Gwen pulled her in near the trunk of an oak tree, her green eyes flashing with a hint of bonfire light as she turned back toward her. For one dizzying heartbeat, Isobelle’s imagination provided her with a startling image—she saw herself step in closer to Gwen, letting the momentum of that tug on her hand bring them together. She saw herself lean in, and tilt her face toward Gwen’s, and . . .

“Isobelle, are you listening?” Gwen’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and intense.

“Um, what?” Isobelle dropped Gwen’s hand like it had scorched her. Her heart was beating like a wild thing trapped within the cage of her ribs. She hid her hands in the folds of her skirts, hoping Gwen hadn’t noticed they’d begun to shake.

She’d daydreamed about kissing people before, even if she’d never done it when it counted. But those dreams hadn’t forced their way into her mind like this, pushing through the doorway and taking over, insisting they be heard.

And those people . . . they hadn’t been girls. Why was that? Had nobody before Gwen been the right girl, or was it just that everybody expected her crushes to be boys, so she’d never looked at anyone else?

If someone kisses me, Gwen had whispered, I want it to be because they need to.

“Isobelle,” Gwen said again, and a bolt of sheer panic went through Isobelle, zipping down her spine and nearly sending her legs buckling.

“Yes,” gasped Isobelle. And then, steadying her breath and lifting her chin, she made her voice sound normal through sheer effort of will. “Yes, Gwen. What is it?”

Gwen paused, studying her carefully. For a moment, Isobelle was certain Gwen had seen the same imagined embrace she had. That she could read in Isobelle’s eyes that something had just shifted, irrevocably, undeniably. Then, with a shake of her head, Gwen continued. “I don’t think we should just dismiss that woman.”

“Nobody’s going to dismiss her,” Isobelle said, marshalling her attention toward the conversation at hand. “Someone will make sure she’s taken care of.”

“No,” said Gwen, her jaw twitching. “I mean, I think we should listen to her.”

Isobelle blinked. “You’re saying you think that woman saw a dragon?” she asked. Then, feeling she had to clarify: “A real dragon?”

Gwen produced one of her charming scowls, eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t know what she saw,” she said. “But that’s the whole point. How terrified must she have been to do something like this? Did you see them hauling her away? You can be killed for assaulting someone of noble blood. Why would she ever risk something like that, unless she already had nothing to lose?”