A ball of light appeared above me as I rubbed the growing lump on my skull. I was starting to get quite the collection.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I snapped, getting up.
“Watch out for the…”
I winced as a sharp pain lanced into my heel.
“Glass,” Tristan finished, and sympathy filled his corner of my mind.
I hopped on one leg towards the bed, making it halfway before warm ropes of power lifted me up and deposited me on the covers. “I didn’t need help,” I grumbled, pulling on my ankle in a vain attempt to examine the bottom of my foot.
“Sorry.” He came closer. “I’d forgotten you had no light.”
The way he spoke made me feel like I lacked something as fundamental as a heart or a brain.
“Here.” He handed me the wineglass I’d brought in with me. As I touched the stem, the bowl lit up with bright silver light. “It will glow at your touch, and,” he took it again, “dim when set down.”
I snatched the precious item from him like a greedy child.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and I flushed at my rudeness. “Let me have a look at your foot.”
With one hand, he took hold of my ankle, his brow furrowing as he examined the shard embedded in my heel. I clutched my glowing wineglass and held my breath.
“Ready?” He met my gaze.
I gave a quick nod, hoping my feet didn’t smell.
A sharp sting and the pink-tinged glass floated through the air to drop on the bedside table.
“Don’t you ever do anything with your hands?” I asked. “I mean, without magic?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, and he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wrapping the silk around my foot. “Sometimes.”
I grew aware of the warmth of said hands on my ankle and jerked out of his grip. Avoiding his gaze, I pulled up the covers and carefully set my glass on the table, watching its light dim. He did not light another to replace it, and soon we were surrounded by darkness once again.
“Cécile?”
“Yes?”
He hesitated, the sound of him swallowing loud against the silence. “In the morning, they’ll ask… They’ll want to know if we…”
I listened to him breathing, and I waited.
“I’ll need you to lie convincingly, or I’m afraid there will be consequences for both of us.”
“If you’re so concerned about my abilities to tell tall tales, why don’t you do it?” I snapped.
I felt his irritation mount. “Because I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” I grabbed hold of my wineglass so I could see him.
“Because I can’t tell a lie. No troll can tell a lie.” He pointed to a cushion. “I couldn’t so much as claim this cushion was any color other than red.”
My brow furrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
“Of all the things that you have discovered today, this is what you choose to disbelieve?” He passed a weary hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. Lie about it. If you don’t, and my father discovers I have disobeyed him in this, we will both suffer for it.”
“Afraid of your father?” I asked.
“I’m not…” he started, then broke off, silent for several deafening moments. “I will take his punishment before I compromise my standards in this. Of that, you can rest assured.”
I set my glass on the table, extinguishing the light. My cheeks burned and I pulled the covers up higher, hoping he couldn’t see in the dark. Knowing he would not willingly force himself upon me was a relief, but there was also a part of me stung by his words. I’d never been the girl the boys fought to dance with at festivals; that was my sister with her golden hair and sunny disposition. But neither had anyone been so blunt as to tell me I did not meet their standards. “Fine,” I finally mumbled.
I listened to him walk slowly across the dark room and settle down on the chaise, shifting back and forth several times before he lay still. His emotions were as confusing as those swirling through me. I searched for my anger, but it had abandoned me when needed most. My legs tucked close to my stomach, I stared at the blackness where my wineglass stood. My precious source of light.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and sensed him relax and slowly drift off to sleep. Let him think I was grateful for him giving me light, granting me respite, or even for bandaging my foot. He could think anything he liked, but only I knew the true reason for the hope rising in my heart. I smiled into the darkness.
He had given me the first thing I needed to escape.
CHAPTER 10
CéCILE
“Where are all my clothes?”
I jerked awake, knocking my elbow against the headboard. Any hopes of it all being a dream were dashed by the sight of Tristan, his arms full of colorful silk dresses, storming about the room. Both my maids and a grey-clad manservant stood in a row, their heads lowered. Covers tucked up around my shoulders, I watched Tristan dash into the closet and emerge with another armload of dresses. He threw them in a pile on the floor. “Why is my closet full of dresses?”
“Are they mine?” I asked with interest.
Silver eyes fixed on me. “Well, they certainly are not mine. Unless you imagine that I dress up in ladies’ clothing and prance about the palace when the mood strikes me?”
A giggle slipped out of Élise, which she promptly smothered with a hand over her mouth.