“But you don’t. I can tell. Don’t try to lie to me; you’re no good at it.”

He gazed at her, and Raisa could tell he was debating giving it a try anyway. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be a good husband to her,” he said.

And he would, except for the minor detail that he didn’t love her.

Well, Raisa thought, if he’s going to marry anyone he doesn’t love, it’s going to be me.

“Before you go through with this, there’s something you should know,” Raisa said crisply. “It’s important that you make an informed decision.”

From Amon’s expression, he might have been facing a firing squad. “Rai, please. Before you say anything, there’s something I should have told you before now. I wanted to tell you, only…Da said I shouldn’t because we—”

“No. Hear me out,” Raisa said. “And then you’ll get your turn.” She took a deep breath. “Amon, you’re my best friend. You always have been. You’re the most honorable person I know. And apparently you’re not the kind of person to get involved with a girl when you know it can’t go anywhere.”

He kept his gray-eyed gaze locked on her face. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not that kind of person.”

She took his hands, rubbing her thumbs across his palms. She needed that physical connection to maintain her courage. “Me, I accepted that we could never marry, but I was willing to take you on whatever terms…you would offer.” She smiled. “That’s what we do, the Gray Wolf queens—we take what we can get when it comes to love. That’s why they call us witches and harlots in the south.”

Amon closed his eyes, his lashes dark against his sun-roughened skin. His hands tightened on hers. “Your Highness, please don’t say things you’ll regret later. I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“No,” Raisa said. “I think I’d regret not saying them. And things are already as awkward as they can be.” She paused, and when he said nothing, went on.

“So. I know that I should make a political marriage, one that benefits the Fells and the line. But…it’s a new day. The Fells has never sent a princess heir to Oden’s Ford. Here I’m learning to let go of old ideas and embrace new ones. There has to be a way to make it work.”

“Make what work?” he whispered like a dying man who exposes his throat, waiting for the killing stroke.

“I love you,” she said simply. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

Raisa couldn’t have said what kind of response she expected, but not an expression of mingled desire, grief, and despair.

“You don’t understand,” Amon whispered, shaking his head. “I can’t... we can’t...”