Selena dared not move.
Beside her, Latimer gasped. She felt the bed shift as he sat upright. Lying with her back to him, she pretended to be asleep. While her body was perfectly still, however, every fiber of her being remained on edge, ready to leap from the bed and run—or attack—depending on what Latimer did next.
During the long stretch of silence, Selena felt the wizard’s eyes on her. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he know what she had done?
“Selena?” he whispered.
She did not reply, was not even sure she could have. Her mind was paralyzed by the portent of what she had done and what she had discovered. When Latimer rested a hand on her shoulder, she flinched.
“Selena,” Latimer repeated a little louder.
“What is it?” Selena said in a weary voice that was not entirely feigned.
“I…I do not know exactly,” he said. “I just…”
Selena gathered up all of her courage and rolled over to face him. “You have been tossing and turning all night. You must have had a nightmare.”
In the lightless room, Latimer’s eyes looked darker than ever. She wanted to shove him away. She imagined raking her fingernails down his handsome face.
Instead she ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him on the cheek.
“Go back to sleep,” she said and rolled onto her other side.
Though her mind was hazy with fatigue, she remained awake until Latimer settled and the slow, even rhythm of his breaths lulled her into a deep but troubled sleep.
* * *
Selena did not care for the intense expression on Latimer’s face. Once, the man had spoken of their relationship in metaphorical terms. Not anymore. He had proposed to her, and she could stall no longer.
“I know this is an incredibly important decision, Selena, but only your heart can provide the answer,” he said. “You either love me or you do not, so which is it?”
He did not raise his voice, but there was no mistaking his impatience. Latimer had plans, and she was not cooperating. He had told the High Masters he needed another week to finish teaching her about potions. Tomorrow the extension would expire, and Latimer would have to return to the Seminary, bearing one message or another.
“I do love you,” Selena acquiesced, and she was not lying. Love was no longer the issue. The problem was she did not know how much of her fondness for the wizard was a consequence of true emotion and how much was the effect of the forbidden enchantment.
What difference does it make? an inner voice argued. He makes you happy. You want to be with him. Remove the ring from the equation, and things can return to normal between the two of you. What made you think love was something you could control in the first place?
But a second angrier voice objected: Latimer is manipulating you! Who can say how many lies he has told, knowing you would blindly accept them as truth? You have never seen the Seminary or met anyone else from the Assembly of Magic to corroborate his stories. What kind of future could you share with someone you cannot trust?
Selena knew that the right thing to do was refuse Latimer. But what frustrated her even more than her lover’s deception was that her heart broke every time she thought of a future without him.
Latimer tapped a perfectly trimmed fingernail against his wine glass as he waited for her to elaborate on “I do love you.” She could not bring herself to look at him, fearing he might evoke the power of the charm ring to make up her mind for her.
Moreover, she was afraid that looking him in the eye would have the same effect as the talisman.
“Could you pour me some wine?” she asked suddenly, sneaking a glance at him.
Latimer sighed but obeyed. “I do believe,” he said, uncorking the bottle that was ever within reach, “this is the first time I have heard you request wine.”
Selena took the proffered goblet by its thin stem and held it aloft. “I would like to propose a toast.”
Latimer topped off his own glass and held it up beside hers. “Go on then.”
Looking through the wine glass, both Latimer’s beguiling eyes and the accursed ring appeared as red as blood.
She swallowed a lump in her throat and said, “To my future husband.”
“Here, here!” Latimer answered with an exuberant laugh. “And to my beautiful bride-to-be!”
The fragile goblets met with a clink. Selena emptied her glass at once. The taste made her stomach squirm—even four years after her coming-of-age ball—but she immediately asked for another.
Latimer was all too happy to comply. He was in a mood to celebrate. And why not? He had gotten what he wanted.
He had won.