Yet when Gaborn looked at her or touched her, it seemed that some part of the spell was broken for a moment. She felt worthy. She felt that he, alone of all men, might actually love her. And she feared to lose him. It was a terrible fear. For it seemed so reasonable.

Another thing made her uneasy. She’d never been alone with a man. Now she was alone with Gaborn. She’d always had Chemoise by her side, and a Days watching her. But now here she sat with a prince, and her father slept, and it made her feel profoundly uncomfortable. Aroused.

It was not Gaborn’s touch, she knew, that made her feel this way. It was the draw of his magic. She could feel the creative desires in her stirring, like an animal burrowing into her skull. She’d felt this when she was near Binnesman, but never so powerfully. Besides, Binnesman was an older man, and none too pleasing to look at.

Gaborn was different, someone who dared say he loved her.

She wanted to sleep. She had no endowments of brawn or metabolism, only a single endowment of stamina she’d gotten shortly after birth. So though she had fair endurance, she needed rest almost as much as any other person.

But now she had Gaborn’s electrifying touch to contend with.

This is innocent, she told herself as he stroked her cheek. Merely the touch of a friend.

Yet she craved his touch so, wanted him to move his hand down farther, along her throat. She dared not admit even to herself that she wanted him to touch her deeper.

She took hold of Gaborn’s hand, so that he’d stop stroking her chin.

He responded by taking her hand, kissing it softly, letting it rest between his lips. Gently, so gently it took her breath away.

Iome opened her eyes to mere slits, looked up. The darkness had fallen so completely, it was as if the two of them lay hidden beneath a blanket. There are trees between us and the house, Iome thought. The woman there can’t see us, doesn’t know who we are.

The thought made her heart pound fiercely. Certainly, Gaborn must have felt her heart pound, must have seen how she fought to keep from drawing a ragged breath.

He placed his hand beside her face, began stroking her cheek again. Iome’s back arched slightly at his touch.

You can’t want me, she thought. You can’t want me. My face is a horror. The veins in my hand stand out like blue worms. “I wish I were still beautiful,” she whispered breathlessly.

Gaborn smiled. “You are.”

He leaned down and kissed her, full on the lips. His moist kiss smelled of plums. The touch of his lips made her dizzy; he took the back of her head in his hand, pulled her up and kissed her fervently.