Bertrand advanced down the steps toward her, and she took another step back. She was a princess, used to living under the care of guards, protected by her rank from impertinence. Never in her life had she been in a situation like this. She didn’t know what to do other than the instinct that told her to tread warily.
“I don’t like whatever game you’re playing, Bertrand,” she said carefully. “I’m going to return to the ballroom now.”
“I see clearly now,” Bertrand went on, ignoring her words completely, “that I’ve been too gentle, too forbearing.”
Gentle and forbearing? Is that how he saw himself? Elowen could only stare at him in stupefaction.
“I should have taken charge from the start,” Bertrand said, his eyes overly bright. “Then you wouldn’t be tangled in this mess with the Siqualian ice sculpture.”
Those words drove away some of whatever was causing Elowen’s mind to freeze, and she drew herself up with a haughty gesture.
“My betrothal is none of your affair, Lord Bertrand,” she said coldly.
She moved forward with purpose, intending to brush past him. As highly charged as her instincts were, she was still completely shocked at Bertrand’s sudden movement. She could hardly comprehend what was happening as he shifted smoothly, but the next moment she found herself pinned to the wall.
“In fact, it’s exactly my affair,” he breathed into her shocked face. “And I intend to make it even more so. The Siqualian will never pursue you like you need. I know what you really want is mastery, and clearly it’s past time for me to take control of the situation.”
Elowen’s heart was in her throat, fear paralyzing her mind as it tried to assess her options. Should she scream, and make a scene? By every standard she’d ever been taught, it was unthinkable conduct from her. But his grip was too strong to justbreak away from. Could she generate movement and use Dust to get free of him? She was scared of the consequences, and she couldn’t recall any of her lessons with her mind in this state. All of this passed through her thoughts in the blink of an eye, before she fell back on what she’d always been taught. Diplomacy.
“Bertrand,” she tried, hoping desperately he’d be reasonable. His flushed face and the triumph in his eyes that told her he was enjoying her consternation weren’t promising. “I—”
Her placating words were cut off as a figure loomed into sight on the steps above them. Bertrand whipped around, hot with anger, but the only emotion flooding Elowen at sight of Theo was relief. If Theo was here, she was safe. She had never,couldnever, feel in danger from him.
The realization rushed over her, stilling her fears completely and filling her with gratitude that her parents had chosen an alliance with Siqual over the perfectly likely alternative of arranging a marriage between her and the son of their most influential duke. The thought of marrying Bertrand, never appealing, was now absolutely repulsive.
As for Theo…there was no comparison. No matter how icy or aloof he might be, he would never push himself on her, never hurt her, never try to control her. And more immediately, he wouldn’t let Bertrand touch her.
“You’re interrupting, Your Highness,” Bertrand said through gritted teeth, his fingers flexing as though itching to reach for his sword.
“Evidently.”
If Bertrand’s anger was fiery, Theo’s was solid ice. For a long moment, the two men stood chest to chest, neither backing down. Theo seemed to have left the door to the ballroom open, because the sound of another song striking up reached Elowen’s ears where she still hovered against the wall. Bertrand seemed to hear it, too, because he abruptly stepped back, then, with oneangry glance in Elowen’s direction, strode around the corner and out of sight.
As soon as he was gone, Elowen turned to her rescuer.
“Thank you.” Her voice was breathless and her eyes full of her emotions as she looked up into Theo’s face.
He didn’t even meet her eye. He gestured toward the ballroom and, in a frosty and painfully polite voice, he said, “Perhaps we should return to the gala.”
Crestfallen and clinging to what dignity she could muster, Elowen moved forward. Her limbs were shaking in an echo of the fear she’d felt before Theo arrived, and she folded her hands in her skirts to hide the tremors. For a moment, she hoped that Theo was just being circumspect in returning to a populated area before speaking to her, but as soon as they entered the ballroom, he strode away, leaving her to move alone across the room in a numb haze.
“Elowen?”
Elowen turned stupidly to see Sophia approaching, her kind features crinkled in concern.
“What’s going on? Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”
Elowen just shook her head, unable to bring herself to talk about it. If it had been anyone but Bertrand, she would have confided in her friend immediately. But she was horribly afraid Sophia would try to justify her brother’s behavior, and she couldn’t bear that.
“I…I think Theo is upset with me,” was all she managed.
Sophia made a sympathetic noise, steering her toward an upholstered bench placed along one wall.
“Elowen…is the betrothal really so set?”
Elowen stared at her friend, stunned. “Of course it is. What do you mean?”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to marry within Torrens?” Sophia pressed.
