Meya woke to a throbbing pain in her head and a lump on the side of her neck. She tried to lift her head, but her brain began swinging drunkenly like a slowing top. Fuzzy yellow lamplights on stone pillars grew pointy blades like jousts and stabbed at her eyes.

Just as she was about to give up and go back to sleep, a shrill voice pierced her ears, adding to her torture.

"Arinel!"

Warm, soft hands squeezed hers. Blurry faces popped one after another into her field of vision, then gradually sharpened.

Baroness Sylvia sat on a bedside chair to her right. Baron Kellis stood behind her. Coris stood across from them to Meya's left, red-faced and panting. Zier leaned against a bedpost, arms crossed. Lady Arinel and Gretella were kneeling beside the bed.

They all looked pale and careworn, except for Coris.

"What's up with me?" Meya croaked.

There was a rustling of long robes, then Bishop Riddell's hulking frame entered the scene.

"Lord Coris said you two were in the Town Hall when a wooden beam broke and fell towards him. You pushed him out of harm's way and took the blow."

Meya blinked, eyes wide. She did remember walking up the stairs with Coris, but everything after that was still nothing.

"You might have trouble recalling it now. Your memories should come back gradually," said Riddell as if he'd heard her unspoken concerns. He frowned, his voice grave,

"You were extremely lucky, my Lady. The beam must have landed on the side of your neck, so you simply fell unconscious. Had it landed directly on your nape, you could've died or been crippled for life."

Died or crippled for life?

A wave of chill rushed down Meya's spine. She felt Coris tense up.

"How did the beam break? Was it old? Was it because of the earth-shake?" She asked. The tremors seemed to have infected her voice somehow.

"Earthquake." Zier corrected under his breath.

"Yeah, that." Meya waved a feeble hand, too groggy to be annoyed, "Was that it?"

Riddell pursed his lips and turned hesitantly to Coris, who was staring daggers at his father. Coris spared the healer a glance, then picked up right where the fight left off,

"You heard him, Father. She could've died. She could've been crippled. Today it was her. Tomorrow, it could be anyone. Anywhere. We must approve the repairs. We need metal. The Ban must be lifted!"

"Coris, your wife has just woken up after risking her life for you, and you're yelling over her head at me about godforsaken roof beams?"

Baron Kellis heaved a weary sigh. Coris bit his lips and fell silent, still glaring at his father. Baron Kellis narrowed his eyes,

"You're not Baron Hadrian. I shall deal with the matter myself. You're to tend to your wife until she recovers fully. Is that clear?"

Coris said nothing. Kellis repeated louder,

"Is that clear, Coris?"

"Crystal, my lord." Coris replied through gritted teeth, but the Baron didn't seem to want to extend the fight. After another sigh, he swept towards the door, signaling Bishop Riddell to hastily whisper an apology and dismiss himself with a quick bow.

Arinel surreptitiously patted Meya's hand, then rose and followed Gretella outside. The Baroness met Coris's eyes miserably and shook her head, then beckoned Zier over to help her to her feet.

The instant the door closed behind them, Coris slumped on the bed edge. He slouched there and skulked for a moment, then swung up his legs and turned to Meya. He caressed her cheek, his fingers trailing past the bulge on her neck as he leaned down and kissed her.

"I'm sorry. Thank you for saving me." He whispered as their lips parted, "How are you feeling?"

Meya managed a one-shoulder shrug and a grimace, too tired and dazed to summarize her pathetic state into words. She felt like Coris's default morning mood—low energy, ridiculously calm, always ready to sleep until lunchtime tomorrow.

"What were you two going on about?" She flapped her hand, gesturing feebly between the door and her husband. Coris sighed,

"Last time the Town Hall was repaired was thirty years ago. We planned to do repairs again this year, but then ore ships start disappearing and resources became short, so Father kept delaying it."

"Bailiff Mansfuld's men found a leak on the roof over the beam that broke. Our rainwater comes from Neverend Heights, so it's very acidic. It probably ate away at the wood over the years, and today's earthquake finally snapped it free."

Meya's eyes glazed over as she processed the alchemy-laden explanation with what little brainpower she could muster.

"Are there any more leaks? What about those people working in the Town Hall?"

"No one else was hurt this time, thankfully, but we must vacate the building until the masons made sure there's no more danger."

Meya wondered how long it would take before anyone would dare set foot into that manor again (herself included). Coris slid off the bed and walked to his study desk.

"Anyway, you should tell your father what happened." He swiped a stack of letters from his desk and strode back, "Letters from Crosset arrived today. Here."

He pulled the topmost letter from the twine-tied stack and handed it to her. Large letters were scrawled onto the back of the letter in charcoal.

"Thanks."

Meya took the letter, flipped it over then cracked the seal. Had her brain been at full working capacity, she would probably have noticed the seal was the tusked whale of Jezia's clan, not Arinel's snow fern.

Meya pulled out the scrap of parchment and pretended to read the charcoal scribble that looked much like Jezia's handwriting. Strange. Why would Lord Crosset use scraps and charcoal? Was he that much of a miser? Eh, wouldn't put it over him, though.

Stolen novel; please report.

"You can't read, can you?"

Coris's calm, cool voice pierced Meya's reverie like a pebble hitting the rock bottom of a deep, yawning chasm. Meya froze as she struggled through the fog clouding her brain to make sense of the developments. She turned slowly around and found sharp gray eyes on a handsome face so pale and cold it could have been carved marble. Her trembling hands grew numb with cold.

How does he know I can't read? How long has he known? What else does he know? What is he getting at? What does this mean?

The room fell colder as the clock ticked, as if Coris had drawn heat from the air with every breath he took.

"That letter is from Jezia Boszel, addressed to Meya Hild. That happens to be your real name, isn't it?"

Meya pursed her lips tight, even as her tongue felt so stiff she wasn't sure she could say anything anyway. She slithered out of the blankets and down the bed, landing on unsteady feet.

Coris circled the four-poster bed towards her.

"I am not going to harm you." He held up two pale, spider-like hands. They were empty. "If I had meant to, I would've done it long since."

"Long since?" Meya scoured his wraith-like silhouette for the bulge of a sword hilt, the gleam of a dagger. She bent her knees and relaxed her feet, ready to flee at a split-second's notice, "Since when have you known?"

"I haven't." Coris shrugged, his serene eyes catching Meya's every twitch. "I simply had a hunch, right from the first night, which I gradually confirmed."

Coris slipped his hand down his trouser pocket, then produced a coin on a thong that gleamed rainbow in the firelight. Meya slapped her neck. Where the Lattis coin should have been was naked skin.

Since when...or was it when he...kissed me?

The revelation unnerved her. She'd sat there talking with him about godforsaken roof beams, not realizing her eyes were glowing like ghostly bonfires. Coris had said he wouldn't harm her. He'd saved her life even when he suspected she was an impostor. Still, the notion that he had been biding his time, silently observing her while playing the gentle lover, made him seem as intimidating as Gillian...perhaps even worse.

Never underestimate Coris Hadrian.

She understood now what Arinel meant, and the thought of what could have been scared her out of her mind. What if she hadn't changed sides and gone through with the heist? What if Coris had decided she was an enemy? What else did he lie about? What else was an act?

It pained her to think that hours ago, they were simply good friends sharing snacks, swapping tales and enjoying May Day. To think that just last night they had made love so passionately and then lain side by side sharing heartfelt talk, but was there any truth in what they had?

No. There wasn't any truth. It was all a lie. She should never have forgotten since she had started it. Coris was simply playing along. It was her fault she had begun to believe it would actually last.

Swallowing the bitter taste squeezed up from her constricted chest, Meya gathered her courage and her wits and began negotiating,

"Milord, you've had plenty of time to confront me, but you waited until now. You had plenty of time to kill me, but you haven't. You had plenty of time to set me free, but you haven't. What exactly do you want with me?"

Coris's pale, chapped lips stretched into a slight grin.

"I abhor killing." He said, "I've seen the real Arinel is alive. I know you mean us no harm. There are other ways we can deal with this that will benefit the both of us. But first, I want to know your demands."

"Demands?" Meya blinked cold sweat out of her eye, "I just want me life."

"And where will you go after I spare your life? Home to Crosset?" Coris raised an eyebrow in mild interest. Meya froze, then gathered herself. She shook her head,

"Of course not, milord. Me family will be fuller this winter without me hogging on their bread. 'Tis why me Dad sold me off in the first place."

A hollow feeling curled in her stomach, but Meya wasn't being sarcastic. How could she go home like this? Kicked out of her post with her virginity lost? Dad would bury her alive if he ever found out. Plain and lowly as she was, who'd ever believe she'd lain with Lord Hadrian?

"Where will you go, then?"

Meya forced down the shivers as she wracked her brain. Jezia's letter crinkled in her fidgeting hand.

That's right! Jezia! I can travel with Jezia's caravan and become a merchant!

Her giddy happiness vaporized just as swiftly as the sinking realization hit her.

No, Jason will never allow it. He'll definitely tattle to Dad.

Sighing glumly, Meya shrugged,

"Somewhere far, I guess. I'll pay a merchant's caravan to get me far from here. So you won't ever have to worry about me talking."

"And what next?" Coris still won't let her off the hook. Meya squirmed. Why in Fyr's name was he so interested? Would her future life goals affect her odds of escaping punishment?

"What would you do for a living once you're there? It's not easy getting a Residence or Landholder permit as a lone woman. You'd be forced into prostitution in the end."

Prostitution?

Meya's eyes nearly bulged. Goodly Freda, Dad would skin her alive if she even had the thought.

"Oh, I don't think I'll ever be that desperate, milord." Meya waved hastily, having guessed why Coris was so interested in her life after Hadrian,

"You dun have to worry about turning a woman away to fend for herself, milord. I can gamble and swindle. I can hunt and forage. I dun need a piece of parchment to tell me where to live and how to earn bed and bread."

"It's not easy living as an outlaw. Especially as a lone woman as young as you, without a single Latt to her name." Coris's argument remained chillingly grounded in reality. Meya bit her lips in fear. "Would you rather be gored by bears and hogs or be raped, robbed or killed in a back alley?"

They locked eyes, calm silver upon wavering green. Meya broke away, picking at a loose thread on her nightdress.

Coris was right. She couldn't survive on the streets, far on the other side of Latakia. But she couldn't go home like this, either. She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. Even if she left Hadrian alive, she had no idea what to do after. Perhaps, all she could do was walk on and hope for the best.

For the first time in her life, Meya felt as if she were alone in the three lands. It wasn't that she was never alone. Even when surrounded by three brothers, three sisters, and a few friends, she was always somewhat alone inside.

But at the least, she had a home and a family she could return to at the end of the day. No matter how unwelcome she might feel, something was still there for her. And now, there was nothing.

Coris sighed.

"Pride will only destroy you," He said, more gently now, "Wouldn't it be wiser to go home—and marry, if your family didn't accept you back?"

Meya hitched up a rueful grin, trembling hands twisting the fabric of her nightdress.

"No man would want a Greeneye. Not even her father. And I'm not a maiden no more, remember?"

Coris's eyes widened in horrified realization as silence fell tense between them. Crosset was much more set in the old ways than Hadrian. The village's elderly women had ways to determine if a bride-to-be was still a maiden. Should she fail the test, her punishment would be severe, elaborate and humiliating. Paraded around town and whipped, probably.

"Of course I remember." Coris snapped. Meya forced out a wry, bitter grin. Cursing in an undertone, Coris drifted closer.

Meya couldn't bear to meet his eyes. It wasn't that she blamed him. She'd chosen by herself. She had no one to blame but herself. And she wouldn't have it any other way. Rather make your own mistakes and suffer the consequences than let someone else point out the right choices for you. At least, this time, she had that choice. He hadn't taken it away. For that, she would always be thankful.

Meya knew from the start that Coris would never truly be hers, that this life would not last, but she hadn't expected the dream to end so soon, so abruptly. It was just too much to handle for now. She needed more time to cope.

"I'm so sorry. I really shouldn't have lain with you." Coris whispered, tender and flowing with guilt. Meya swallowed hard as her heart writhed.

"You gave me the choice, milord. Something few men in your place would have done." She shook her head with a melancholic little smile, even as she stifled tremors from her limbs and her voice,

"You and Lady Arinel are gracious and noble. 'Twas an honor to serve the both of you, no matter how short. I dun regret everything that happened here. I did everything I could to keep us alive. And if someone would remember me for that, just for a little while, 'tis all worth it."

As Coris looked on, Meya unpinned the ruby brooch, pulled off her wedding band, and laid them on the bed.

"I believe these belong to your real wife, milord." She laughed, then solemnly offered her last farewell,

"I wish you health and happiness, milord. I'm glad we can part on friendly terms. Me time here is up. I shall be on me way."

Meya bent her knees into the most graceful curtsy she could manage. Steeling herself against fear, she turned to the stone arch painting, which hid a secret passageway to the scullery.

"Meya—Meya Hild."

Coris's call halted her feet. It was the first time he'd ever addressed her by her name—her real name.

Meya turned around. Coris still stood by the bed, half his face a silhouette backlit by the moonlight streaming through the open window, the other half bathed by the flickering, reddish glow of the fireplace. For a breath, the air stood still, silent save for the crackles and sputters of the fireplace. Then, his lips moved,

"I am going to give you a choice."