He chuckled softly. “Does anyone?”

And there it was. As though a trousseau full of items that would have taken weeks, if not longer, to procure were not enough, the statement was all but an admission that Marc and me bonding was no act of defiance. At least, not toward my father. He’d wanted us to do it. Lessa trying to kill me had been nothing but a ruse intended to make us desperate enough to take that leap, and the realization carved out my insides as thoroughly as a knife.

The door to the parlor slammed open.

Marc stood in the doorway, breathing hard. “Get away from her.”

As if Marc hadn’t spoken, my father said, “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.” Flipping the lid of the chest closed, he strolled over to Marc, his cane making soft thuds against the floor. Marc’s hand lifted as though he might strike, and I lunged at them, desperate to stop the altercation before it began. But my father only clapped a hand against Marc’s shoulder.

“I must commend you,” he said. “Honor is a rare thing in our kind, but you, young man, possess it in a quantity beyond my wildest dreams. Most in your position would have left my poor daughter alone to bear an illegitimate child, but you…”

With his cane, he gestured at the Comte. “What a son you’ve raised, my lord. What incredible bravery he must possess to take such a risk for the girl he loves.”

“I have always been proud of my son,” the Comte said. “That will never change.”

“To be sure.” My father sighed, then reached out to cup my cheek as though I were the most precious of things, then inclined his head to Marc. “I really must thank you. I confess, my behavior of late has not been particularly… fatherly, but you’ve done everything in your power to protect my little girl.”

The sincerity in his tone was sickening, and I stepped out of his grip.

“Yesterday was… If I had lost her like that, I’m not sure I could ever have forgiven the mistake.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a card embossed with red and gold and handed it to Marc. “Consider this a display of my eternal gratitude for the brave and noble choice you made.”

Then he left without another word.

No one spoke, but the room smelled faintly sour with too much magic and even more trepidation. My knees shook as I took them in: the young man I loved and his family, who were nothing but kind to me. To everyone. And as payment, I had put them in my father’s sights. Put, I was certain, their very lives in danger.

“I’m so sorry.” My knees failed me and I dropped to the carpet. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

It was a mistake that could not be undone.

Chapter 23

Marc

The Duke’s celebration was a week later, the intervening days passing in a blur. I had what I’d always dreamed of: Pénélope as my wife. Every night, she slept in my arms, and I spent every waking minute where I wasn’t occupied with my duties to the crown in her company. Though I would have been happy enough to dine with her alone, she insisted on eating with my family, her interest in my mother’s music and my father’s work genuine, her delight at the mundane gossip that we discussed making the meals more engaging than they had ever been before. My father had the servants rearrange the solar for her use, and I spent hours watching her work, brow furrowed in concentration and errant paint smeared across her cheek as she brought those in our life alive on canvas and parchment.