“Come on, Anaïs,” Pénélope murmured, bouncing on her toes with excitement, her fingers brushing against mine. I closed my eyes, relishing the inappropriate thoughts that danced through my mind even as I tried to banish them. What was the point in thinking about them, in thinking about her, given that her father would never allow it to happen?

Swords collided. But instead of a sharp clang, the sound of the steel shattering punctuated the air. My eyes whipped to where Anaïs stood scowling at her ruined blade, shards of metal scattered on the ground around her. But a soft exclamation of pain drew my attention back to my more immediate proximity.

But Pénélope was no longer next to me.

I turned, watching as Angoulême dragged her through the crowd with silent determination, no one paying them the slightest bit of attention. But there was no mistaking that there was something wrong. That something had happened.

I nudged those around me to move, and when they didn’t, I pushed, forcing my way after Pénélope and her father.

Then a voice rang through the air. “Halt.”

Instinctively, I froze, as did every other troll in the courtyard, no one daring to tempt the King’s anger. Slowly turning my head, I saw Tristan and Anaïs unmoving, swords lowered. But it hadn’t been them to whom the King had spoken.

Rising from the chair where he’d been watching the duel, the King strolled toward Angoulême, the crowd parting like a tide to let him pass. “Away so soon, Your Grace? Are you certain of the outcome, or is it only that you have more pressing matters to which to attend?”

Angoulême dropped Pénélope’s arm, rotating on his heel to face the King, expression smooth. “My money is on Anaïs. I’m certain she will not cause me to be parted with it.”

The King laughed. “I’m inclined to agree. But what of you, Lady Pénélope? Do you not care to watch your sister triumph? Or perhaps you grow weary of constantly being outshone?”

Pénélope remained silent, her back to the King, and my heart lurched. Why did she not answer? Why did she not turn around? What could possibly cause her to court his wrath?

“You will face me when I’m speaking to you.” His voice was soft. Ominous. I inched in their direction, uncertain what I would do if he harmed her. Any attempt to stop him would be fruitless, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

“Turn around!” The King barked out the command, but he wasn’t angry. Angry men didn’t smile like that.

Pénélope looked at her father. The Duke’s face was as grim as I’d ever seen it, and he nodded once. “Do what he asks. It’s done now.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I only wanted what was best for my sister,” she said, then turned.

Her hand was pressed against the injury, but that did nothing to hide the crimson rivulets of blood tracing the pale skin of her chest. I lurched forward, the sound of Anaïs screaming her sister’s name loud in my ears as she bolted past.