The sound was beautiful and terrible, piercing me like an arrow. I felt a crack in my chest. It wasn’t deep; it was only a hairline break, the stone faithfully holding to my heart, even as the pain swarmed. I pressed a fist to my breast, clenching my teeth until I thought they would chip.

Hold yourself together. Don’t crumble like this.

I did the first thing that came to mind. I hurled a spell at him, even though he hadn’t moved or threatened me. No, all he seemed capable of doing was staring at my reflection, stricken.

Vines rose up from the rug. Thorns and leaves and indigo blossoms. They wove together in a whispering rush, and my intentions were to trap him, to form a cage about him. It would give me the time I needed to flee, but when I thought about running . . . I had nowhere to go. For that had been my father’s plan all along, and it was now worthless in my eyes. And when I saw the pain and betrayal in Phelan’s face . . . I could not entrap him. I reined my spell back a fraction, so that my vines would form a wall between us. A barrier.

He studied it for a moment. My impulsive defense.

I watched through the gaps in the vines and leaves as he slipped a dagger from the inner pocket of his jacket. He began to cut through my enchantment, hack by hack, and it gave way to him. Flowers sundered beneath his blade, their petals cascading to the floor. The vines snapped and recoiled; the leaves hissed into steam as he dashed through them. My spell held valiantly, giving me the time I needed to run.

Run, I thought, and yet I couldn’t move.

My desire ran dark and deep. I wanted to face him again, wholly known. I wanted to answer his challenge.

I wanted to clash with him.

And so I waited and watched him work through my enchantment. My thorns dragged over his face, leaving bright scratches behind. They clawed at his hair, at his clothes, and when he finally emerged on my side of the wall, he looked the most disheveled I had ever seen him. He looked untamed, half wild.

He stared at me, panting, blue petals and silver leaves in his hair. He tossed his dagger aside.

Slowly, we circled each other, our gazes holding as if we were both prey, both predator.

Say something! I wanted to shout at him. His silence was overbearing, crushing. I couldn’t read his thoughts.

And then he smiled, but it was scathing. Sharp and unfamiliar.

The sight of it sent a thrill through me.