Anaïs had nearly destroyed Trollus tonight.

I’d angered the King.

My best friend had turned his back on me.

The list of consequences streamed through my skull, and with them came fear. Anger. Anxiety. Trepidation. Other emotions I could barely understand, much less name. But in that cacophony, there was one thing absent. One thing I knew I’d never feel about bonding Pénélope.

And that was regret.

What seemed like hours later, a knock sounded on the door to my room and Pénélope entered, the gleam in her eyes matching the anticipation that had been growing in me throughout that time. Anticipation that had me on my feet, pacing back and forth even as I attempted to temper my thoughts.

It was late.

She was exhausted.

We’d both been through hell.

She was beautiful. There was no tempering of my thoughts as I took in the sight of her, evidence of her ordeal washed away with warm water and scented soap, her hair coiled into loose curls that framed her lovely face. She wore a blue silk nightdress that clung to every curve, and I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Her head tilted, eyes growing distant as though deep in thought. But I knew what she was contemplating were my feelings, which was exhilarating and horrifying. A smile grew on her face, then she was across the room, arms wrapped around my neck. She smelled like flowers with the faintest undertones of spice.

“Your mother is so kind,” she whispered.

I did not want to talk about my mother.

“And your servants. I’m not used to that.”

The wonder bordering on disbelief carved at my insides. That such a small thing – a thing I’d always taken for granted – would bring her joy spoke volumes to what she’d endured. But never again. I’d never let life be like that for her again. “Get used to it,” I said into her hair. “This is your life now.”

Anxiety pricked at me like a spider bite – not mine, but hers.

“You’ll never have to go back,” I said. “I promise.” And for once, the leaden weight of my word was welcome.

“Marc…”

I pressed a finger to her lips, wanting for her to begin her escape from the past now, with not another moment wasted on it.

Her lips curled against my finger. “You’d have me say nothing?”

“No,” I said, removing my finger so that I could kiss her. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter 21

Marc

The sounds and smells of morning came far too soon: the murmur of servants in the hallways, the faint clink of dishes, and the scent of cooking food filling the air. Pénélope was still asleep, tucked against me, her hair tickling my collarbone. The last thing I wanted to do was move.

But the worst thing I could do was ignore a summons from the King.

She stirred as I eased my arm out from under her, but then grew still as I settled the blankets over her shoulders. In the faint light of my magic, there was no mistaking the shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes. More rest would do her good.