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Otherworld once again, seeking his fortune, hoping to stave off the argument till later. He hadn’t bothered to mention the incident to Camille, hoping to keep her from worrying. But neither had he counted on how cagey his mother was. And his mother had decided to take matters into her own hands. She had sent a messenger to Camille, telling her about the impending marriage, making it sound like Trillian had agreed. And she had informed Camille that she could never expect to be anything but Trillian’s lower-caste mistress.
    And now, here they were.
    Camille stared at him, tears trailing down her face. “I never expected to be monogamous—I don’t know if I can be. But I will never settle for playing second fiddle. And I will never live in a house that considers me a common whore.”
    Trillian reached out to wipe away the tears but she flinched. “I have no intentions to marry Rona. Or any other woman except you. But I can’t live here either, not with your father’s scorn. Come away with me. We’ll make our home somewhere free from family and duty.” Even as he said it, he knew it was a death knell to their relationship, because he knew Camille.
    She straightened her shoulders. As she wiped her eyes, her expression slid into a mute, painful acceptance. “You know I can’t do that. I have my sisters to look after—Menolly is still finding her way. It’s been almost eight years, but she still feels lost. And Father won’t accept her as she is—even though he keeps quiet, its obvious he still feels he lost a daughter. Delilah needs me too. Kitten can’t keep things together like I do—she doesn’t realize how deep our father’s pain goes, and I don’t want to dump all of that on her shoulders. I want her to be free and happy as long as she can be. I am—”
    “A guardsman’s daughter,” Trillian interrupted. He knew the routine. He knew that duty had been driven into Camille’s head since she was barely able to speak. And after her mother died, he also knew that Sephreh had made her the workhorse—pinned the success of the household on her. Big shoes for a little girl to fill, and she never quite managed to her father’s liking. “I know, love. I know. I’ve heard it so many times I think I can recite it in my sleep.” Even though he didn’t mean it to come out snarky, it did. Apparently that was exactly the wrong thing to say.
    Camille slowly stood. “Trillian, you’ve always lived by your own rules. But you know who I am, and you know I can’t. Why are you still here?”
    Trillian desperately wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Some words cannot be unsaid, and he’d crossed the line. Her family was fucked up—there was no denying that—but he knew that the only way Camille managed to deal with the pain—with the loss of her mother and the way her sister had been turned and abused—was to put duty and honor at the forefront. It kept her going, it gave her something to hold onto because, the gods knew, there wasn’t much else for her to lean on.
    “I’m so sorry…” He fumbled for words.
    “How many times have we done this?” She slowly crossed to the bed where her cloak was lying, neatly folded. “How many times have we had this argument? And if it wasn’t Rona, it was always something else that set it off.”
    “Camille—don’t do anything you’d regret. Please, calm down.” Trillian tried to embrace her, but she held out her arm.
    Her eyes gleaming and wet, she gave him a soft look. “Don’t you think it’s time we just called it for what it is? A giant mistake.”
    “We’re magically bound. You can’t just walk out on me. I love you, and you love me. Can you deny it?” He was desperate now, wishing to hell he could have kept a hold of his tongue. And he wanted to lash his mother. The bitch had totally fucked things up.
    But Camille just let out a strangled laugh. “Isn’t that the most painful rub of all? No, I can’t deny my love. I can’t forget you.