stumbled back until he was pressing against a wall.

“Please,” he said. “Please go back to how you were. You don’t understand … you don’t know how you’re hurting me.”

Embarrassment wound its way up Levana’s throat, coupled with determination that was just as strong. She stepped closer, almost touching him. Evret tried to shrink away, but he had nowhere to go.

“You can’t tell me that you don’t want me. After the birthday gift, and the card. After … every time you’ve smiled at me, and…”

“Good stars, Princess, I’ve been trying to be nice.”

“You love me! Don’t deny it.”

“You’re a child.”

She ground her teeth, dizzy with wanting. “I’m a woman, as much as Solstice was. I’m almost the same age as my mother when she was married.”

“Don’t. Don’t.” His eyes were sparking now. Anger, maybe.

Or passion.

She looked down at his clenched hands, imagined them on her waist, pulling her closer. “I know I’m right. You don’t have to deny it anymore.”

“No! You’re wrong. I love my wife, and though you may look like her right now, you are not her.” He turned his face away, cringing from his own words. “The last time I was in this palace I disobeyed my queen, and now I’ve insulted my princess before I’ve even returned to my post. I can’t…” He grimaced. “By my word, I will tender my resignation from the royal guard tonight, and plead the crown will be merciful.”

Wetness was pooling in Levana’s eyes, but she blinked it away. “No. Your resignation is refused, and I will tell Channary to refuse it as well.”

He groaned. “Your Highness, please don’t…”

“I won’t let you. And I won’t let you deny what I know in my heart to be true.”

Levana had always been much more adept at using her glamour than at controlling a person’s emotions. That sort of manipulation was a job better left to the thaumaturges, with all their training and skills.

But now she forced her way into Evret’s thoughts as easily as plunging a finger into wet soil. Guards were always easily controlled—a security measure—and Evret was no different. His mind offered no resistance.

“You love me,” she said. Pleaded. She pressed her body against his, feeling the warmth and the strength and the forcefulness of his hands suddenly gripping her upper arms. “You love me.”

He turned his head away. She could see the struggle on his face, feel the resistance that he tried to throw up around his mind. Around his heart.

A pathetic attempt.

He couldn’t resist her. She wouldn’t allow it. Not now. Not when he was meant to be hers. When she knew he wanted this as much as she did, if only he would see it.

“You love me,” she whispered, her voice softer this time. “We belong together. You and me. This is fate, Evret. Fate.”

“Princess—”

She filled his heart with desire, his body with longing, his mind with the same certainty that she felt. She poured all her own emotions into him, and felt his resistance crumble. He shuddered, overwhelmed with all the same feelings that overwhelmed her.

“Tell me I’m right. Tell me you love me.”

“I … I love you.” The words were barely a murmur, cracking with desperation, and his entire body sagged with their release. “Sol…”

The name sent a jolt of hatred through her, but was forgotten when Evret Hayle pulled her close and kissed her. She gasped against his mouth, and he said it again, breathing the word into her.

Sol …

Then she was drowning. Drowning in sensation and heat and the rush of her own blood and yearning and want and he loved her …

He loved her.

He loved her.

… he loved her …

*   *   *

“That one’s being difficult,” said Channary, bobbing her foot to the fast-paced orchestral piece and pulling a glossy red cherry between her teeth. Leaning over the railing, she tossed the stem over the balcony edge, letting it flutter down to the ballroom floor and become lost in the kaleidoscope of gowns and elaborate hairstyles.

Beside her, Levana did not lean or jog her foot or even attempt to discern which suitor her sister was referring to. Her attention was fixed on Evret, stone-still and imposing beside the ballroom staircase, in an identical uniform to every other guard, and yet looking somehow more like royalty than hired brawn.

His expression was composed and stern. He had not glanced at her once since the ball had begun.

“Oh, I see,” said Channary, flicking her eyelashes in Levana’s direction, then down at Evret. “Now that you have your own toy to play with, you won’t bother listening to me rant about mine?”

“He isn’t a toy.”