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“That’s ridiculous.” His words are clipped. His collar bones become more defined by the strain of his chest.

“You never touch me until I touch you.” This isn’t where our conversation was supposed to go. Perhaps this is my surrender; being aggravated by it for months is finally over because we are. Now, I can admit he won the game he may not have realized we were playing. “Even now, this close, you’re still as stone.”

His stoniness may be experiencing a quake for the tremble hiding under his grave tone. “We said it was over.”

“I know.”

“We said last time was the last time.”

“Well, we said that several times, didn’t we!” My face feels like it’s on fire. I wasn’t trying to start things with Tomas again, but it’s impossible to be around him without giving in to this magnetic attraction.

He lets out a slow breath. “Bell, you are betrothed to another.”

I step back to regain use of my mind. “Am I his property then?”

“Can I not retain any scrap of honor? I’m already constantly seeking out the man’s future wife. Can I at least pretend I’m not instigating the entire thing?”

“You never did! And whether it’s honorable or not never seemed to matter much when you were fucking me!”

Tomas’ eyes narrow. “Don’t fight me for the sake of fighting me.”

“You’re right. There’s no point in fighting with you. You don’t fight for anything. You only stand there, the hypocrite”—I shove his shoulder with more force than I mean to—“expecting me to fight my own siblings for something I don’t even want, when you…” You didn’t put up the slightest fight for me.

When did I start crying? Tomas’ hand moves toward my face as if to wipe away the tears, but I step back. “No. Don’t mar your perfect record of keeping your hands to yourself.”

All I want is to get away. I whip around, mortified by the ridiculous spectacle I put on—that I let Tomas see me this way. First my emotions, and now my damned powers betray me. I can’t even push myself up and away from this catastrophe. Instead, I’m stuck stomping off like a child, each step like a stab to my gut.

Chapter thirty-one

Pacing about my chamber, I don’t even know why I’m angry at Tomas. His persistence about the trials is aggravating, but that’s not the biggest problem. I want him to show that he wants me, but why? He’s doing exactly what we’d agreed to. I’m the one trying to shift our dynamic, though we have no future. Losing what we did have is already torturous. What kind of masochist am I for wanting more? It’s only more to lose. And wanting him to suffer it too… I’m a wretch.

I stopped a breath away from accusing him of not fighting for what he wants. It was close enough to make the meaning clear anyway. But perhaps he never wanted anything more with me. If he has any sense, he shouldn’t. One of us might as well be sensible.

My maid comes in to draw my bath—how the day has nearly passed already, I don’t know. “Dinner will be in the great hall tonight. In addition to the Cerauno royal family, the Coyles will be in attendance.”

“Thank you, Lucy.”

Slowly, I slip into the hot water. I roll my neck back and forth, willing the heat to permeate through me. Knowing water wasn’t my problem doesn’t stop me from being curious. I scoop up a handful of water and wrap it in a bubble. The orb of water floats where I wish. “Containing you isn’t so difficult.”

And now I’m a lunatic speaking to water. To think, there are people who’d like me to be queen.

***

Being around Tomas with unspoken, unresolved tension between us is almost as uncomfortable as suppressing desire for him. I didn’t see him early enough to apologize before dinner, so our argument this afternoon hangs over me, and I can’t stand the uncertainty of it. I suppose I never really know where I stand with him, but at least he isn’t usually angry with me. He avoids eye contact, which leads me to test my theory that while my Cerauno gowns may be too constricting to eat much, I can still drink plenty of wine. Jamys’ parents had several barrels of wine brought down from Ceraun as a gift to us, so I’m only doing my part to look appreciative.

“Have you heard from Horace?” Mother asks Wymond.

Tomas’ father sighs, looking too much like his son with his hard, stoic expression even when he’s upset. “Lambridge is highly charged, but our forces have shored up the border, so they’re confident we won’t see any more spies from Penum slipping through.”

Father stiffens. “Did they find proof to link those imposters to Penum?”

Another reason to keep the wine flowing.

“No, but they must have been,” Wymond says. “So close to the border, and no one in Alchos would dare.”

Mother’s frown displays only the exasperation of a ruler who doesn’t like things to be messy. There is more care and concern behind that facade than she lets on. “And the missing people?”

“Still nothing,” Wymond says.