He gave another of those harsh laughs, clearly directed only at himself. “I suppose I should be pleased that I have been a good actor. Perhaps when inevitably I am tossed out of the Clave for some future misdeed, I will find a new success upon the stage.”

Cordelia was speechless. She did not want to hurt him; she had been hurt enough and had no desire to pass it on to someone else. Especially as dear a friend as Matthew. Despite his open talk of love, Matthew held himself like a wounded animal, wary and tensed.

“I wouldn’t imagine you know what to say,” he said. “But… I had to tell you. You had to know how I feel. I was going to Paris because it seemed to me James finally understood what he had, being married to you—and I was glad, only I also knew I could not bear to see it. I thought in Paris I might forget. In Paris, one forgets everything.”

She darted her gaze up to his. “I envy you,” she said softly. “We have common cause in our anguish, I suppose, but you can flee it—you can go to Paris alone and nobody remarks upon it. What I dread as much as anything else is the gossip, the things people will say when they find out about James and Grace. What my family will say. What Will and Tessa will think—they were always so kind to me—and Lucie—”

Without warning, Matthew flung himself to his knees on the thick carpet. He was kneeling in front of her, a position that filled her with a sudden alarm.

“You cannot propose,” she said. “I am already married.”

At that, he actually did smile, and caught at her hand. Cordelia made no move to draw it back. For so long, she thought, she had lived with the knowledge that James did not care for her the way she did for him. And now a beautiful young man was kneeling before her, holding her hand, gazing at her with a wordless fervor. Nearly all her life she had dreamed of three things: bearing Cortana, being Lucie’s parabatai, and being loved. She had lost the first two. She could not bear to fling this last, small thing away from her so quickly.