Gracen was in the study, alone. He stood at the window, looking out at the setting sun. The skies had already turned a deep red and was now slowly darkening to a shade of purple. The glow coming through the window cast the room in strange shadows, giving the entire room a strange, surreal look.

I wasn't worried about us being interrupted. I'd been cleaning the second-floor windows when I'd seen Roston and Clara walking to the carriage. He'd gotten in, and the carriage had pulled away. I could've assumed that he was merely being polite and seeing her safely home. She planned to marry his son, it only made sense that he'd be concerned for her safety.

Except my gut told me that Roston was more concerned with finding out whether or not she'd managed to talk Gracen into enlisting.

And I couldn't let that happen.

“Don’t do it.”

Gracen turned around but didn't seem surprised to see me. He didn't look angry or even frustrated. In fact, if I had to describe his expression, it would be one of resignation, and that frightened me.

“Excuse me?” His voice was raspy, and he coughed to clear his throat.

“Don’t join the British Army.” I closed the door behind me. While Roston and Clara were gone, the house was still full of servants, including Titus, and the last thing I needed them to overhear was me trying to convince Gracen to go against his father.

Gracen's eyes narrowed. “How did you know about that?”

“None of you are particularly quiet with your discussions,” I offered.

He eyed me for a second, frowning, and then his features softened, and he sighed. “You're right. We're not.”

I walked over to where he was standing but made sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of us. The last thing we needed was another kiss...no matter how much I wanted it. “Don’t do it.”

He looked bemused. “Honor, I'm quite surprised by your concern for me, but I assure you, there’s little to worry about.”

“I doubt that,” I muttered.

“I haven’t yet decided on my course of action,” he said.

“You look like a man who has already made up his mind.”

He shook his head as he turned to gaze back out of the window, and relief flooded through me.

“The situation is...complicated, and one I am quite uncomfortable with, despite what everyone says.” His voice was quiet, soft. “I truly do not know where I stand, but what I am quite sure of is that this will soon become more than just skirmishes.”

I felt relief that he wasn't just buying into all of this, but it wasn't enough. I needed to hear him say that he wasn't going to do it. Part of me wanted to tell him how right he was, how the British might have a couple wins before it was all over, but that, in the end, the British would lose.

I just didn't have a way to explain how I knew that without sounding completely insane.

“Maybe you could join me,” Gracen teased. “You seem to be quite adept handling yourself, and we both know you can pass as–”

“This isn’t a joking matter,” I interrupted.

His eyes searched mine for a moment, and I knew he was looking for any sign of amusement. When he found none, he sighed and looked down.

“Very well, Honor Daviot. What would you have me do?”

My mouth opened and then closed again, my mind suddenly blank. I’d been focused on convincing him not to go, wanting him to see that it was in his best interest. Now, however, I didn't think that would be enough for him.

I didn't know why I ever thought otherwise. When I first met him, I thought his not wanting to get involved was because he was hedging his bets or that fighting was beneath him. What I could see now, what I'd seen over the past few days, was that Gracen was actually a man of great principle. He wouldn't support something simply because other people told him he should. He thought things through, considered the weight of his choices.

He wouldn’t sit back and do nothing. He just needed to know what he was fighting for. I could see the toll his father and Clara’s words were having on him. It was obvious that he was tired of the back and forth, and that he didn't necessarily believe that joining the British Army was important to upholding his family honor.

“Conflicting loyalties, my father calls it,” Gracen continued when I didn't answer him. “It isn’t that at all, not the way my father means it. I’m not a coward, Honor.”

“I know that,” I replied, keeping my voice quiet but firm. “I know you're not.”

“Then tell me why I won’t take up arms and fight the rebels as my father, my fiancée, and our friends seem to think I should?” he asked, his tone matter-of-fact. “If my father was young enough, he would have enlisted at the first sign of trouble.” He paused and then added, “I am supposed to be my father’s son.”

I shook my head before he even finished the sentence. He was nothing like his father. I knew, in the long run, even if he decided to do nothing, it would save him the heartache of having to leave his home with the majority of the other Loyalists. He could continue here, live out the remainder of his life in peace, an Englishman who had stood on the sidelines, supporting neither side. There was nothing wrong with that.

I supposed, to most people, that was the wisest course of action. It wasn't like everyone in my time enlisted, not even in wartime. I understood that it had to be a personal choice, but for me and my family, there'd only ever been one choice.

We fought.

We might not have always understood our orders, and there were times we might not have agreed with the wars we fought, but we knew that we had to take the bad along with the good. Someone had to stand for freedom and protection, and my family was among those who did it.

How could I tell Gracen that he should remain neutral when I knew that my family, in the same situation, would fight? But how could I ask him to fight for any cause he didn't believe in, regardless of what I knew about the future?

And I knew that I had to admit that my need to keep him away from the fighting had little to do with the knowledge of the war’s outcome and more to do with how I felt about him. I couldn’t bear to think about Gracen in the battlefield, musket in hand, firing at the enemy as he and the other soldiers stood in perfect lines begging to be killed. I didn't doubt for a moment that he'd only be involved with the traditional form of battle tactics rather than the more covert attacks that some of the American forces would use.

“You’ll be killed,” I said, my voice faltering as I spoke.

He nodded. “Despite what Clara says, I know that's a possibility.” His voice turned bitter. “I can't say that I think my father would be too bothered by it. His only son dying to quench the uprising. Quite an honor.”

“That’s not funny,” I snapped.

“That was hardly my intention.” He shrugged. “It’s a bit sad, actually.”

It was strange, how well I could read him, even after such a short acquaintance. His expression was impassive, but I knew he was thinking, that he was trying to figure out what to do, which course of action would allow him to maintain his principles while not completely alienating his father...or being considered a traitor by everyone he knew and loved.

“Join the colonists.”

So...apparently, my brain decided that blurting out those three words to the son of a devout Loyalist was a good idea.

Gracen's head snapped up, his eyes wide. “What?”

No going back now.

“If you feel that you must fight, then join the colonists,” I repeated.

“Are you absolutely mad?” His voice rose as his face flushed.

I quickly looked over my shoulder even though the door was closed. This wasn't a conversation I wanted anyone to overhear.

He understood the gesture and immediately lowered his voice. “Declining to join the British Army is one thing, but fighting with the colonists?” he hissed. “Not only is there the same danger associated with war but to do so will most likely cost my family everything. I could be tried as a traitor, my family name disgraced.”

I said the only thing I could think of. “The one thing I can assure you is that your family name will not be disgraced.”

“You have no way of knowing that.”

“I have a feeling,” I lied.

“A feeling!” He barked a bitter laugh as he shook his head. “My father has a feeling. Clara has a feeling, and now you do too.” His voice was harsh as he continued, “Let me tell you a thing or two about feelings, Honor Daviot. They are rarely reliable.”

He turned away from me before I could answer and rubbed the back of his neck. I hated myself for the look on his face, but I couldn't bring myself to regret choosing to warn him.

“I cannot understand why you would make this suggestion,” he said.

“My father always told me that you should fight for what you believe is right,” I said. “Can you honestly tell me that you believe the things the Crown has been doing to the colonies is right?”

“It isn't my place to even argue this.” His voice rose again.

“Why the hell not?” I asked, my patience wearing thin. “You know the difference between right and wrong. If you thought the Crown was in the right, you wouldn’t even be conflicted about this. You'd have picked up your gun the day the colonists threw tea into the harbor.”

He stared at me for a moment before stammering, “H-how dare you even presume to know what I think?”

“I might not have known you for long, Gracen, but I know honorable men,” I argued, “and you are an honorable man. No one with your family's history of loyalty to the Crown would be standing on the sidelines unable to decide what he truly believed if there was no doubt. You might have conflicting loyalties, but it’s not between the British and the colonists. It's between your father and what you think is right.”

“Stop it.” He shook his head. “Stop talking this instant!”

I couldn't, though, not when I didn't know if I'd get another chance to try to convince him.”

“You know I'm right, Gracen,” I pressed. “You can't fool me–”

“I said enough!” His voice boomed through the study, and for a moment, he sounded eerily like his father.

“No!” I snapped back. I wouldn’t let this go. I couldn't. “Your best chance is with the colonists.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why would I join a lost cause?”

“You don't believe that.”

“I must!”

“Why?” I asked. “Because your father says so?”

Gracen opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. He glowered down at me, his face livid. I waited, knowing that this time, holding my tongue was the best option. He had to think about what I said, decide for himself if it was indeed his father who was holding him back rather than his own beliefs. After nearly half a minute, he sighed heavily and sank into the chair beside the bookcase.

“I can't do it,” he said slowly. “Even if it were the right thing to do, I cannot.” He looked up at me, and I could almost see the defeat in his eyes. “I will not disgrace my family. After my wedding, I will enlist in the British Army.”

I leaned down and grasped his hand, trying not to let him read the amount of panic flooding through my body. He couldn't do that. I had to find some way to stop him. He looked down at my hands but didn't pull his away.

“You can't do it. It's a terrible mistake.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I can't explain it, Gracen,” I said, frustrated. “Just trust me that it's a bad idea.”

“I need more than something you feel, Honor.” His eyes met mine, as if he was searching for something. I just didn't know what.

I gave him the only excuse I could think of. “What about Clara?” I asked. “Do you really want to leave her a widow?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don't believe that you care very much for Clara.”

I refused to dignify that with an answer. Mostly because I had no clue how to answer it.

I tried to stand, but this time, he grabbed my hand.

“Why, Honor? Talk to me.”

The urge to tell him everything was overwhelming. I told myself it was because I was tired of pretending, tired of having to constantly be on my guard. It had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted to be honest with Gracen, that I didn't want to lie to him anymore.

I shook my head, fighting back the tears that burned in my eyes. “I'm sorry, I can't.”

That searching look again. “You can't, or you won't?”

“Gracen, please, let me go.”

“I need an answer.” His voice was soft, and it made my stomach twist.

I took a step back, taking my hands with me.

“Why do you want me to join the colonists?” He stood again.

I shook my head. “Gracen, I'm sorry,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

I turned and started for the door.

“Honor!”

I didn't know if it was the desperation in his voice or the fact that it was killing me to hold it in, but I blurted out the essential truth that I needed him to know.

“The British lose the war!”

Oh, shit.