“I don’t care about either of your sordid pasts,” I assure him.

“You should. You are marrying me, after all.”

“To what do I owe this very unexpected pleasure?” I ask, changing the subject from his past conquests. “I haven’t ordered dinner yet, but I certainly could.”

“No, don’t bother. I’m here on official business. I won’t bother you for long.” But even as he says it, he shrugs off his jacket and throws it over a chair. Next he’ll pour a drink. Then he’ll avoid my questions. Our interactions here have become like clockwork.

“You aren’t bothering me,” I lie in a practiced tone that reeks of obedience and inferiority and all the things he craves from me.

Cormac reaches for his jacket and retrieves a thin box. “A gift for our upcoming engagement gala.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I say as I lift the lid to find a pair of shimmering black satin gloves.

“I’m told gloves are coming back into fashion, and my future wife should be the height of style.” He pulls at his bow tie, loosening it a little without taking it off.

“Thank you. They’re lovely.” I lay the box aside, knowing this isn’t why he came. He could have sent the gloves with my aesthetician. “Why are you here?”

“There are concerns for your safety within the Ministry,” Cormac says.

“You have me in total lockdown in a building reinforced by Arras-knows-what technology,” I remind him, pausing to allow him to contradict me. But when he doesn’t, I add, “I could go on.”

“That’s quite enough,” he says. “In order to keep public focus on the wedding, I will need you to travel. Therefore I’m bringing in someone to keep an eye on you … to protect you.”

“To watch me,” I correct him.

“Damn it, Adelice. Do you want to get killed?” He’s yelling at me, his fingers balling into fists, but all I can do is stare at him. Calmness sweeps over his face, and he continues in a slow voice. “Believe it or not, I don’t want you killed by some revolutionary.”

“You think the Agenda will kill me?” I ask, shaking my head at the ridiculous idea.

“The Agenda is unpredictable. I think they might try to take you away. Not only would that void our agreement, but it would also undo everything we’ve worked for.”

“You’re being overprotective,” I say, grinning at his choice of words. Even in private moments, Cormac is such a politician. But then he grabs my arm and shakes me so hard that my vision goes blurry.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he warns, cold fury creeping into his words.

I wrench myself away and stare at him, trying to focus. What was that about?

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I say.

His eyes remain furious but after a few minutes he calms down and showers me with a litany of apologies.

“So I’ll have my own guard?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve always wanted a guy in a suit to follow me.”

“Alixandra is hardly a guy,” he scoffs.

“Alixandra?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes.

“Did you think I’d leave you alone with a boy after what happened before?” he asks me.

He has a point. Not that I’m looking for romance at the moment. “I’m surprised you trust a woman with something as important as this.”

“Alixandra knows her place,” Cormac says. “Maybe you can learn a thing or two from her.”

“When do I meet her?” I ask.

“She’ll arrive tomorrow and then escort you to the gala at the end of the week. She will remain with you at all times.”

“Like when I go to the bathroom?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“Will she watch me sleep?”

“And floss your teeth, if I ask her to,” Cormac says, cutting off my questions. “You aren’t being cute, darling.”

“I’m not aiming for cute.”

“I won’t allow anyone to hurt you—not even yourself.”

“Then what about our deal?” I plead.

Cormac brushes off my objections and picks up his jacket. Before he leaves he says something I already know.

“Deals change.”

FOURTEEN

THE ENGAGEMENT GALA IS A TYPICAL GUILD affair right down to the flashing cameras and my choreographed entrance into the Northern Ministry on the purple carpet. Pressed linen tablecloths and structured flower arrangements are displayed carefully around a slate-gray dance floor. Even my gown had to be approved by Cormac in advance—a gray silk dress that skims my negligible curves and swishes in soft waves to my feet. It’s beaded with silver crystals in triangular patterns that accentuate my waist and catch the dim light in the hall. Martinis are passed on trays. I grab one immediately but put it down after I taste it.

“Don’t be wasteful,” Cormac says, motioning to the abandoned drink. He presses his hand against the small of my back.

“Cormac!” A tall woman in a wine-colored gown dashes over and throws her arms around him, startling us both.

“Dawna, how nice to see you,” he greets her smoothly as he pries himself out of her embrace. His eyes scan her vibrant dress, and then narrow. She must have broken his carefully articulated dress code.

“Your bride has such lovely taste,” she says as she motions to the ballroom filled with Cormac-style objects, and I realize she must not know him very well. Anyone who did would see this is all Cormac’s doing.