“Because you are my responsibility!” snapped Whimsitt, finally turning from the window, his face reddening with irritation. “Because you continue to act as though your conduct has no impact on those around you. I thought time would mellow your childish disobedience, or your parents would return to manage your discipline, but as I am still your guardian, I am still the one to decide what you do and where you go.”

Isobelle hadn’t had a moment to relocate her equilibrium since the guards had burst into the Siren’s Sting. Now she searched for that easy, charming veneer of calm she’d learned to cultivate. “I know, my lord.” She lowered her chin and gazed up at him through her eyelashes. “I was only—”

“Isobelle, you will be wed in a few months’ time to the winner of the tournament.” The words hit Isobelle like a body blow, cutting her off and leaving her without breath to reply. Whimsitt continued, “I thought you would understand how your situation has changed when I informed you of my decision to announce you as the dragon sacrifice—clearly, I must spell it out for you.”

“My lord—”

He moved toward her, half a step too far into her space, eyes boring into hers. “Your conduct must be above reproach. Your virtue without question. Your obedience . . .” He sucked in a breath through his nose. “Your obedience immediate. Whichever man is to be your husband, I guarantee he will not be so lenient nor negligent as I. Nor as forgiving in his method of discipline.”

Isobelle felt her veneer of charming calm drift away in tatters, an icy chill sliding slowly down her spine. “My lord, if my conduct is so objectionable to you, perhaps I’m not the right choice as the prize for this tournament. Maybe the treasure alone, even if it came from my own dowry, would be—”

“Enough!” Whimsitt ran a hand over his head, sans hat for once. “Enough, Isobelle. The decision is made, your name announced. And as of tonight, you will not leave the castle grounds unaccompanied, and then only to show your face at the tournament as expected. Do I make myself clear?”

Isobelle stared at him, feeling the floor drop out from under her. “You’re—you’re grounding me?”

His face was thunderous, her protest budging him not an inch. “I have let you run wild and indulged your girlish whims for far too long—this is the answer for us both. I will do whatever I must to keep you safe until the tournament is won, and you are wed. You will learn obedience—and I will have discharged my duties as your guardian.”

And I’ll be someone else’s problem, thought Isobelle. That was what he really meant.