“I care about you,” she finished weakly. “You know I love you.”
“I do,” I said. “But between you, Grandmother, and Father, I’m not sure what love means. If it means anything at all.”
* * *
I purposefully left early for the palace to avoid having to walk with my family, entering with the crowds of commoners and half-bloods who’d queued to ensure they secured a place in the throne room. Public audiences with His Majesty often grew quite raucous – a form of entertainment for those who could afford no other.
Making my way into the enormous room, I wove my way to the front where the aristocrats had their places, searching for Marc’s tall form. He stood next to his father, their heads bent in conversation, which they broke off at my approach.
“Pénélope? I… What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t see Marc’s face, but there was no missing his anxiety as his head whipped back and forth between me and his father, confirming my suspicion that he had no desire for his family to know we’d been spending time alone together. Which wasn’t unexpected, but it stung, nevertheless.
“My lord,” I said, bobbing a slight curtsey for the Comte, who inclined his head, brow creasing with a frown. “I came because I heard I might find you here. I’m sorry about how we left things when last we spoke.”
Marc’s father’s frown deepened, but he only said, “If you’ll excuse me,” then walked in the direction of the throne.
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Marc glanced over my head at the door to the room, then back to me, then away again.
“Do you come to these audiences often?” I asked, desperate to diffuse the tension, but at a loss of what to say.
“No,” he said, then, “Well, more so now. Because…” He trailed off.
“To learn?” I supplied.
“Right. And today… Well, today, Tristan has something to raise with his father, which is why I’m here.”
“Ana?s mentioned as much.” I watched him carefully to see how he’d react to the revelation, but he only nodded, seemingly unsurprised.
“There’s your family now.”
I wasn’t tall enough to see either my sister or my father, but there was no mistaking how the crowds parted for them in a way they hadn’t for me. They took their places near the front right as the herald blasted, “Make way for the King!”
The crowd dropped into bows and curtsies almost in unison, no one moving until Thibault had strode down the center aisle and settled on the throne, the gold of his crown glinting. But of Tristan, there was no sign.
A row of petitioners formed, which Thibault eyed for a long moment before gesturing for the first pair to speak. It was a grievance between two merchantmen, and I swiftly tuned them out.
“That will be you one day,” I whispered, watching the King confer with Marc’s father. “You and Tristan, deciding everyone’s fate.”
Marc made a soft sound of amusement. “You make it sound far more exciting than it is. Last week, two petitioners argued for an hour over who had proprietary right to a cake recipe.”
I bit down on my laughter.
“Besides, there are other things I’d rather be doing with my time.”
A thrill ran through me. “Such as?”
Before he could answer, one of the petitioners began to wave his hands angrily at the other, and the crowd pressed in for a better view, driving me against Marc.
Like every other aristocrat present, we were both shielded to maintain our personal space. But as our magics brushed together, they sparked like an electric charge, causing several of those around us to frown before returning their attentions to the proceedings. I should have moved, eased aside to give more space, but instead, I held my ground, the feel of my magic pressed up against his eerily similar to the sensation of naked flesh pressed against naked flesh. I waited for Marc to shift away, for the contact to break, but he stood unmoving.
It’s because there isn’t any space to move, I told myself. He doesn’t want to jostle the elderly baroness next to him.
A million other reasons danced through my head, but always I circled back to one: that he wanted to be near me. Because it seemed impossible that I should feel like I stood in the middle of a storm of lightning and that he felt nothing. Impossible that my skin should burn hot and cold, the lights around me seeming to expand and contract with every thud of my heart, and that Marc would be unaffected.
Remember why you’re here, I told myself, but the tumult of emotion coursing through me drowned all logic. All rational thought.
The words of the King, of the petitioners, faded into a dull drone, my ears fixed on the beat of Marc’s heart. A thud thud that seemed faster than circumstances warranted.
You’re imagining things.
The sound of his breathing, which I swore had a ragged edge to it.
Wishful thinking.
But the naysayer in my thoughts did nothing to curb the throb of my own pulse, which seemed to grow more violent and chaotic with each inhale. Each exhale.
Whose magic changed first, I couldn’t have said, but I felt the nature of mine shift and alter to reflect my will, no longer a barrier, but a liquid flow swirling across my skin. Marc’s power poured into it like hot water added to a cooling bath, but infinitely more personal. Like will and thought and desire made tangible.
I bit my lip, terrified that everyone around us knew what we were doing, while at the same time not caring if they did. The world was a blur of light and color and sound, and as I let my eyelids drift shut, I imagined that when I opened them, we would be alone. That he would touch me.
And then he did.
Barely the faintest brush of his fingertips against my skin, but a spark seemed to run all the way through me and down to my toes. I gasped out a breath, then clenched my teeth, certain someone must have noticed, but no one stirred. Including Marc. He remained facing the front of the throne room, but his fingers trailed slowly up my wrist as though following the path of my rapidly pulsing blood, which grew hot beneath his touch. They traced back down again, brushing against my palm, and my hand instinctively linked with his.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But doing so seemed impossible with the soft ache growing in my belly, my skin so sensitive it felt nearly raw, my toes curling in the confines of my shoes. I wanted to drag him away, to find some empty corner of the palace where we could–