"No." It was a thin whisper, and the young woman sniffed, holding a hand out for a tiny blue butterfly seeking warmth in the fading day. He'd seen them only once before in this profusion, and it was likely the wedding had been planned around the beautiful, fragile creatures. But butterflies like carrion as much as flowers, battlefields as much as gardens.
Algaliarept looked at the yellow rose in his grip, his thoughts lifting and falling as the music rose high in celebration. Fast. He had to work fast. "Why do you hurt me?" he said, squeezing his hand until a drop of blood fell upon it, turning the entire rose a bright scarlet. "You summon me only to spurn me?" He dropped the rose, and she blanched, eyes rising to his bloodied glove. "To say good-bye?" he accused, allowing his anger to color his voice. "Do our seven years mean nothing to you? The skills I've taught you, the music, ideas that we shared from across the sea? It all means nothing? Was I just your demon, your pet? Nothing more?"
Distressed, Ceridwen faced him, the butterfly forgotten. "Talk not to me of love. They are naught but pretty words to trap me," she whispered, but under her misery was a frantic need he had yet to figure out. There was more here than she was saying. Could she be unhappy about the marriage? Was this the key to making her control lapse?
"As you trapped me!" he exclaimed, jerking his hand back when he intentionally burned himself on the barrier between them. Excitement was a pulse when she reached out, concern for him showing briefly. "Ceridwen," he pleaded, breath coming faster, "I watched you grow from a shy, skittish colt to a rightfully proud woman, fiery and poised to take responsibility for your people. I was there when all others grew distant, jealous of your skills. I didn't expect to grow fond of you. Have I not been a gentleman? Have I not bent to your every whim?"
Green eyes deep with misery met his. "You have. Because you're caught in my circle."
"I would regardless!" he said violently, then looked to the darkening sky as if seeking words, though what he was going to say he'd said to untold others. This time, though, he meant them. "Ceri, you are so rare, and you don't even know it. You are so beyond anyone here because of what I've shared with you. The man who waits for you . . . He cannot meet your intellectual needs. When I hear your summons, my heart leaps, and I come directly, a willing slave."
"I know."
It was a faint affirmation, and Algaliarept's pulse raced. This was it. This was the way to her downfall. She didn't desire her husband. "And now you'll abandon me," he whispered.
"No," she protested, but they both knew tradition dictated otherwise.
"You're going to wed," he stated, and she shook her head, desperate as her tiny feet tapped the flagstones, coming closer in her need to deny it.
"That I'm wed doesn't mean I won't summon you. Our talks can continue."
Feigning dejection, he turned his back on her, all but oblivious to the manicured gardens going dark and damp. "You will abandon me," he said, chin high as he probed the circle to find it still perfect. Though he was a demon and could crush an army with a single word, such was the strength of a summons that a simple circle could bind him. He had to upset her enough such that she would make a mistake and he could break it. Until then, nothing but sound and air could get through.
Taking a ragged breath, he dropped his head, his hands still laced behind him. "You will begin with all good intentions," he said, his voice flat. "But you'll summon me into underground rooms where no one can see, and our time together once open and celebrated will become brief snatches circled by guilt instead of precious stones. Soon you will call me less and less, shame dictating that your heart be ruled over by your head, your responsibilities." He took a breath, turning his tone thin. "Let me go. I can't bear seeing what we shared abandoned bit by bit. Make of my heart a clean death."
The clatter of the gravel sliding beneath her shoes sparked through him like lightning, and he grit his teeth to hide his anticipation. One tiny stone, knocked out of place, would do it. "I would not do that," she protested as she faced him, a gray shadow against the dark vegetation.
Refusing to meet her gaze because he knew it would hurt her, he looked at the moon, seeing a few lone butterflies daring the dark to find a mate. Crickets chirped as the music from the castle dissolved into polite applause. "Marry him if you will," he said stoically. "I'll forever come if you call, but I'll be but a broken shadow. You can command my body, but you cannot command my heart." He looked at her now, finding she was clutching a golden card to her chest, hiding it. "Do you love him?" he asked bluntly, already knowing the answer in her frantic expression.
She said nothing as torchlight shined upon her tears.
"Does he make your heart beat fast?" Algaliarept demanded, a shudder running through him when her eyes closed in pain. "Can he make you laugh? Has he ever brought new thoughts to you, as I have? I've never touched you, but I've seen you tremble in desire . . . for me."
He nudged at the circle with a booted toe, jerking back at the zing of power. Though her face wore her anguish, her circle still held strong, even when her chest heaved, and her grip on her dress dropped, leaving creases in the otherwise perfect fall of fabric.
"Don't hurt me like this, Algaliarept," she whispered. "I only wanted to say good-bye."
"It's you who hurt me," he stated, forcefully where before he had always been demure. "I'm forever young, and now you'll make me watch you grow old, watch your beauty fade and your skills tarnish as you shackle yourself to a loveless marriage and a cold bed."
"It is the way of things," she breathed, but the fear in the back of her eyes strengthened as she touched her own face.
Her fondness for the mirror had always been her downfall, and he felt a surge of renewed excitement. "I will mourn your beauty when you could have been young forever," he said, looking for a crack in her resolve. "I would've forever been your slave." Faking depression, he slumped his perfect posture. "Only in the ever-after does time stand still and beauty and love last forever. But, as you say, it's the way of things."
"Gally, don't speak so," she pleaded, and he tensed when she used the nickname she'd chosen for him. But his lips parted in shock when she reached for him only to drop her hand mere inches from the barrier between them. His breath came in with a shudder, and his eyes widened. Had he been cracking the nut the wrong way? He had been trying to rattle her, make her lose her resolve so he could find a crack in her circle and break it, even knowing that her will would likely remain absolute even when her world was crashing down about her. She would not let her circle weaken, but what if she would take it down voluntarily? Ceri was of royal blood, a Dulciate. Generations of crown-sanctified temptation had created women who would not make a mistake of power. But she might make a mistake of the heart.