<Are you serious?! You’re the one who proposed on a whim, just to use me as some translator! And you think you have the grounds to call me unpredictable    … > Cordelia protests, the thief still has a strong grip on her wrist.

<I’d make a fine husband, despite your determination to see it otherwise    . >

<Yes, by kidnapping, restraining, and forcing yourself onto me. Yes, you’re a real winner . >

<Force myself? Excuse me, you are the one who kissed me first . >

<Because I felt I had to! You had two daggers right in sight, you could have slit my throat if I didn’t throw my manners to the wayside ! > Yes, she's enamoured with his build, but that was beside the point.

<And all the nights afterward? Can’t say you looked too threatened by my presence while you were all over me . >

<Which was fine, until you wanted more. It would have been much nicer if you hadn’t tried to pressure me into giving you my virtue . >

His grip lessens as he sighs. <Deely, I told you—it’s torture you won’t at least entertain the thought . >

<What’s there to entertain? I’m not interested in a man shredding apart my insides for his own pleasure . >

<Shredding out your insides? Where the hell did you hear such a thing? ! > He’s amused by her words, that much was clear.

<My own  mother—she’d have no reason to lie about that. She experienced it herself ! >

<Her husband must have been a right brute in the bedsheets . >

Cordelia bristles at the implication. To think of her parents—even the least bit naked sends shivers down her spine.

<And what do you know, do you often bed virgins ? >

<I try to stay away from them—they cause more trouble than what they’re worth . >

Cordelia’s displeased by his remark. <Are they now? Yet you still make a move to pursue them ? >

<I don’t . >

<Then why do you heckle me ? >

<Because those girls don’t kiss me every night that  I’m with them—they don’t tempt me as you do. You’re driving me mad . > The desperation in his voice returns. He pulls her in with a strong arm. She retaliates by bracing her hands against his chest. To her surprise, he eases off. She was expecting more of a fight.

<Don’t think I've forgiven you . >

<Deely, why are you fighting it? Just because your mother told you some horror story about being ripped apart ? >

<It’s different for you—you’re some lowborn thief who can sow his seed as he pleases. For me, it’s  … different . > She had decided that she didn’t want the life of a princess, but not because she wanted to sleep around with lowborn fools.

<Do you plan to go back to your fiancé after we cut our deal ? > The concern in his voice is shocking.

<No ! > It comes out more abrupt than she means. <I don’t want to discuss my virtue with the likes of you . >

<No one would have to know.

<My future husband would -- you know -- notice that there wasn't any blood ! >

<Blood? Since when ? > He chuckles. <I am chums with a woman, and she never told me about any blood. Are you sure your uptight mother isn’t just trying to scare you into staying pure ? >

<Then how does a man know his bride is a virgin ? >

<Bloody hell, Deely, we went over this. Where I come from, no man gives a damn about anything like that. We don’t want our wives to bleed to prove their virtuousness, we want them to enjoy the experience as much as we do. That’s all I’m saying, is that I can give you a wicked time. If you’d stop being so uptight.>

Well, that’s something she never thought she’d hear. Men in St. Antilla care about their wives in bed? Did that mean King Ryne would as well? No. That life was behind her now. Yet the thief’s words were stirring her perceptions. A feeling better than kissing? Was there ever such a thing? He was persistent on making her believe there was—no, she can’t let his words affect her thoughts.

<You’re the one dragging me around, so it's hard not to be uptight . > She frowns. <You flaunt your strength where you see fit, knowing I can’t fight back. Or, is that how you get your fix ? >

<Oh, not this again  . > He moans.

<What? Most men do— its what makes you all dangerous . >

<That’s not … god … no . > His fingers now course through his thick, dark hair. <I don’t enjoy forcing my weight around women. I’m doing it because you’re a loose canon—you could get me killed . >

<And why should I care about that? Considering you’ve threatened my life numerous times ? >

<You honestly think it’s my fault you ended up this way? You’re a beautiful, wealthy woman. What on earth did you expect when you ran away from your privileged life ? >

<So just because you find me pretty means I’m subject to the whims of indecent, filthy thieves ? >

He’s offended by her accusation. <We’ve been over this. If you thought of me as filthy why were you so inclined to nibble at me with that mouth of yours . >

<I did not ! >

<You did so  . > His mood changes from frustration to amusement as he lets her go.

<I’m not taking this . > Cordelia grabs the mound of fabric, lifting her skirts over her ankles.

<Now where do you think you’re going with no means to provide for yourself? You forget you scattered your belongings in the woods, which I have right here in my pockets  . >

God, he was right. She stomps her foot again—any harder  and she’d snap her ankle right off. <Go piss yourself ! > She yells.

He lets out a hearty chuckle. <How is it that  you both infuriate and amuse me at the same time. >

<Because you’re not right in the head . > She growls under her breath.

<That’s a matter of opinion . > He shrugs. < I’ve been told I’m an acquired taste . >

<Acquired is right . > She grumbles. 

Within half a kilometre, Cordelia sees a large, lit four-story home—in the middle of a spacious clear cut field. The moon shone right on top of the building like it was guiding them to it. She could hear instruments playing, and, could see moving shadows along the front. No, those weren’t shadows, they were people.

<What’s that ruckus over there ? > Cordelia leers at the direction of the manor.

<Oh, that’s the Locke residence, they hold dances to all social classes on the night of the full moon . >

<That’s oddly specific, and leaving a lot up to chance . > Cordelia crosses her arms in suspicion.

<Have you ever been to a dance ? >

A dance? Those had to be the same as balls, right? Cordelia was raised on balls. She’d wear exuberant dresses, have the hands of royal prospects—which were all rather too old or not old enough.

<Would you be interested in attending ? >

<Isn’t it dangerous to be seen walking around these parts—given your occupation ? >

<At the Lockes, no one cares about politics. If you cover the fare, they are willing to look past any charge . >

Cordelia sees what his point is. The Lockes weren’t a familiar house, so surely they didn’t know of her appearance—especially since they entertained paupers. It shouldn’t be a place where others would scout her out. Hopefully. It might be safe to check it out, but did she really want to? She didn’t want to risk anyone discovering who she was.

He holds out his arm. <For one night, I think we can call a truce . >

<Your temper is out of hand and unpredictable . > She rolls her eyes.

<Which is what makes us the perfect match . >

Cordelia grits her teeth.

<Fine . > She raises her chin. <But I warn you that  I won’t save face. If you can’t keep up, you’re the one who’ll look the fool . >

<Freydis has shown me how to dance, I’m in good hands . >

<Freydis? I’ve never heard a name like that before . >

<Says Deely . > He laughs.

Of course, he hadn’t heard the name Deely before—she made it right up on the spot. Stupid man.

She gasps when he loops his arm in hers, excitingly pulling her in the direction of the manor .