Sabine dragged in a breath. “You kidnapped my best friend. Forced her to marry you against her will. Kept her prisoner, and very nearly got her killed.” Her fingers dug into the upholstered arms of the chair, white from the pressure. “You ruined her life, and because of this bonding” – she spat out the word – “she’ll never be free of you. And I hate you for it.”

“You’re acting like a blasted lunatic.” Chris stepped between us. “It wasn’t his fault, Sabine. He didn’t have any more choice in what happened than she did.”

“Oh, shut up!” Sabine was on her feet. “He dresses you in fancy clothes, feeds you cakes, and now you’re defending him? I can hear coins jingling in your pockets that weren’t there before. You should be ashamed of yourself, Christophe Girard!”

He glared over his shoulder at me. “I told you that gold was bad luck.”

“I think this has more to do with you calling her a lunatic than the gold,” I said. “But I suppose time will tell.”

Sabine shoved past him. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Goshawk’s Hollow raises women with steel for spines.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not interested in your compliments.”

“I was merely making an observation.”

I created an orb of magic, staring into its depths as I thought. Not using my power was like trying not to use my left leg – possible, but at the same time, no small challenge. Using it now was a small comfort as I remembered the pages of reports I’d read about her riding through woods and fields day in and day out in search of Cécile, all the while blaming herself for her friend’s disappearance. It had been an impressive display of love and loyalty, and I’d be a fool to be surprised that such intensity would fuel hate when faced with one of the creatures who had stolen her friend away.

How well would I forgive if it were me who stood in her shoes? Not well. Not at all. Pénélope had died believing I despised her for having bonded Marc, because I had believed her death inevitable, and his loss very nearly so. I let my magic wink out.

“I have nothing to say in my defense.”

“Nothing?”

I rose to my feet, resting my arms behind my back so that she would not feel threatened. “I could spend the next several hours explaining to you how I fought against bringing Cécile to Trollus. How my father gave me no real choice in bonding her. How if I hadn’t, he’d have sooner killed her than let her go free. But all of that sounds rather hollow, doesn’t it? Because explanations cannot undo what was done. They cannot wash away the hurt that was caused to Cécile, to her family, to you – their only purpose is to help me cast aside all culpability, which would be cowardly behavior on my part.”

I paused, watching her expression. “There are no words I can offer that will earn your forgiveness, Sabine, but perhaps my actions going forward might prove my worth.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she slowly shook her head. “You are too perfect. In the way you look, in the things you say. It does not make me like you, and it certainly does not make me trust you.”

I lowered my head so that we were eye to eye. “If you think I’m perfect, then you’ve really not been paying attention.”

A knock sounded firmly on the door, and I gave Chris a pointed look.

“I’m already tired of this,” he muttered, but made his way over, stepping out into the corridor.

Sabine and I stood listening to him argue with whoever was in the hall. “He’s resting… Won’t appreciate you walking in on him… Just give the blasted things to me!” There was a kerfuffle, and a moment later, Chris came back into the room. “Nosy bastard,” he said. “Here.”

I took the stack of cards he proffered, opened them and flipped through the invitations. “They’re all for tonight, but I don’t know who any of these people are,” I said, frowning at the names.

“Because you’re oh-so-familiar with the inhabitants of Trianon?” Sabine asked sweetly.

“More so than you might think,” I said. “The important ones, at any rate.”

She rolled her eyes. “Read me the names.” I did so, watching as she shook her head or nodded at them. “None titled, but that’s to be expected given that you’re a relative nobody.”

Chris laughed around another cake. Between him and Souris, they were very nearly all gone.

“It isn’t as though the minor nobility won’t come calling,” she said. “But it’s rather early for them to show interest without looking desperate.”

“How does a girl from a small country village know all of these things?” I asked. I didn’t think she was lying, but I was curious why she spoke so confidently about a society of which she was not part.

“My parents own the only inn for miles, and people talk when they’re deep in their cups,” she said. “And I’ve been in Trianon for months now – none of this is secret, it’s free for the knowing to those who bother to listen.”

“A well-made point,” I murmured, impressed. “So whose invitation should I accept?”

“Monsieur Bouchard’s,” Sabine said without hesitation. “He’s a banker – not the wealthiest, but he has six daughters. And,” she continued, “it isn’t just a dinner invitation – it’s a party. One that’s been months in the planning. There will be any number of important people there.”