Did I truly think I could marry her? Did I imagine I could ask Barl to live with being second-best? I must have been mad. Yes. I was out of my mind.

Watching the colour fade from Maris’s cheeks, he felt a vague wash of pity. True, she was cold and calculating… but in fairness, he’d been just as prepared to use her. Justice be praised he’d come to his senses in time.

Maris took another step forward. “Please, Morgan. You’re frightening me. Something else has happened, hasn’t it? Tell me. Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

He offered her a small, regretful smile. “You shouldn’t have come here, Maris. Not without an invitation. It was unwise—and impolite.”

A breath of shocked laughter escaped her. “Impolite? Morgan, has grief disordered you? We are handfast. How can you stand there and talk to me of impolite? If we must discuss a lack of manners, let us consider your disheveled appearance, shall we? To present yourself to me as good as half dressed, with your hair unbound and unbrushed? It is most unbecoming of you!”

“Unbecoming?” an amused voice said, from behind him. “Oh, I don’t think so. Myself, I think he’s as comely as can be.”

Barl.

As Maris’s face blanched snowish, Morgan held out his hand. Smiled to feel his beloved’s fingers slide over his. Through his. Tighten, until two were become one.

Maris was staring. “Morgan, who is this—this—”

“Person?” said Barl, helpfully.

She bared her teeth. “Whore.”

“No, Morgan,” Barl said sharply, as he tensed. “It’s all right. The only thing we’ve left her is anger.” Slipping her fingers free of him, she continued down the staircase until she reached the foyer floor. Her tunic was fastened, but not every button was in its hole. “I am sorry, Mage Garrick. But he was never really yours.”

Tears glittered brilliant in Maris’s slitted eyes. “Lord Danfey and I are handfast.”

“No,” said Barl. “You were. But his lordship has changed his mind.”

Maris gasped. “Morgan?”

He said nothing, content to let Barl and his silence speak for him.

“Think,” Barl said. “If he loved you, could I—could anyone—come between you?”

Maris’s glittering tears fell, raining rage down her cheeks. “Who are you?”

“My name would mean nothing to you, Mage Garrick.”

Maris took a step back. “You are unranked?”

“Ranked or unranked, what difference does it make?”

“What difference?” Maris shook her head, disbelieving. Shifted her gaze past Barl. “Morgan—”

Impatient now, he trod the last four stairs lightly and stood beside Barl. “If this discovery distresses you, Maris, you’ve only yourself to blame. I intended to withdraw my pledge to your father in a manner that would have shielded you. It was your choice to impose yourself upon me like this.”