“Marbella.” He closes the distance between us, but right when he’s about to touch my outstretched hand, he stops, caution flooding his features. “Why?”

I can’t ignore the question in his eyes. “The Elven Command has been spinning a lie for centuries that a Storm Princess’s husband can share her power to help her in the Vault. It’s not true. It never has been. Except that now they believe it is true for me. They believe that the first male I choose to touch will inherit the power of the Storm.”

“That’s why they came after you today, isn’t it?”

“In the arena today, Garrett Glory told me he was ordered to take my power by force. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let them try again. I’m not even sure that I believe them, but if it’s going to happen, then it has to be my choice.”

He studies the floor. “You want me to touch you so that someone else doesn’t.”

I stop before I say “yes.” I can’t let him misunderstand me. I clear my throat. “When you bound yourself to me, and then you told me it was so you could tell me secrets, I felt the same way you feel now.”

He remains pinned in place. “Which is?”

“Like you cut my heart into pieces.”

His eyes widen but I hurry on. “So I’m going to tell you right away… even though it scares me… I’m not asking you to take my hand so that I can get the better of the Elven Command or to beat them. I’m asking you because…”

I take a deep breath, exhale, swallow against the dryness in my mouth, suddenly terrified, trying to calm my nerves. I focus on a point on his broad shoulders, not sure if I can find my voice if I look him in the eyes.

“I’m asking you as me. Not as the Princess. But as me, Marbella Mercy. I’m asking you to take my hand because I want you to. Because it’s what I want.”

I finally look up and the agony on his face shakes me to the core.

“Marbella, if I take your hand right now…” He turns away from me, staring at the water. Particles of ice still float on the surface, quickly melting. Deep concentration hijacks his posture and it’s like a wall shoots up between us.

Without looking at me, he asks, “Do you remember…”

“Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up but only for a moment. “Then you know that I can’t take your hand.”

He angles around me, maneuvering against the bath, bumping into the mirror, making sure he follows the widest path to avoid coming anywhere near me. I can’t do anything to stop him. He’s going to leave and I don’t want him to, but I have no choice.

I let my arm swing down by my side.

He stops beside me. “I don’t want your hand, Marbella. I want all of you.”

Shivers run to my toes. The distance between us is agonizing. He’s hurt and I’m hurt, but I’d collide with him in two seconds if he gave me any indication that’s what he wanted.

He says, “The only way I can have a life with you is if I win. If I touch you now, I’ll forfeit the trials and I’ll never have another chance.”

I don’t think before I speak. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t let you win.”

His sudden confusion crashes over me. I’ve given him every reason to believe that I want him to win. I can’t tell him that the protocols will only end in death: either he will try to kill me or I’ll have to kill him first.

I whisper. “I can’t let anyone win.”

“Why?” He searches my face, seeking an answer to explain my declaration. “Something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”

All the things I want to say rush into my head. The protocols are cursed. If I win, everyone lives. If I don’t, my husband will kill me and the Storm will be unleashed—unless I kill him first. And if it’s you… Baelen... I won’t be able to do it.

I can’t tell him any of that because knowing about the curse will kill him. I scrunch my hands into the material at my sides, suddenly shocked to realize that my sash has slipped its knot and by tugging on it… I’ve made it worse.

I stop moving but it’s too late. The sash gives way. The material drops gently to my sides. The only thing keeping it from sliding apart completely is because it’s caught on the inner curve of my breasts. I try not to breathe or move. Even the slightest movement will be my undoing.

Baelen freezes, but he doesn’t take his eyes from my face.

Damn. His self-control is absolute. It always was. The memory of his younger voice rips through me… May I have your permission?

My shoulders sink. I ignore my robe and all the skin I’m revealing. It’s all ugly bruises anyway. “I can’t explain. I wish I could.”

“Then…” He sidesteps me, swings the door open, but pauses in the doorway, filling it with his big body. He’s suddenly frozen there, half-turned, the black thread from the new stitches showing through his white shirt like crisscrossing tracks across his back. One hand flexes against the door frame.

Please stay. I take the chance to give it one last try. I swallow my pride, knowing that I’m not above begging. But only this once. “Please, Baelen, take my hand. I’ll never ask you for anything else. Just this. Please.”

“No.”

Stubborn male!

I inhale a scream of frustration. There aren’t enough glares in the world to hurl at his disappearing back. Even if his back is so broken that it breaks my heart to see it. My bedroom door clicks and then he’s gone.

I’ve had enough. I’ve been grabbed at, beaten up, accosted, pushed around, backed into a corner, and every male except the one I want is trying to get his hands on me. Literally.

Stupid trials! I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look far too small without my storm suit or my armor on. Far too vulnerable.

Stupid mirror, stupid bruises, stupid bath, stupid robe… I scream. “Stupid self-control!”

I rip off the robe, hurl it to the floor, and stomp on it. Not a great idea when my body’s still sore and aching. The impact shudders through my calf and up my thigh. “Ouch.”

I drop to the floor, dragging the robe around me as Jordan races into the room. She takes one look at me curled up on the floor and goes into attack mode.

“What did he do?” She looks fit to run after him and pummel him herself.

“Nothing. He didn’t do anything.” I rest my head against the edge of the bath, pushing my hair out of my eyes, pretending I don’t have tears in them. “Nothing at all.”