But she said nothing.

Which was somehow worse, because the tension grew and grew, the air in my room too hot and close, making it hard to breathe. One of us needed to say something, either her or me or… “I can’t imagine your father would react kindly to being spied on. Why would you take that sort of risk?”

I heard her swallow hard in the silence that followed, then she said, “I…”

A bead of sweat trickled down my back as I waited for her to answer, for her to explain herself. “Pénélope?”

But her eyes only grew desperate, mouth opening, then teeth clicking together as she shut it, unable to come up with an explanation because she was no better at this game of deception than I was myself. She’d taken no risk in spying on her father: he’d allowed it, then sent her off with this grand revelation of his suspicions in an attempt to elicit a reaction from me. Even me canceling the meeting would be a form of proof. And I hated this. Hated that she, of all people, would be the one to pull us down.

“Marc…”

I hadn’t heard her come up behind me and couldn’t keep from flinching as she took my hand, turning me to face her. She was close, the sodden bodice of her gown brushing against me, her hand resting against my shoulder, head tilted back to reveal the slender column of her neck. Her luminous eyes were fixed on me, and though she was as bedraggled as I’d ever seen her, she was beautiful.

Beguiling.

Being with her was all I’d ever wanted – the chance to love her, and be loved by her, and the Duke had taken that dream and twisted it into something hideous. A nightmare. Anger like nothing I’d ever known flooded through my veins, and I shoved her away from me. “I can’t do this.”

She stumbled, catching herself against the desk. “Marc, I…”

“Don’t.” I crossed the room, jerking the magic out of the lamps and casting the room into shadows even as I donned my cloak, pulling up my hood. I’d let her see me. Allowed myself to believe that I was something she’d wanted to look upon, and now all it felt like was mockery. “Leave.”

Her cheeks were damp. “Why are you acting like this?”

To say trolls couldn’t lie was the ultimate deception, because it promised what we’d give was the truth. Instead we delivered duplicity hidden behind twisted words and false smiles. Tears masquerading as heralds of grief when they had as little meaning as raindrops from the sky. “Because, unlike you, I can’t act anymore. I can’t pretend this is real and that you care when I know otherwise.”

“But I do care!”

“Not about me!” The words came out as a shout, and the walls shook.

“That’s not true.”

She came toward me, reaching, but I stumbled back as though she’d tried to strike me. “Just leave, Pénélope.”