His fingers tightened around the hilt.

“You say there is power in a name, but I know yours and it doesn’t seem to do me any good.”

The silence hung long and heavy. But I could feel his guilt.

“Or not.” My voice cracked and I clenched my teeth.

He sucked in a breath. “You know what I am called, but not the name that binds me.”

I recoiled away from him to the far end of the boat, but it wasn’t far enough. “Take me back,” I hissed. “I’ve had enough of this – I don’t care to be near you right now. I am tired of your deception.”

“Cécile, please.” He reached for me, but I clambered to my feet, causing the boat to rock wildly. “I’ll swim back if you don’t turn the boat around.”

He withdrew his arm. “Please, Cécile, let me explain.”

I watched him warily.

“If you knew my true name, you would have complete and utter control of me,” he said softly. “You’d be able to compel me to do whatever you wished, and I would have no choice but to do what you ordered, whether that be to slaughter one or slaughter thousands. I would have no liberty – I would be your slave.” He grimaced. “I’d be a weapon.”

“And is that what you think of me,” I replied, gripping the edge of the boat for balance. “That I would use you that way?”

His shoulders trembled. “I don’t know!” The water of the lake surged and the boat plunged up and down, threatening to overturn.

I fell to my knees on the cushions. “Tristan!”

He jerked, looking around as if surprised at what he had done. Then he bowed his head. “I’m sorry.” The water stilled, becoming as smooth as glass, the effect managing to be somehow more frightening than the waves. “I wish I was not what I am.” His voice was twisted with anguish. “I wish I was not who I am. I wish I had met you in different circumstances, in a place far away from here, where there was no magic, politics, and deception. Somewhere where things could be different between us. I wish I was someone else.”

He raised his head. “But I am what and who I am, and all the wishes in the world will not change that.”

All my anger fled and I sank down onto the pillows, my fingers twisting the tassels on one of them as his words sank in. And with them came the understanding of the enormous responsibility that came not with his birth or position, but with what he was. And there was nothing that could change that. Yet still I had to ask. “How do you wish things were between us?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “How can you ask that? You know how I feel – you feel what I feel.”

I shook my head. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell what emotions are mine and what are yours. There were times that I thought maybe you…” I sighed. “But then I’d decide it was my own wishful thinking.”