I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Right now she would be kissing him, lifting her beautiful white hands to hold his face to hers. Smiling at him, eyes full of love and passion.

False love, I remind myself. She loves me, not him. It's only for appearances.

But when I think of him touching her, loving her, I want to storm into his chambers and rip them apart, kill him with magic or sword, I care not which, and then take her in his blood. But she would never stand for that, I know, and it would destroy everything.

I loved her, strange as it may seem. I did not understand how she could ignore one matter and fret over another. And she didn't understand how I could annihilate armies without a qualm and still fear Ozorne. When she asked, I simply said a name – Arram's – and we laughed. She told me she loved me.

Was that a lie?

Never, I told myself. Why would she bother otherwise?

There was a knock on the door. I sprang up from the bed, foolish hope burning in my heart. Was it over already?

But it was Gissa. She smirked at me.

"Are you a night owl, too, Tristan?"

"Yes," I said, not moving to invite her in.

"Up for some company?" She was practically purring.

"Not really."

"Are you sure?" She placed her hand on my chest.

"Yes." I removed her hand from there and put it down by her side, giving her wrist an extra hard squeeze as I did so.

She glared at me, humiliated.

"You'll regret this, Master Staghorn."

I breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared round the corner. Shutting the door, I grimaced. Truly, I wasn't averse to the idea. But I couldn't, not when my head was so full of her.

I almost laughed at that. When was it not? And Yolane, my beautiful Yolane had another lover. Why shouldn't I? It was only my pride that kept me from calling after Gissa, that and a realisation that Yolane would never forgive me if I did. And I was sure, I was very sure that Gissa would tell her in the most painful way possible.

I flung myself back down on the bed. I wondered where she was. Was she still with Belden? Or had she returned to her own rooms after – after?

Neither, it turned out, as she opened the door without knocking. I sat up and she slid gracefully on to the bed beside me. I leaned over to her, kissing her deeply.

"I missed you," I said. I would never have said that to anyone else.

"It wasn't the same," she whispered. "It's not like it is with you."

I knew that now she was with me and not him. "I love you," I told her, pushing her back down on the bed.

"I love you, too."

We didn't speak again that night.