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even if he were like all others. He had the body of a soldier, fit and strong and kissed by the sun. His visage was not pretty; it was not even and soft enough to be called pretty. Instead, his face was masculine and handsome, with calculating eyes, a blade of a nose, and a mouth that was wide and hard and interesting. The line of his jaw was as bladelike as his nose, and she had been so tempted to touch him there— even knowing that such a touch would mark him for death. His black hair was almost as long as her own. Instead of being straight it waved wildly, even though he had most of it restrained behind his head with a silver clip. She had very much wanted to run her fingers through the wild and curling strands.
    Sanura tossed her head and tried to shake off her interest in the prince just as she shook off the foolish notion that what she wanted mattered in any way. She would do well to stay away from one who battled with darkness, no matter how he intrigued her.
    As she crossed the camp to the tent Paki and Kontar had erected for her, she decided to maintain a distance from Prince Alixandyr for the remainder of their journey. Princess Edlyn was a difficult companion, but perhaps it would be better to deal with the disdain of a simple woman than to be washed in the complexities of a man who made her wonder about things she should not.
    She had been too long alone, that was the reason for her confusion. If Zeryn were still alive, if his blasted brother had not given her to the King of Tryfyn as a gesture of goodwill, then she would not be faced with such a dilemma. After her period of training, Zeryn had purchased her. She’d been pleased, as he was kind and handsome and a good provider. They’d had four years together, and she’d expected that she’d spend her entire life as his, treasured and pampered and devoted to him who possessed her. Life had other plans for her, it seemed, as Zeryn had died much too soon and his brother had decided she’d make a nice diplomatic gift for a leader of the new world which had so recently been discovered.
    The women of the Agnese were not meant to live alone. They were not meant to forever sleep alone, to pass the nights in solitude in a too-quiet room or a too-small tent.
    They were not meant to hunger for that which was, by right, theirs. Warmth, pleasure, companionship, they were all meant to be hers. Instead, she passed each day and night with no one but her keepers and two surly maids for company. No one treasured her. No one wanted her.
    Her eyes were drawn to the sentinel who hid such hostility beneath a constant smile and easy banter. Even from a distance, she saw who he truly was. She felt it, was assaulted by it. She wanted to believe that Prince Alixandyr was right and the man was merely a soldier whose life was touched with violence, but in the pit of her soul she knew better.
    Vyrn caught her looking at him, and in a shy manner that was unlike her, Sanura turned away when their eyes met. Deep down, she shuddered. She’d do well to steer clear of that one. She did not sense that his hatred was aimed toward her, but she could not be certain. Her gift was not one of absolutes, but was based on emotion and spirit and possibilities.
    The prince was not far behind her, and Sanura wondered if anyone in the camp wondered that they had come from the same direction, not so long apart. They would know that he had not touched her. The blue was easily transferred from skin to skin, even though it was not at all easy to wash away. If he had touched her, everyone who saw him would know.
    And as far as they were concerned, there was no reason for the prince to have anything to do with her if he could not touch her.
    Sanura watched as the sentinel who concerned her walked to his prince and said a few words. She wondered if the prince would betray her confidence and tell his soldier what she suspected. What she knew. Their conversation was short, and the sentinel did not seem alarmed.