“I asked at the barracks, and Fred is on duty at the castle. Neither of them have approached Cécile.” Her eyes flicked around the room, eventually landing on me. “I see you’ve exchanged one palace for another.”

“I’m here for a purpose, not for my own comfort.”

She sniffed and set her cup on the table. “Oh yes, because I’m sure if left to your own devices you would have settled for second-class accommodations.”

“Sabine.” There was an edge to Chris’s voice. “Don’t start.”

“Why not?” Her words were clipped. “I’m told you trolls value the truth, so shouldn’t that be what you want from me?”

She watched me as though I were some dangerous creature, unpredictable and likely to bite at any moment. Not afraid, no. But wary. And angry. I silently nodded.

Sabine dragged in a breath. “You kidnapped my best friend. Forced her to marry you against her will. Kept her prisoner, and very nearly got her killed.” Her fingers dug into the upholstered arms of the chair, white from the pressure. “You ruined her life, and because of this bonding” – she spat out the word – “she’ll never be free of you. And I hate you for it.”

“You’re acting like a blasted lunatic.” Chris stepped between us. “It wasn’t his fault, Sabine. He didn’t have any more choice in what happened than she did.”

“Oh, shut up!” Sabine was on her feet. “He dresses you in fancy clothes, feeds you cakes, and now you’re defending him? I can hear coins jingling in your pockets that weren’t there before. You should be ashamed of yourself, Christophe Girard!”

He glared over his shoulder at me. “I told you that gold was bad luck.”

“I think this has more to do with you calling her a lunatic than the gold,” I said. “But I suppose time will tell.”

Sabine shoved past him. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Goshawk’s Hollow raises women with steel for spines.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not interested in your compliments.”

“I was merely making an observation.”

I created an orb of magic, staring into its depths as I thought. Not using my power was like trying not to use my left leg – possible, but at the same time, no small challenge. Using it now was a small comfort as I remembered the pages of reports I’d read about her riding through woods and fields day in and day out in search of Cécile, all the while blaming herself for her friend’s disappearance. It had been an impressive display of love and loyalty, and I’d be a fool to be surprised that such intensity would fuel hate when faced with one of the creatures who had stolen her friend away.

How well would I forgive if it were me who stood in her shoes? Not well. Not at all. Pénélope had died believing I despised her for having bonded Marc, because I had believed her death inevitable, and his loss very nearly so. I let my magic wink out.