“Daisy,” James said. “I would never, ever do that to you. When I make a promise, I keep it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re proposing—”

“A year,” he said rapidly. “Give me a year to make things right. Let us be married and live together as friends. We are exceptionally compatible, Daisy. It might well be a great deal of fun. I promise I will be better breakfast-table company than Alastair.”

Cordelia blinked. “A mariage blanc?” she said slowly. “White marriages” usually took place when one partner needed to marry to claim an inheritance, or to protect a woman against a dangerous situation in her home. There were other reasons too. Charles was seeking something very like this with Grace, she thought; it was hard to miss the irony.

“Divorce is far more accepted among Shadowhunters than among mundanes,” said James. “In a year, you may divorce me for any reason you like. Claim I cannot give you children. Say anything you want about how we are not compatible and I will go along with it. Then you will be a desirable divorcée with your honor intact. You could marry again.”

The relief and hope in his eyes were agony to see. And yet—

Cordelia could not say she did not want it. If they were married, they would live together. They would have their own house. An untold level of intimacy. They would go to sleep in the same place and wake in the same place. It would be a life lived in the guise of everything she had ever desired.

“But what about our friends?” she whispered. “We cannot hide the truth from them for a year. Besides, they know I was lying. They know you burned down the manor.”

“We will tell them the truth,” said James. “They will keep our secret. They may even find it a great prank on the Clave. And they’ll be delighted to have a whole house to disport themselves in. We shall have to guard our china.”

“Lucie as well,” Cordelia said. “I cannot lie to my parabatai.”

“Of course,” James said, beginning to smile. “Our friends love us and will keep our secrets. Are we agreed? Or shall I go back on my knees?”

“No!” Cordelia said sharply. “Do not go on your knees, James. I will marry you, but don’t go on your knees.”

“Of course,” he said, and the understanding in his eyes cracked what was left of her heart. “You wish to save such things for the true marriage you will find after this. Love will find you, Daisy. It is only a year.”

“Yes,” she said. “Only a year.”