The lady was right. Rolfe could not believe his own folly.

Annelise could not lead a killer to his side when she was trapped within the walls of the palace. And even if she left, where could she go and who might she summon? There was forest in every direction.

Not to mention the wolves.

By her own admission, Beauvoir was a day’s ride away and she did not know the route. He heartily doubted that she would even attempt such a long journey alone after her experience with the wolves.

No, he could tell her of the spell and she could help him to break it. They would solve this conundrum together and that would be the foundation of their match. Rolfe felt like a fool for not realizing the truth sooner.

He would not tell Annelise all of the details, of course, for that might make him vulnerable, but he believed he could share the root of the trouble.

She inhaled deeply beside him, glancing back toward the chamber. “Venison stew,” she said with satisfaction.

Rolfe wondered at her tone, even though he recalled her enthusiasm for the fare on her first night in the palace. “Do you not like it?”

“I adore it! It is my favorite meal, and I do not mind if it continues to be dinner every night.”

“It probably will be, then,” Rolfe acknowledged.

“How so?”

“The palace serves my will and my desire is that you should be pleased.”

She blushed a little then and he wondered how often any one had put her desires first. “Why were you raised in a convent?” He knew little about Quinn’s family history, only that his comrade had a sister.

“My mother died,” she said quickly, so quickly that Rolfe thought there might be more to that tale. “The overlord decided a young girl would be better raised in a convent than in a household of men.”

That sounded reasonable enough. “Have you siblings?”

“An older brother, said to be a wicked tyrant and cruel beyond compare,” she said with a shiver. Rolfe frowned at this description of temperate Quinn. “And a younger one, my father’s bastard. Yves was just awarded his spurs by the Lord de Tulley. He intended to fight in the tourneys and earn his fortune.”

“But?”

“He was escorting me to the convent when the wolves attack. I do not know his fate.” She bit her lip then, looking so uncertain that Rolfe wished to ride out immediately and find the truth. Then she took a deep breath and glanced up at him with a smile. “And you, sir?”

“One brother, no more than that.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older and heir to our family holding.”

“Which is why you rode to crusade.”

“Indeed.” They came to a halt beside the bed of roses and Rolfe picked one lush blossom, cutting the stem with his knife. He presented it to his lady with a little bow, and she buried her nose in it, abandoning herself to the pleasure of its scent. He watched her, his chest clenching that this lady was his wife.

“They smell so wondrous.”

“Aye, they do.” Rolfe turned and offered his arm again, liking how she leaned against him as they walked back to their chamber. “Perhaps we should grow them wherever we live.”

“But this is your palace. Do you not mean to remain here?”

Rolfe did not truly know what would happen to the palace when the curse was broken. “I had hoped to return home for the Yule.”

“We had best depart soon, then, sir,” she replied, showing a welcome practicality. “Depending on the distance, we might already be too late.”

Rolfe took a deep breath. “There is something we must do first, my lady. You guess aright that I have been cursed. We must break the curse before we can leave this palace together.”

“A curse? I knew it!” She rounded upon him, a marvel in her concern for his welfare. “You must change the name of your destrier, for invoking demons is folly beyond all else...”

Rolfe dropped a finger to her lips to silence her. “It was no demon,” he whispered. “It was a djinn.”

Annelise gasped and her eyes widened. “This is a djinn’s palace,” she whispered. “She was the lady who built it.”

“And she was compelled to give it to me, which did not please her.”

“So, she cursed you!” Bright color burned in Annelise’s cheeks and her eyes flashed with fury on his behalf. “What a wretched deed to do!” She clutched at his hand. “Can the curse be broken? What must we do?”

Rolfe smiled that he had made the right choice. Annelise was devoted to his cause already, and their working together could only improve matters. “Here is the part about breaking the curse,” he said, then recalled the precise words uttered by the second djinn.

Annelise laughed. “But you, sir, do not believe in love.”

“We have loved with vigor each and every night...”

“That is the act of love,” she said, interrupting him. “And it is common enough that it cannot be the means to break a curse. No, sir, you must open your heart to me as I must open mine to you.”

“But that makes no sense. What will be the tangible measure of that love? How will anyone know when it has been achieved?”

She thought about that for a moment, looking around the courtyard. “Perhaps this strange palace will know when I lose my heart to you, sir.” She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes shining with delight. “But I will know, sir, when you surrender your heart to me.”

Before Rolfe could think of a reply, Annelise closed the distance between them. She slipped one hand around his neck and pulled his head down to her kiss. She was in his arms, pressed against him, her kiss demanding more from him than she had thus far, and he forgot djinns and curses and everything except the lady in his arms. He was breathless when she broke her kiss, awed by her passion, and his heart thundered that she could be both wife and ally.

“Let me seduce you this night, sir,” she whispered, her words husky. “Let me share with you all that I have to give.”

It was an invitation Rolfe could not refuse.

* * *

Annelise had not intended to seduce her husband so thoroughly and she certainly had not intended to delay their evening meal. But his fledgling trust in her had so pleased her and she had wanted to reward him in a way he understood.

She would leave him in no doubt that she was delighted by his confidence.

Their mating was wild and thrilling as it had not been before. It clearly pleased him when she took the lead and so Annelise did, touching him and tasting him, teasing him as he had teased her, until finally the fury of desire claimed them both.

She fed him in the great bed, finding his lips with her fingertips. When she missed and dripped the sauce upon his chest, she licked it off, leading to another enthusiastic bout of lovemaking.

The third time was slow and sweet, so intense that Annelise almost wept. She felt that their bodies and their souls had merged, that they were each part of the other, that it was impossible to think of being without him. Night had fallen completely by the time she nestled in his embrace, dozing against his warmth.

He was protective.

He was gentle and he was kind.

He liked her impertinence and her passion, instead of finding fault with her nature.

He was the perfect man for her.

Annelise smiled as she heard his breathing slow. When had he slept since their marriage? Where had he slept? It was only right and good that he should sleep here, in their nuptial bed, with her. His heartbeat slowed beneath her cheek and she was glad to have offered him a haven, even for the rest of this night.

But Annelise was wide awake. She thought of his confession that he was cursed. She thought of the book. She thought of his fear that she would change her thinking about him if she looked upon him, and she knew she had to be certain.

In a way, it felt wrong to look upon him in his sleep.

In another, Annelise knew one peek would bolster her confidence to argue against his concerns.

She would be so quick. He slept so deeply. He would never know.

Before she could reconsider, she eased from his embrace. His hand fell heavily upon her hip when she rolled to her side, as if he would stop her. Annelise jumped, certain he had guessed her plan, but he nuzzled against her back, drawing her against him again.

“Rosalinde,” he mumbled.

Rosalinde? Who was Rosalinde?

Was he thinking of another woman while he loved her?

Was this why he feared that love could not save him? Because he loved another woman?

Annelise was outraged. That single utterance was all the encouragement she needed to slip from the bed. She fetched the candle and struck the flint. The wick sputtered to life. She caught her breath and cupped her hand around the flame. She swallowed then turned to face her spouse.

There was nothing wrong with his face.

Quite the contrary, in fact.

God in heaven, but he was a very handsome man. His wavy hair was as black as jet, and his brows were dark, too. His face was tanned, as his hands had been and his jaw was square with determination. His nose straight and narrow, his lips full enough to make her flush in recollection of his kisses. There was a faint shadow upon his jaw and she reached to touch his cheek, half-fearing that her eyes deceived her.

He awakened with a cry of alarm.

His eyes were of different colors. One was blue and one was silver-gray.

“Annelise!” he cried and snatched the candle from her grasp. He cast it onto the floor and the chamber was plunged into darkness again.

Annelise’s heart stopped cold. Only in hindsight did she realize what she risked. His fury reminded her of the incident she struggled to forget.

She was once again a little girl who had seen too much.

“Annelise,” he whispered, disappointment in his tone. “You promised.”

Annelise could not reply. She cowered at the foot of the bed and trembled in terror.

Now he would beat her.

In the darkness, when she could not see his face.

Would he kill her?

Who would ever know her fate?

Annelise’s heart raced and her mouth went dry. She wished, too late, that she had curbed this particular impulse.

“You said you would not betray me,” His voice was low, and Annelise shivered at the danger in his tone.

Now she would pay the price.

He had encouraged her confidence. He had prompted her trust, by showing her such kindness and gentleness. Because of what she had learned of her husband, Annelise had not believed he would respond in anger.

But she had erred and he would teach her another lesson. She covered her face with her hands and awaited the blow.

Her spouse swore with vehemence, but then shoved himself from the bed. She heard him snatching up his garments, moving quickly in the darkness. It was a curious choice, but perhaps nudity made him feel vulnerable. No doubt he would turn upon her once he was dressed, beat her senseless and leave her weeping on the floor.

But he simply marched out of the chamber.

Annelise lifted her head in shock and peered after him. She saw his cloaked silhouette as he entered the courtyard, then he rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

He would come back. Certainly. He only fetched a switch.

But his footsteps faded to silence.

And he did not return.

Long moments later, she exhaled.

Her husband had simply turned away. Words had been his weapon of choice.

What manner of man had she wed?

A man who was gone. Annelise swallowed.

He had left her because she had broken her word.

She left the bed, her knees trembling, and donned her chemise. There was no sign of him, not in the chamber beyond, not in the garden.

Certainly, her spouse appeared to be of a different ilk than her father.

Indeed, Annelise could think of no one who had ever treated her with such kindness. She had been fed, sheltered, protected, introduced to lovemaking with a tenderness unexpected in marriage to a stranger.

And how had she rewarded his kindness? A lump rose in Annelise’s throat. She had defied the request he had made of her. She had known he would see such a small thing as a betrayal. She had believed she knew better. She had believed she made a choice for the greater good.

But he had left and she would have no opportunity to argue in her own defense. She looked down at his ring, still upon her hand. They had exchanged marriage vows, but there had been no witnesses. Would he deny her after all they had done together? Would she be cast from the gates of his palace to fend for herself? She was a maiden no longer—what if she bore his child?

Annelise sat on the side of the bed, more fearful of the future than she had ever been.

What would be her fate now?

* * *

Betrayed!

Rolfe was furious, though his anger was directed as much at himself as his wife. He paced the length of the stable and railed at Mephistopheles.

“Seven kinds of fool!” he said. “How could I have trusted her? I should never have trusted her! I should never have trusted anyone! Have I learned nothing in this life?”

Mephistopheles rummaged in his feed bin. Rolfe strode to the side of the stall and leaned over in an effort to catch the beast’s attention. He had to talk to someone or go mad, but Mephistopheles seemed indifferent.

“Was it not enough for me to be cursed?” he demanded. “No, I had to insult a djinn and have the curse redoubled. It is one thing not to believe in the unseen, quite another to tell a djinn as much!” He shook his head. “And was that enough? No, even once warned, I had to trust Annelise that I might be betrayed!”

Mephistopheles continued to chew complacently.

“One might argue that I believed I had a good reason to trust her.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, yes, it was a fine reason, and I shall share it with you. The lady is attractive and possesses a rare passion.” Rolfe turned on his heel to pace the length of the stable again. “Is that not adequate reason to entrust my life to her keeping?”

He waved a hand. “Oh, yes, lest I forget, she also appreciates a venison stew.” He shoved his hand through his hair, sick with the knowledge that he had been his own worst enemy in this.

The sad truth was that he did not know enough about Annelise. He could unerringly find every mole upon her flesh in the deepest darkness. He knew precisely how to caress her to send her scaling the highest cliffs of pleasure. She had a passion for life and a sharpness of wit that captivated him. Rolfe liked how she laughed and appreciated that she was the first woman with whom he had ever been able to talk.

His mother would have noted that he did not know sufficient about the lady’s history and family to take her to wife.

Rolfe enumerated what he did know. She was Quinn’s sister. She had been raised in a convent after her mother’s death. He could not imagine that she had enjoyed her time there. Yet she had chosen to return to the convent rather than accept an arranged marriage, proof of her determination to keep her vow to wed only for love.

Where had she come by such a conviction? Certainly, no father or overlord would teach a daughter such a notion, and Rolfe doubted the sisters of Ste. Radegund would have endorsed such a view.

Was he right that she had been afraid when he snatched away the candle? To be sure, he had been angry, but he had never injured her. Why would she fear him?

She had broken her promise to him, but Rolfe wanted to return to the bedroom, to console her and make her smile. Annelise had a power over him that was not entirely welcome, for it reminded him of Rosalinde.

One would think that Rolfe would remember how deceptive women could be. One would think that he could manage to recall that Annelise had just tricked him.

Rolfe stepped to the door of the stables and heard the sound of a woman weeping. His heart clenched and again, he yearned to go to Annelise, to talk to her, to console her, to find out whether she truly had been afraid of him and to discover why.

But the djinn’s curse echoed in his thoughts, halting him in his steps.

Would she?

Could she?

Rolfe could not imagine as much, but then, he had not expected Annelise to try to steal a glimpse of him. Was his trust misplaced? Was she like Rosalinde? He wanted to believe otherwise, but had need of proof.

“The only place she knows to find me is in this palace,” he reminded Mephistopheles, who was not particularly interested in anything beyond the bottom of his feed bin. “She knows nothing of my transformation or where I go in the day.”

Rolfe paced the length of the stables and back, aware that the stars were already fading. “I must leave and watch the palace from the forest.” His decision made, Rolfe packed a few belongings. He had only to wish for the things that were not in the stables to have them appear. He was by no means certain that feat would work beyond the palace walls.

There was an abandoned tower not far away that he would use as a refuge. He dared not take a horse, for the steed would be undefended during the day.

“Farewell, my friend,” he said to Mephistopheles and scratched the destrier’s ears. “I shall return for you when I can.” The stallion nosed in his oats, his tail swishing, apparently indifferent. But then, it was comfortable here and Annelise ensured that the destrier was ridden.

Perhaps she would be happy without him.

Rolfe strode toward the gates with his pack on his shoulder. The palace seemed to glow in the light of the moon, as if it were an illusion, and he could not help but pause to look back at it.

The sound of Annelise’s weeping was louder and turning away from her distress was the most difficult thing Rolfe had ever done. He reminded himself that Annelise had deceived him, as Rosalinde had done—perhaps also for her own gain.

He could not abandon her completely as she was his lady wife. But Rolfe could and would retreat to a safe distance and watch what Annelise would do in his absence.

It was the right thing to do, he told himself. The prudent choice.

But even knowing that did not make it easy to walk away.

* * *

Dawn brought a new sense of purpose to Annelise.

Her husband had shown his true measure and left her for her mistake. He had not struck her or even chastised her much.

How could she regain his trust?

She had already seen evidence of her spouse’s agile thinking, as well as his keen sense of humor. Surely half a night of solitude would have calmed him enough to accept her apology. After all, harmony could be found between two people only by discussion and compromise. Annelise was certain he would understand and not be unreasonable. He had been angry and justifiably so, but an apology should set matters to rights.

All she had to do was find him to offer it.

She shivered in the chill of the morning and donned her familiar russet kirtle. It seemed unfitting to seek him out in the new garb he had supplied. She was cold enough to tug on her old, heavy wool stockings, as well. Annelise wished that she had thought to close the doors to the courtyard the night before. She pulled her fur-lined cloak over her shoulders and hurried down the corridor, realizing only after she left the chamber that something was different.

The courtyard had been silent.

The fountain did not splash.

Annelise frowned and stepped into the gardens at the front of the palace.

A large wet snowflake landed upon her nose. She stopped and stared at the garden in amazement.

It had been transformed. The lush plants were disappearing under rapidly falling snow. There was a thin sheen of ice on the surface of the pond, and the red flowers she had grown to love had curled up at the abrupt change in the weather.

It was colder than it had been since she arrived here.

Indeed, the weather seemed to be the same as that outside the palace walls.

What did this mean?

Annelise’s heart began to pound with the conviction that her spouse had abandoned her and his palace. She would have no chance to apologize or explain.

She rushed to the stables to be sure. Relief made her knees weak when she spied all of the horses still in their stalls.

“Good morning, Mephistopheles,” she said. “Have you seen your lord this morn?”

The stallion fixed her with an accusing eye, his breath making a white plume in the chilly air. Annelise saw horse blankets with the rest of her spouse’s equipment and hastily covered the horses.

Her spouse’s equipment. Annelise eyed his armor, wishing she knew more about all the various bits and pieces. There was nothing missing, as far as she could determine. Did this mean that her husband had not abandoned her? Why would it snow, then?

Annelise resolved to check every inch of the palace to find out.

“It is time for our daily ride, Mephistopheles,” she informed the destrier, and reached for his saddle. If her husband was still here, Annelise would find him within the palace walls.

And if he were not, she would somehow find a way to open that gate and pursue him.

She would not be condemned without a chance to defend herself.

* * *

Annelise quickly confirmed what she had suspected all along.

She was alone.

And she was trapped inside the palace.

If the palace reflected her husband’s will, then the weather was an echo of his feelings for her. She had offended him, and Annelise was determined to make matters right. Her husband had left, so she had to seek him beyond the walls.

Where exactly she would seek him once she did manage to leave the palace was a problem to solve later.

First, she had to discover how to open the gates.

As she had noted before, they had no visible means of being opened or closed. There were no handles or bars, no latches or hooks. Annelise knew that the gates opened in the middle, swinging into the courtyard. Each individual portal was both higher than she could reach and wider than she could stretch.

Annelise propped her hands on her hips. This was a djinn’s palace, which meant there was sorcery at work. Or there had been, before her husband’s departure. She would not consider that she might be trapped forever in his absence.

Words might be her salvation.

“I command the gates to open immediately,” she said, summoning as much authority as she could.

There was not so much as a rustle in response. Annelise tried again, with no result. She changed her tone and her wording, but nothing worked.

She knocked on one door and raised her voice. “Let me out!” she cried. “I wedded your lord, as I promised, and now would leave!”

Nothing happened.

“Open that I might follow my lord husband!” she tried, with no success.

Snow continued to settle over the ground and along the top of the wall, burying the palace and garden in a blanket of white.

Annelise kicked the heavy door, cursing whoever had seen fit to design such a solid gate. “I demand to be released!”

No voice came to her ears this time, despite her efforts. “He is not even here!” Annelise wailed in frustration. “There is no reason to keep me here alone!”

The gates did not move.

She brushed her hands and backed away, glaring at the doors. She began to think of them as sentient beings, deliberately denying her will. They might well be, if they had been enchanted by a djinn. “If I must submit to force, then I shall do so.” Annelise shook a warning finger at the gates. “Do not insist that you were not warned.”

* * *

It was midday by the time Annelise had gathered everything she deemed useful. The sun was obscured by clouds overhead and she shivered in her cloak as she approached the gates.

First, she would try to force the lock. Annelise snatched up a dagger and turned on the gates, as though she might surprise them with her tactic.

Of course, there was no sign of a lock.

Annelise peered into the seam where the two doors met, hoping to get a glimpse of the catch. Either the space was too narrow or the doors fitted too well to give her any clues.

She decided that halfway up, at about shoulder level, would be the most logical place for whatever kind of latch these odd gates might have. Annelise jammed her blade into the space as far as she could.

The tip of the dagger snapped off.

The point did not even remain wedged in the door, but fell to the snowy ground so suddenly that Annelise imagined the gates had spit it out.

No matter. She had a bigger blade.

Her husband’s quillon dagger was her next tool of choice. Annelise refused to be daunted when it met with the same fate as the first blade.

Obviously, she needed a sturdier weapon.

Annelise hefted the weight of her spouse’s broadsword, making no small effort to brace it on her shoulder. She peered down the blade, took aim and dove at the gate.

To her delight, the blade slid neatly into the minute space between the doors. Annelise leaned forward to drive it even farther and savored a moment of elation before she heard the sharp crack of metal.

Then she pitched forward as the tip snapped off this doughty blade, as well. Annelise lost her balance and twisted her ankle slightly. Her spouse’s sword fell in the snow, as if it had been spit forth by the gates. She was momentarily glad that he was not present when she saw the state of the blade.

Judging from all the nicks and scratches, it had been a trusty and sturdy weapon for him. Annelise rubbed her ankle as she thought.

The power of Mephistopheles was added to the endeavor. Being a creature of moderate sense, he refused to participate in Annelise’s direct assault on the gales. She had the idea that she might ride the destrier at full attack and break them down by throwing their combined weight against them.

Mephistopheles stopped dead an arm’s length from the gate on every try. Faced with such a lack of cooperation, Annelise was forced to attempt another method of escape.

She used the destrier to drag furniture through the snow to the wall. Annelise, at times less easily than others, stacked it in an effort to reach the top.

When she deemed the pile to be high enough, she dropped Mephistopheles’ reins and scaled it. A chest rocked precariously when she put her weight on it, but she scrambled onward, her heart in her mouth.

She gained the summit with relief. “I will let you out from the other side,” she declared as she waved to Mephistopheles and reached for the top of the wall.

It was just beyond her fingertips. Annelise stretched to her toes and strained with all her might, but to no avail.

She could not reach the top.

But she was close. So close.

“One more!” she cried to the destrier. “We need just one more thing.” Annelise hurried down the pile of furnishings and led Mephistopheles toward the palace.

A quick scan of the palace showed the perfect choice, a table carved of rosy wood. It was rife with ornamentation, tall and probably quite light.

She tugged the table out into the garden, rolled it onto its back and tied a rope around it Mephistopheles flicked his ears, but obediently hauled it over to the wall.

Annelise’s breathing was labored by the time she reached the top. She pulled the table up the last stage, smiling in anticipation.

She was almost free.

At the top, she took one last look over the snow-clad palace and its gardens. It was pretty in its own way, but a prison all the same. Annelise pivoted to face the wall.

She reached up, but the summit was still just beyond the tips of her fingers. She stretched, but it made no difference.

She could not reach the top.

How could this be?

The table she had added to the pile came to the height of her hip. How could it not have brought her closer to the top? Annelise stretched again and was forced to confront the illogical truth.

She was no closer than she had been on the last try. How could the top of the wall always be just beyond the reach of her fingertips?

How had the portal opened without a keeper?

Where had the voice that had hailed her originally come from, if there was no keeper?

And if there was a gatekeeper, where was he hidden?

Sorcery. A djinn’s sorcery. The evidence surrounded her when she cared to look.

Annelise sat on the table and crossed her arms. She stared at the garden and watched the glittering snowflakes meander out of the sky. Magic was an unsatisfactory explanation. She glanced up and the top of the wall seemed so close.

Maybe she had misjudged the distance. Maybe one more item would make all the difference in the world.

Mephistopheles trailed behind her with even less than his previous enthusiasm. He ambled into the foyer as Annelise sought another piece of furniture that would not be too heavy to haul up the side of the growing pile, yet would give her some more height.

She decided upon a chair and made to pull it away from the wall. It resisted. Annelise pulled harder, and it slipped free so suddenly that she sprawled on her rump.

That was quite enough.

“Curse this place!” she cried. “Curse the wolves and curse the gates and curse my husband and curse this ridiculous wall! Curse each and every one, from today through the end of time!”

Mephistopheles nickered. Annelise looked at the horse just as he lifted his glossy black tail and relieved himself in the middle of the beautifully tiled foyer.

Annelise could have sworn there was a mischievous glint in his eye. She laughed aloud, forgetting her own anger when the destrier’s gesture so accurately reflected her own response.

Her laughter might have faded, but Mephistopheles snorted. He glanced about, and appeared to be offended by what he found upon the tiles behind himself. He then strode back through the archway to the garden.

And abandoned his fragrant souvenir.

The sight of the steaming manure on the inlaid floor, surrounded by tastefully understated opulence—in the wake of her trying day—made Annelise laugh and laugh. Out of the blue, she pictured how horrified Enguerrand would be if he were here.

A tear rolled down Annelise’s cheek as she laughed.

She imagined Bertrand de Beauvoir’s lips puckering tightly in the disapproval.

Annelise laughed some more.

She pictured Bertrand’s mousy wife, desperately anxious to please, scurrying in to remove anything offensive to her husband. Likely that woman would try to cover Mephistopheles’ mess with her embroidery, rather than burden her husband with the sight.

Annelise laughed until her ribs hurt

And Tulley? Ah, the overlord would be priceless. She could see the lord’s eyes shooting sparks and his neck turning red as he pointed to the offense with an imperious finger. He would bellow a demand to know who was responsible, setting both servants and tableware to quaking.

Annelise thought of the conspiratorial glint that would light Yves’ eye and sobered immediately.

Yves was probably dead.

She sat up, her laughter dismissed. She hugged knees to her chest and acknowledged the ache within her heart.

If nothing else, she and Yves had had each other these last two years. Now she was alone again, as she had been for most of her life. Tears welled up in Annelise’s eyes and she looked for her discarded veil.

That was when she remembered the book.

As befit her experience of the day, it had vanished as surely as if it had never been. It was not on the table where she had seen it last, nor even in the bed chamber. It was not in the courtyard, so Annelise embarked on another hunt through the entire palace for the cursed book.

It must be her husband’s will that it be hidden from her, although Annelise could not understand why he no longer wished for her to break the curse.

* * *

One day in the forest, still burdened with the curse of being a wolf, was enough to make Rolfe’s anger fade.

Indeed, it was sufficient to make him question his choice to leave the palace.

And his wife.

Annelise had not left the palace during the day, although he had heard sounds of activity within the walls.

He was curious beyond all to know what she was doing.

He knew she was not taking her leisure. That was not the lady’s inclination.

No, she had a scheme of some kind. He knew her well enough to guess that. Rolfe could not help but wonder what it was.

Still, he retreated to the tower that night, wanting to be certain of his choice. He could not even see the palace from the high windows, which he had found vexing. The rustle of the wind irritated him as never before, let alone the wail of it in the stairwell of the tower. Rolfe hated that no human sound carried to his ears once he moved away from the palace gates at sunset. He ached to hear Annelise’s laughter or the tread of her foot upon the stair.

He spent that night pacing the floor of the abandoned tower, instead of finding peace in his refuge.

All through that night, Rolfe was aware of what he had denied himself. He recalled the smooth, warm satin of Annelise’s skin beneath his hand. When he closed his eyes, Rolfe could smell the honeyed perfume of her skin. It was all too easy to remember the taste of her kiss—and long to sample it again.

It was more than the pleasure that he and Annelise found abed that Rolfe missed, though. In his memory, he saw her eyes sparkle, her lips curve and part as they did before she laughed aloud.

He missed her company, her conviction that his cause should be defended, and her faith that she could be the one to do it.

As the moon crossed the sky, it became increasingly difficult to recall why he was denying himself the pleasure of her company.

In hindsight, Rolfe knew he should have anticipated that Annelise would try to look upon him. She was curious. Indeed, that was one trait he admired about her. She solved matters for herself, apparently having learned no expectation that any other soul would show a care for her needs. She had asked him repeatedly to show his face to her, and he had declined.

So, she had found a solution.

It was not that much of a crime, or even that much of a betrayal.

Rolfe stared over the snowy forest and admitted that both hiding himself from her and retreating from the palace had been mistakes. Annelise had not recognized him. He should have anticipated as much. Her years in the convent probably meant that she would not recognize his name, either.

Just before the dawn, he had a troubling idea. What if the bottle offered his dream come true, but he was too fool to take it?

What if love was not merely physical?

What if there were women who, unlike Rosalinde, did not demand concrete gains for the surrender of their favors?

What if he was wed to one? Annelise had declared herself unwilling to marry a man who did not love her. She had seemed confused when Rolfe talked about material comforts in the same breath as love. Was it possible that Annelise was not like Rosalinde?

Could he have misjudged his wife?

Could destiny have brought the one woman to him who could hold his heart captive for all his days and nights? Annelise might be his dream come true, albeit a dream he had not known he possessed.

He hated being without her, though.

And Annelise seemed to know more of love than he did.

Rolfe decided that marriage might be a reasonable place to start a search for love, whatever it was. His mother had professed love for his father, as he recalled, although Rolfe had always assumed she meant the act that begot children. Looking back, he saw that he might have been wrong.

Perhaps Rolfe could convince Annelise to love him.

And why not? She laughed at his jests. She welcomed his touch and took his side. In fact, they were wed, and she had been the one to insist that love belonged in marriage.

The sun rose as Rolfe began to form a new plan.

He had found something that his wife would be glad to see. Due to the curse, he could only show it to her in the daylight, when he could leave the palace.

It was perhaps time she encountered him as a wolf again.

She had, after all, wanted to see his truth.