Confusion crossed her face, but he didn’t wait to hear what response she would find. He strode into the dining hall, seating himself beside Prince Patrick—a companion guaranteed not to raise any emotions—and making short work of his breakfast. Elowen sat far enough down the table that speech was impossible, but he could feel her eyes on him throughout the meal.
When he rose, so did she, following him from the room. She said nothing to him, and at first he thought she meant to go her own way, but after he’d traversed a couple of corridors and found himself in a quieter part of the castle, he realized she was still behind him.
He turned to face her, much more in control of himself now, and wishing he hadn’t let his tongue run away with him before.
“Did you wish to speak with me?” he asked calmly.
“Yes.” But her eyes remained on her feet, and it was a long moment before she went on, her manner embarrassed. “I was confused by what you said before breakfast. I think I understand…that is, I think you misunderstood what you witnessed last night.”
She cast a quick, uneasy look around the deserted corridor before taking a breath and forcing herself to look up at him.
“I wasn’t on the terrace with Lord Bertrand willingly. He tricked me into going outside, and when I tried to leave, he physically restrained me. It didn’t occur to me at the time thatyou didn’t understand that, I thought you were angry with me for allowing it to happen. But on reflection, I realized that it may not have been obvious from my demeanor that I…” She trailed off, swallowing before continuing. “Forgive me, it’s humiliating to confess…that I was frightened of him in that moment. I was relieved when you arrived. Relieved and grateful.”
Frissons of shock were running over Theo, intensifying with every word she spoke. His hand reached out toward her, but he forced it to drop before it reached her.
“Elowen, is this true?” He searched her eyes. He didn’t need an answer—he could read it on her face. It was clear that the confession had cost her some embarrassment. She would never have fabricated it. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thanks to your intervention.” Her voice was very small.
There was a long silence during which Theo’s earlier conviction that he was more in control now mocked him. He’d never been less in control, but he didn’t intend for Elowen to see that.
“All I can say then,” his voice came out choked, “is that I apologize sincerely for my assumption last night. And my manner toward you.”
She was looking at her slippers again, and he gave in to the impulse this time, letting his hand make it all the way to her chin. Her skin was soft as his fingers gently tilted her face up.
“I mean it, Elowen,” he said, his voice rough with all he was keeping in. “I truly am sorry.”
She seemed to have no words, but her eyes were so expressive she didn’t need them. Theo let his hand drop, moving past her with tense strides.
“Wait.” Elowen’s voice made him turn. “Where are you going?”
“To have a conversation with Lord Bertrand,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even as he said the man’s name.
Elowen hesitated, as if wondering whether to try to stop him, but he was already striding down the corridor. He walked blindly for several minutes before he was calm enough to ask a guard where Lord Bertrand could be found. After a few inquiries, he was told that the viscount was at the training yard, in preparation for the day’s event.
Theo directed his steps that way, his strides increasing. He’d been angry enough at Lord Bertrand over his clandestine moment with Elowen even when he’d thought Elowen had been using the viscount to make a point. The knowledge that the man had instead been forcing himself on Elowen had fire racing through Theo’s veins.
He was going to kill Bertrand.
His fury wasn’t confined to the viscount, either. He deserved a beating of his own for his coldness to Elowen the night before. How could he have assumed so much from her demeanor, without even giving her a chance to explain? How many other times had he made a similar mistake, assuming from Bertrand’s boldness and her self-conscious reaction that they had some kind of history? Had all those instances been nothing more than unwanted imposing on Bertrand’s part? So many interactions took on new meaning, each one fueling Theo’s anger. He’d thought Bertrand a buffoon, but it seemed the viscount had skillfully manipulated both Elowen and him.
He swept into the training yard without breaking stride, ignoring all the pairs sparring as they got ready for the day’s event.
Bertrand wasn’t difficult to spot. He was standing on the far side of the yard, in conversation with another young nobleman. Judging by their gear, they’d just finished a bout.
Theo retained enough sense to go around the edge of the training yard rather than charging right through it, so he had ample time to hear their conversation as he approached.
“Well, I’d say you’d best win the weapons competition today, Bertrand, because it’s clear you’re not going to win the other one,” the nobleman was saying with a grin.
Bertrand scoffed. “If you’re talking about the princess, I’m not worried.”
“You should be,” the other man said. “General opinion is that she rarely takes her eyes off him. The ladies all say she’s besotted.”
“Hardly.” Bertrand’s tone was contemptuous. “PrinceTheodore is too stiff and polite, he’ll never satisfy the princess.” He gave an unpleasant laugh. “If they’d sent Xavier, maybe I’d be worried, but not this ice statue. What women want is mastery, and he’s too polite. I have the princess right where I want her.”
Theo had heard enough. He was still in a stiff brocade tunic, but that could be rectified. His strides almost a run now, he started yanking one arm from its sleeve, his hand already balled into a fist.
“Whoa, there, Your Highness.” He collided solidly with a torso that hadn’t been in his path a moment before.
