“Don’t act like you know the first thing about the continent,” I snapped. “It isn’t as though you’ve ever visited.”

He flinched, silent for a moment. “Have you?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I very likely would have if you hadn’t kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t kidnap you,” Tristan said, his voice filled with irritation. “Your friend Luc did.”

“He wouldn’t have done so, if not for you. And he isn’t my friend.”

“That might be the case, but I don’t doubt that he’d have substituted an equivalently dastardly deed in its place.” He pointed a finger at me. “Mark my words, the boy was of a vile sort.”

“Then you are two of a kind,” I snapped.

“Ha ha,” Tristan snorted. “How dreadfully clever. And speaking of clever, is this to be your bid for escape?” He contemplated my clothing. “In a dressing gown and bare feet? Now tell me, if I go put on nightclothes and slippers, might I join you, or is this a solo adventure?”

My eyes stung. “You think this is all exceedingly funny, don’t you? I’m nothing but a joke to you.”

His brow creased in a frown. “If you’re a joke, it isn’t an especially humorous one.”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “You are the most intolerable individual I’ve ever met.”

He bowed. “Why, thank you, Cécile. Always a pleasure to have one’s accomplishments recognized.”

“You are the last person in the world I’d choose to marry,” I hissed.

“I don’t entirely relish the idea myself,” Tristan said, “but sometimes we must do the unthinkable.”

“Why must I?”

Tristan tipped his head slightly, expression considering. “Because you have no choice,” he finally said. “Just as I have no choice. There is no way for you to escape Trollus, Cécile, and if you were caught in the attempt…” His eyes closed, black lashes resting against his cheeks. “My father’s anger is a formidable thing, and I do not wish to see you harmed for aggravating him.”

His eyes flickered back open. “Now let’s return you to your maids – you can’t very well marry me wearing such a tasteless outfit.”

Élise worked a small miracle with her cosmetics. While my eye was still swollen nearly shut, at least it was returned to a normal flesh tone. The dress covered the worst of my injuries. Tight lace sleeves concealed the scrapes on my arms and the bruise purpling my right shoulder. The bodice could not have been tighter if it had been painted on, and the fabric stretched sleekly down my torso, loosening at the hip and cascading out behind me like a waterfall pouring into a river of green silk. A knock came from the door, and I wobbled as I turned, unsteady on my green and gold brocaded heels. Marc entered, carrying a gilded box and half a dozen sparkling tiaras hooked haphazardly around his arm. Setting the box down with an unceremonious thud, he unhooked the various jeweled bands and let them clatter to the table, showing as much care for their value as if they’d been glass and tin. “Take your pick.”