“At least you have a home,” she returned, sitting up straight. By leaning forward, she had just provided him with an enticing view of her breasts, and it all been for nothing. He’d barely glanced at her. Therefore, she would punish him. “Your brother took my home away from me.”

This jab, meant to wound him with guilt, missed its mark. At the mention of his brother’s name, Marcus’s gaze went from Evelina’s face to her blood-spattered clothes. His eyes darkened. His lips compressed. He looked out at the trees and continued to row.

Evelina’s cheeks burned. So that was it. The blood was Ven’s, the prince’s monstrous half-brother. And she’d been the one to draw that blood. The last she’d seen of Ven, he was lying on the floor dying, or so she hoped. She had saved their lives. Marcus had told her that. He’d been grateful. Now he couldn’t look at her.

“What’s the matter, Marcus?” Evelina demanded. She clutched at the blood-stained bodice and tried, ineffectually, to rearrange it so that the brownish red spots did not show. “Why do you look at me like that?”

Marcus flushed. “Like what?” He tried to sound innocent and thereby clinched his guilt.

“Like I was something ugly and disgusting that you’d like to squash beneath your boot. You said you understood why I stabbed that beast of a brother, and now you hate me!”

Evelina burst into tears that were not feigned—at least not much. She buried her head in her arms and sobbed stormily, lifting her head once to cry, “Your brother tried to rape me! He admitted it! And he killed my father!” Then she gave herself up to the luxury of hysterics. She felt she’d earned it.

As she wept, Evelina expected confidently that Marcus would stop rowing the boat, take her in his arms, and comfort her. He didn’t. He continued to row. Admittedly, they were fleeing mad monks and a dragon, but still Evelina felt slighted. Another man— a true man—would have thrown caution to the winds in order to soothe her and pet her and try to steal a kiss or slip his hand down her chemise.

Marcus just kept rowing.

Evelina was at a loss. Hysterics were wearing, and she couldn’t keep this up forever. The prince obviously wasn’t going to be of any help to her. She’d have to recover on her own. She let her sobs quiet and risked a furtive glance from under her tear-soaked arms to see how he was taking it.

He was rowing steadily, his eyes fixed on her. He looked uncomfortable. Maybe he was just shy, unused to women.

I wonder how long it will take to reach this home of his? Days, maybe. Days and nights.