Music once again filled our ears, and Ana?s pushed past her sister. “You’re so dramatic, Tristan.”
“Better than boring,” he shot back, then took her arm and led her off into the corner, both of them laughing. All the men in Trollus could stare at Ana?s as long as they wanted, but there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know it was my cousin who had the heart of Angoulême’s heir. The question in everyone’s minds was whether Tristan would flaunt the rivalry between his father and the Duke by bonding her anyway.
But I wasn’t interested in Tristan and Ana?s right now.
I stood rooted on the spot, unable to tear my eyes from Pénélope. Or to come up with anything clever to say, I thought, wondering when I’d become so tongue-tied around her. Despite the conflict between her family and Tristan’s, we’d been friends since we were children, but that easy camaraderie had burned away recently, replaced with something else entirely.
“You watched the bonding?” she asked, light reflecting off her irises as they darted to the new couple, then back to me. The wistfulness in her voice made my stomach clench, but I managed a nod.
“It was beautiful.”
You are beautiful. And I was glad the shadows cast by my hood allowed me to watch her openly, for a lovelier girl I’d never seen. Her inky hair was coiled in a multitude of braids set with jet pins, revealing her long graceful neck and delicate collarbone. Our fey nature made us all difficult to harm, but there were times she seemed as fragile to me as the glass flowers in our gardens. And should I ever have the privilege to touch her, I’d do so with equal care. “It was,” I managed to say.
“Have you ever wondered what it’s like?”
I shrugged, scuffing my boot against the ground. It was as close to a lie as the magic running through me would allow, because the truth was, I thought about it all the time. Specifically, I thought about what it would be like to be bonded to her.
“I wish…” Her voice faltered, and I opened my mouth to ask what it was that she wished, desperate to have some part of her, even if it were only something as small as a secret desire. But before I could say anything, I felt the press of power coming up behind me, and heard the Duke’s sharp voice say, “Come now, Pénélope. There were others who would have a moment of your time.”
Her eyes flashed with irritation. “Father, I’m–”
“Now.”
She flinched, and I turned with a mind to tell him to leave her alone, but his cold gaze froze my tongue. He looked me up and down, his lip curling up with distaste as he reached out to take Pénélope’s arm. But before he could drag her off to parade in front of whomever he desired a liaison with, the crowd of guests pushed in close, trapping him in place.
A space was forming in the courtyard, Tristan and Ana?s at the center, swords in hand, both their expressions gleeful.
“A duel,” someone shouted, and then my Aunt Sylvie started calling the odds. “Place your bets,” she shrieked, then pointed a finger at the Duke. “Your usual, édouard? Or are you too busy meddling?”
Angoulême’s expression soured, and he waved a hand in her direction as though to drive her away. “Yes, yes. A thousand on Ana?s.”
“Done!”
The guests pressed tighter, and I found myself next to Pénélope. Her skirts brushed against my leg, and I held my breath, barely seeing as Tristan and Ana?s harried each other across the yard to the roaring approval of the aristocracy. Instead, my eyes tracked downward. Her dark purple gown was cut low enough to reveal the soft curve of her breasts, the black lace trim stark against her skin.
Sword clashed against sword, and I jerked my head up, watching Ana?s dive out of the way of Tristan’s blade, her cheek scraping against the paving stones. She was back on her feet in a flash, skin streaked with blood, but her magic already healing the injury, face unblemished within seconds. She lunged at Tristan, sending him stumbling, the crowd shrieking as she landed a blow against his wrist, the crack of bone audible above their noise. He swore and switched to fighting with his left arm, slamming his weapon against hers with brute strength rather than skill, barely managing to hold her off while his wrist healed.
“Come on, Ana?s,” Pénélope murmured, bouncing on her toes with excitement, her fingers brushing against mine. I closed my eyes, relishing the inappropriate thoughts that danced through my mind even as I tried to banish them. What was the point in thinking about them, in thinking about her, given that her father would never allow it to happen?
Swords collided. But instead of a sharp clang, the sound of the steel shattering punctuated the air. My eyes whipped to where Ana?s stood scowling at her ruined blade, shards of metal scattered on the ground around her. But a soft exclamation of pain drew my attention back to my more immediate proximity.
But Pénélope was no longer next to me.
I turned, watching as Angoulême dragged her through the crowd with silent determination, no one paying them the slightest bit of attention. But there was no mistaking that there was something wrong. That something had happened.
I nudged those around me to move, and when they didn’t, I pushed, forcing my way after Pénélope and her father.
Then a voice rang through the air. “Halt.”
Instinctively, I froze, as did every other troll in the courtyard, no one daring to tempt the King’s anger. Slowly turning my head, I saw Tristan and Ana?s unmoving, swords lowered. But it hadn’t been them to whom the King had spoken.
Rising from the chair where he’d been watching the duel, the King strolled toward Angoulême, the crowd parting like a tide to let him pass. “Away so soon, Your Grace? Are you certain of the outcome, or is it only that you have more pressing matters to which to attend?”
Angoulême dropped Pénélope’s arm, rotating on his heel to face the King, expression smooth. “My money is on Ana?s. I’m certain she will not cause me to be parted with it.”
The King laughed. “I’m inclined to agree. But what of you, Lady Pénélope? Do you not care to watch your sister triumph? Or perhaps you grow weary of constantly being outshone?”
Pénélope remained silent, her back to the King, and my heart lurched. Why did she not answer? Why did she not turn around? What could possibly cause her to court his wrath?
“You will face me when I’m speaking to you.” His voice was soft. Ominous. I inched in their direction, uncertain what I would do if he harmed her. Any attempt to stop him would be fruitless, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
“Turn around!” The King barked out the command, but he wasn’t angry. Angry men didn’t smile like that.
Pénélope looked at her father. The Duke’s face was as grim as I’d ever seen it, and he nodded once. “Do what he asks. It’s done now.”