“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Marc glanced over my head at the door to the room, then back to me, then away again.

“Do you come to these audiences often?” I asked, desperate to diffuse the tension, but at a loss of what to say.

“No,” he said, then, “Well, more so now. Because…” He trailed off.

“To learn?” I supplied.

“Right. And today… Well, today, Tristan has something to raise with his father, which is why I’m here.”

“Anaïs mentioned as much.” I watched him carefully to see how he’d react to the revelation, but he only nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

“There’s your family now.”

I wasn’t tall enough to see either my sister or my father, but there was no mistaking how the crowds parted for them in a way they hadn’t for me. They took their places near the front right as the herald blasted, “Make way for the King!”

The crowd dropped into bows and curtsies almost in unison, no one moving until Thibault had strode down the center aisle and settled on the throne, the gold of his crown glinting. But of Tristan, there was no sign.

A row of petitioners formed, which Thibault eyed for a long moment before gesturing for the first pair to speak. It was a grievance between two merchantmen, and I swiftly tuned them out.

“That will be you one day,” I whispered, watching the King confer with Marc’s father. “You and Tristan, deciding everyone’s fate.”

Marc made a soft sound of amusement. “You make it sound far more exciting than it is. Last week, two petitioners argued for an hour over who had proprietary right to a cake recipe.”

I bit down on my laughter.

“Besides, there are other things I’d rather be doing with my time.”

A thrill ran through me. “Such as?”

Before he could answer, one of the petitioners began to wave his hands angrily at the other, and the crowd pressed in for a better view, driving me against Marc.

Like every other aristocrat present, we were both shielded to maintain our personal space. But as our magics brushed together, they sparked like an electric charge, causing several of those around us to frown before returning their attentions to the proceedings. I should have moved, eased aside to give more space, but instead, I held my ground, the feel of my magic pressed up against his eerily similar to the sensation of naked flesh pressed against naked flesh. I waited for Marc to shift away, for the contact to break, but he stood unmoving.

It’s because there isn’t any space to move, I told myself. He doesn’t want to jostle the elderly baroness next to him.

A million other reasons danced through my head, but always I circled back to one: that he wanted to be near me. Because it seemed impossible that I should feel like I stood in the middle of a storm of lightning and that he felt nothing. Impossible that my skin should burn hot and cold, the lights around me seeming to expand and contract with every thud of my heart, and that Marc would be unaffected.