“I’m—I was engaged to another woman this morning. A woman I loved for years . . . I still love her, Jenine. Can I call you that?”

“You may call me whatever pleases you, my lord husband.” Her voice was chilly. He’d hurt her. She was hurt, and for all the wrong reasons. Damn, she was young. But then, he hadn’t been the only one who’d been handed a lot of surprises in the last day.

“Have you ever been in love, Jenine?”

She considered his question with more gravity than he would have expected from a fifteen-year-old. “I’ve . . . liked boys.”

“It’s not the same,” Logan snapped. He regretted his tone instantly.

“Are you going to cheat on me?” She shot right back. “With her?”

It hit Logan between the eyes. This couldn’t be easy for Jenine, either. How must she feel, liking him, marrying him, knowing he was in love with someone else? Logan put his face in his hands. “I swore our wedding vows because the king asked me to, because the nation needed it. But I swore those vows, Jenine. I will be faithful to you. I will do my duty.”

“And your duty to produce an heir?” she asked.

The chill hadn’t thawed at all. He should have known better, but he answered. “Yes.”

She flopped on the bed, pulled her gown up roughly, and spread her legs. “Your duty awaits, my lord,” she said, turning her face away, staring at the wall.

“Jenine—look at me!” He covered her nakedness and—thank the gods—looked only at her face as he spoke, though even now her body cried out to him. It made him feel like an animal. “Jenine, I will be as good a husband as I can. But I can’t give you my heart. Not yet. I look at you and, and I feel wrong for wanting to make love to you. But you’re my wife! Dammit, it would be easier if you weren’t so—so damn beautiful! If I could just look at you without wanting to—to do what we’re supposed to do tonight. Do you understand?”

She obviously didn’t, but she sat back up and folded her legs under her. Abruptly she was a girl again, blushing for what she’d just done, but her eyes intent.

Logan threw his hands up. “I don’t blame you. I don’t understand it myself. It’s all so twisted up. Nothing makes sense since Aleine—”

“Please, don’t talk about my brother tonight. Please?”

“I’ve lost everything. Everything’s . . . everything’s wrong.” How could he be so selfish? He’d lost a friend, but she’d lost her big brother. She must be aching, too. “I’m sorry,” he said.