“Well, yes.” Lady Georgina seemed put out that he’d guessed what any three-year-old could’ve. “But they weren’t ordinary weapons. The armor was pure gold, and the sword was made of glass. What do you think of that?”

“I think it doesn’t sound very practical.”

“What?”

“Bet a woman made this story up.”

Her eyebrows arched at him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “The sword would break the first time he swung it, and the armor would give to even a weak blow. Gold’s a soft metal, my lady.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She tapped her lips again.

Harry returned to his whittling. Women.

“They must’ve been enchanted, too.” Lady Georgina waved away the problem of faulty equipment. “So he went and got the Golden Horse—”

“What? Just like that?” He stared at her, an odd sense of frustration filling his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t there a grand fight, then?” He gestured with the wood. “A struggle to the death between this Leopard Prince and the evil ogre? The ogre must’ve been a tough bird, others would’ve tried to take his prize before. What made our fellow so special that he could defeat him?”

“The armor and—”

“And the silly glass sword. Yes, all right, but others would’ve had magical weapons—”

“He’s an enchanted leopard prince!” Lady Georgina was angry now. “He’s better, stronger, than all the others.

He could’ve defeated the evil ogre with a single blow, I’m sure.”

Harry felt his face heat, and his words came too fast. “If he’s as powerful as all that, my lady, then why doesn’t he free himself?”

“I—”

“Why doesn’t he just walk away from spoiled kings and ridiculous chores? Why is he enslaved at all?” He threw down his whittling. The knife skittered across the table and slid to the floor.

Lady Georgina bent to pick it up. “I don’t know, Harry.” She offered the knife to him on the palm of her outstretched hand. “I don’t know.”

He ignored her hand. “It’s late. I think you’d better go back to your manor now, my lady.”

She placed the knife on the table. “If your father didn’t give you this, then who did?”

She asked all the wrong questions. All the questions he wouldn’t—couldn’t—answer, either for himself or for her, and she never stopped. Why was she playing this game with him?

Silently he picked up her cloak and held it out for her. She looked into his face, and then turned so he could drape it about her shoulders. The perfume in her hair reached his nostrils. He closed his eyes in something very like agony.

“Will you kiss me again?” she whispered. Her back was still toward him.

He snatched his hands away. “No.”