“Do you still? Want to go back to your village, that is?”

“I…” Such a simple question demanded a simple answer, but I found I had none. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I felt a piece of paper crinkle: the most recent of Tristan’s notes.

His love notes, as his mother insisted on calling them, had not improved in quality. If anything, they had grown snider, but I found myself treasuring each one more than the last. With the notes had come fur-lined cloaks and heavy blankets to ward off the endless chill. The high-heeled shoes I detested all but disappeared from my wardrobe, replaced by practical flats that did not pinch my feet or cause me to “limp about like an old lady”. Sheets of music and collections of famous operas appeared on tables, chairs, and the pillows of the bed. A lute was the first instrument to arrive, and was followed in short order by a harp with a note stating his hope that I would “show more talent if given more strings to pluck”. Everything he sent seemed for the express purpose of making me happy. But all the gifts in the world meant nothing, because all my heart wanted was the one person it shouldn’t.

“I don’t think my absence has changed much,” I said, not liking the direction of my thoughts. “Life goes on, with or without me.”

“How do you know?”

“He keeps me appraised,” I said under my breath. Within the pages of my books, I’d often discover programs from my mother’s performances in Trianon, news clippings from the papers, and, once, a lengthy report written by one of Tristan’s agents describing how my family fared. I cried when I read those pages, and cried harder when they disappeared from my possession a day later.

The sound of rushing water dropped away, and Marc’s light drifted behind us so that our faces were cloaked in shadows. The twins reacted to some discreet signal and increased their antics, drawing attention away from us. “He isn’t supposed to be telling you anything about the outside,” Marc said. “None of us are. The King gave very specific orders that you were to be kept isolated from the human world as much as possible – that’s why we keep you away from the market.”

I kept still, my face smooth, so no one watching would suspect we were talking about anything out of the ordinary. “Why? Is it some sort of cruel punishment?”

“I do not know,” Marc replied. “He did not explain why.”

“His Majesty does nothing without purpose,” I mused. But what did he hope to prevent by keeping me isolated? Or was it something he intended to accomplish?

“Agreed,” Marc replied. “Which is all the more reason not to let Tristan get caught.”

“I won’t.” I chewed my lower lip, my mind grappling with why Tristan took the risks at all. It would be easier, and certainly wiser, to be constant in his cruelty, but he seemed intent on countering every argument we had with some act of kindness. Which should have made my life easier, but which managed to do the exact opposite. To receive thoughtful bits of kindness and then face the cold cruel persona he wore in public was more than just confusing, it was painful. It made every word he said against me hurt all the more.