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When Kyros starts wandering the library, looking through the shelves, I admire him from afar. Imagining him undressed and in my bed.

Yes, I can see it.

He has a child, so he obviously knows something of the bedroom. He’s kind and funny, and I adore his son. Being with Kyros is effortless. Perhaps being with him romantically would be equally effortless and fill the void in my life that Sandros left.

The one my delusional self tried to fill with Eryx in a fit of dementia.

Kyros finds me before I can come to a decision. “There you are, Your Grace. The duke requests your presence in his study.”

My face falls slightly.

“I could, of course, tell him I’ve been unable to find you anywhere?” he puts in.

That brings a smile to my lips. “Not to worry. I will heed his summons. This time. Walk with me?”

Kyros seems surprised by the request, but he follows a step behind me as I exit the library, and I slow my pace until he is level with me, purposely keeping our bodies even. The footman notices at once, and he doesn’t try to stop me. He matches my gait, standing just close enough that I could brush him with my fingers if I reached out.

“How is your family?” I ask him.

“You are kind to ask, Your Grace. Mother is recovered from her fever, and my sister just accepted a marriage proposal from a merchant dealing in spices.”

“I’m happy for her. When is the wedding so I might send a gift?”

“You needn’t do that, Your Grace.”

“And if I want to?” I challenge.

“Then, of course, I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you.”

“Good. Write it down for me, so I don’t forget.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

I bite my lip as we climb the stairs, wondering whether I dare say what I think should be the next step for us.

“Chrysantha,” I say at last.

“Hmm?”

“My name. I wish you would use it, please. If—only if you’d like, of course. It is not an order.”

Kyros halts in place, and though I want to keep moving, I stop with him, turn to face him. His eyes have widened, and he doesn’t say a word for a few seconds.

“Chrysantha,” he tries. “I love the sound of it.”

“Thank you, Kyros.”

We continue walking, but neither of us says anything more. I think enough potentially life-altering things have been spoken between us in the last couple of days.

“There’s no need to announce me,” I inform him before stepping past him into the study.

Argus and Dyson stand over the duke’s shoulders, like henchmen ready to do their evil lord’s will.

“Duchess,” Eryx says, “take a seat, won’t you?” He points to the soft cushions on the other side of the massive desk. I thought I’d find him buried in papers again, but his hands are clasped together in front of him, as though he’d done nothing but sit there as he waited for me. Those damnable glasses are on his face again. The ones that make him appear more attractive.

“I’ll stand,” I say, placing my hands on the back of a chair, should I need support. I don’t know why, but I feel terribly uncomfortable, as though I need to hide myself. The chair is the only barrier I can use right now.

“Argus, Dyson, kindly leave us,” Eryx says.