“Oh, I’m sure you’re very nightmarish when you want to be, but that’s not what I’m talking about. And don’t think I can’t see that you’re trying to Google men named Thor in Sweden on your phone, because I can.”

He slid his hand, which had indeed gone to the cell phone sitting on the couch next to him, back onto his lap.

“I told you about Thor to show you that we all have painful experiences in our past. The thing with Thor—that was painful, yes. Did it make me shy away from all guys for a while? Of course. At the time, I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. But Thor’s attitude was his problem, not mine. I don’t mind that my parents fell in love and had my siblings and me, and I don’t mind my appearance at all. To be honest, I get a lot of envy about my curly hair, which makes me all shades of smug, so that more than makes up for the occasional bigoted insult that comes my way. So stop looking like you want to turn the plane around to find Thor—who is probably going bald and has a beer belly by now—and instead appreciate the fact that although you had a bad experience with a woman, it doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you the same way.”

The emotional shutters fell over his face. He released me and reached for his tablet of paper again, along with a fresh unbroken pencil. “I do not wish to talk about Cyrene.”

“That’s fine with me. I don’t particularly want to know about you and your ex, anyway, other than to point out yet again that I’m not her. Have I made my point?”

“There is no point to be made,” he said, clearly refusing to understand, his attention focused on his work.

I sighed in frustration. “Boy, I don’t know how Dr. Barlind did it. I sure don’t seem to have the patience to deal with blatant denial. Okay, how about this as a conversational subject: the mark you put on me has wings. Why is that so, when you dragons don’t have them?”

Kostya growled something under his breath.

“Is it going to stay there forever? Or will it fade away with time? And does something special happen to me now that I’m your mate?”

He growled some more.

“Not even going to deny it?” I asked, knowing that he needed to confront his emotions in order to be free of the pain that bound him.

“Christ’s blood!” he yelled, slamming down his pencil. It broke into three pieces. “What do you want from me? You say you are not like Cyrene, and yet you obviously expect me to name you as mate in front of the weyr. You are doomed to disappointment! The weyr is no more! You can’t receive recognition if there is no one to recognize you!”

His voice reverberated around the small cabin. The flight attendant, who had taken one look at us when we emerged from the bedroom, had murmured something about providing a restorative and taken herself off to the galley, which meant Kostya had only me to rage at.

And he was most definitely in a rage. I couldn’t help but wonder what his ex had done to him—or whether it was even her that was at the bottom of his refusal to accept the obvious.

“By rights,” I said slowly, picking through words to get the ones I really wanted, “I should be offended by the implication that I’m using you for my own purposes, when in reality, I’m trying to help you. For one, I have this badass magic ring, although to be honest, if you asked me nicely, I’d give it to you. And for another, I genuinely want to help you, Kostya. I don’t need to be named as your mate in front of anyone other than you. If you don’t want to acknowledge it, then there’s nothing I can do to make you see the truth.”

“The truth,” he snorted, glaring so hard at the broken pencil collection on the table in front of him that one of them caught fire. I patted it out quickly before the flight attendant could see it. “The truth no longer matters.”

“Of course it matters. We have a bond, you and I, whether or not you want to admit it, and let me tell you, if there’s one thing I learned from my time at Casa de Crazy, it’s that lying to yourself never ends well.”

He eyed me for a moment, then held out his hand.

I looked at it. “What?”

“The ring.”

“Oh. You really want it?” Hesitantly, I pulled it off my finger. I was a bit surprised just how reluctant I was to do that—it felt so right on my hand, but the thought occurred to me that in itself might be a bad thing. “Okay, but only because I feel really close to purring ‘my precioussss’ if I keep it on much longer.”

I dropped the ring onto his palm. He looked at it for a moment, then slipped it on his little finger. He pursed his lips and held out his hand, examining it.

“Well?” I asked, glancing toward the galley. The flight attendant was still out of sight. “Do something magic with it.”

He shook his head, then pulled it off and gave it back to me. “It is as I thought. The ring has chosen you. It will not yield to my will, whether due to the curse or some other reason. The result is the same. Put it on again, and keep it safe.”

With a sense of profound relief, I slid it back onto the middle finger of my left hand. “Terrin said something about it having a mind of its own, but I didn’t really understand what it was he meant, because really, how many sentient rings do you run across in your lifetime?”

“One,” Kostya answered, picking up the writeable end of his broken pencil.

I smacked him on the arm. “You made a funny!”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. And you smiled earlier. That’s two points for Team Aoife and nothing for Team Kostya.”

He looked outraged for a moment. “You are on my team!”

“I stand corrected,” I said with a laugh, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I’m very much on your team, even though you’ve got to be the most obstinate, annoying man in the universe. The question of our relationship aside—for the moment—what do you expect me to do with the ring in Paris? Aisling said that Drake hoped to use it to break the curse, but I can tell you right here and now that I have no idea how to go about doing that.”

“You will not break it—we will find a Charmer.”

“A what?”

“Someone who can break the curse. You will give the ring to the Charmer, and she will do the work.”

“She? You have someone in mind?” I told the little spurt of jealousy that threatened to rise to knock it off.