The full moon stared down at him with a knowing, accusatory glare as Marin made his way up the winding path to the monastery. All his adrenaline had drained away, and now he just felt empty. Dirty. Exhausted.

Her lips had been unimaginably soft. A perfect mix of sweet and salty, hard and gentle. It had been everything he had ever imagined, yet nothing at all how he expected. And now that it was over, and he was left with memory rather than fantasy, it almost felt like a part of him had been extinguished.

When he reached the arching stone gate, he gave it a kick, causing a sharp pain to shoot up his leg. This place, which was his sanctuary, had also become his prison. Without this home, who would he be? Not himself, that was for sure. He'd likely still be using the same name his mother used to call him. The one he tried to erase from his memory. But maybe at least he'd be free to love.

With a deep sigh and one more long look at the sharp scowl from the moon, Marin approached the monastery's entrance.

He felt like a child, tiptoeing up the stone-cut stairs and down the dark hallway. He hadn't been out this late unaccounted for since the night of his fourteenth birthday, when he and his older brother, Hobson, had made the foolish decision to celebrate by stealing a skin of wine and going night-swimming in the pond. After spending the whole next day vomiting, he'd sworn to never again disobey his parents.

Tonight he'd been a fool, just like he had been all those years ago. At nearly twenty-five, he should no longer be making such juvenile mistakes.

After he reached the landing, Marin quietly opened the thick oak door that led to the room he shared with his father, Hobard. Miraculously, no one had spotted him upon his return.

But as he shut the door behind him, his father's thin voice greeted him from the darkness, "You've been out late."

Marin, frozen, could only respond, "I am sorry to wake you. I hope you weren't worried."

"You're grown, and I know you can take care of yourself, but, well, you know how I am," he said, sitting up so Marin could make out his face in the moonlight.

Marin knew. He knew that as an awkward child, uncomfortable in his role, in his skin, that his father was the one who protected him from taunts, bandaged the cuts and scrapes Marin had gotten when running away from bullies, and had scolded him that night he disappeared with his brother. At least tonight he wasn't slinking back in soaked and stenching of wine.

"I'm sorry, father, I–"

"I know, my child."

"Well, I brought you home a package from the apothecary. The balm smells of basil, your favorite."

His father thanked them, and then tiredly remarked how they should get some rest. Marin didn't argue. He changed into his nightclothes and lay down on his cot, his mind swirling with threads of lust, shame, guilt, and confusion.

The next morning was no better. His head would not settle. Like a puddle in a rainstorm, the granules of his thoughts kept stirring, clouding the waters of his mind. He could not make sense of everything that had occurred the night before. So, he did the only thing he could do. He went on as normal.

Except that when he was in town a few days later, instead of going to Greggory's tavern for a midday meal, he asked Tilly if there was a place that she recommended. And, when walking the streets, he took detours to avoid the tavern. There was no way he could face Jocelyn. Or even Blanche. His joints became stiff when he contemplated what he would say if he saw one of them.

Almost four weeks passed like this. A blur of forced normalcy that he was slowly becoming accustomed to. It was another warm spring morning. The birds chirped and flew happily about the garden outside his window. He had just had his hair cropped and his sideburns shaved. His smooth cheeks and delicate features always made him look younger than his years, but the slap of aftershave balm always helped him feel more masculine. He leaned against the window, waiting for his father to finish up tying on his robes so they could head down for the morning meal when he saw something strange. Greggory was walking through the garden below. Marin blinked, not believing his eyes, but sure enough, it was Greggory. The man was walking with purpose, leaving the monastery and heading back toward town.

Marin barely had time to register what this might mean when there was a knock on the door.

"Hobard, Marin, are you in?" came the high-pitched voice of Edwin, one of the young pages who worked for Abbot Osbert.

"Yes, Edwin," Hobard responded while opening the door.

"Hello, brother, Abbot Osbert has requested an audience with your son, Marin," the formality of the boy's words seemed incongruent with his youthful appearance, and caused a drip of ice to melt down Marin's spine.

"I'll follow you directly," Marin answered with a shiver.

Hobard raised his brows at his youngest child. Marin hadn't told him about his night with Jocelyn. Hadn't had a chance to mention seeing Greggory leaving The Order's estate. But there was no time for confessions now, so Marin departed, following the boy down the hallway and leaving his confused father behind.

Abbot Osbert's office was enormous and covered in ornate decorations. Marin had rarely been in this room before, and he couldn't help but gape at the gold-gilded paintings that hung from the dark wood-paneled walls. The shelves crammed with books with tall spines and gold lettering and thickly bound tomes with intricate designs and symbols.

An imposing oak desk dominated the center of the room, and behind it, Abbot Osbert sat in a tall-backed chair with red-velvet cushioning. The Abbot did not stand when Marin was ushered into the room. He only gestured at a sturdy wooden chair that sat opposite him.

Marin walked forward, his head hung respectfully low.

"Sit," the Abbot ordered.

Marin sat.

"Tell me, do you know why you are here?" the older man asked, a subtle accent colored the edges of his baritone voice.

"No," Marin lied, his eyes beginning to rim with tears.

"Greggory, the tavern owner, just delivered some disturbing news. His daughter, Jocelyn, is pregnant." He paused. Marin felt his heart stop beating. The pennyroyal tea. It was true, then. "And she says you are the father."

Marin looked up, confused. Yes, he had kissed her back, but he knew enough about animal husbandry to know that a kiss was not required to conceive a baby. In fact, his malformed body lacked the necessary ingredients. Lacked any manhood at all.

Not that Jocelyn had realized that.

Marin said nothing, but the look of disbelief must have been apparent on his face. The Abbot continued, "Greggory reported that he saw you exiting Jocelyn's bedroom several nights ago. Your clothes looked disheveled."

The thoughts in Marin's head were spinning faster than he could comprehend. He could barely hear what else Abbot Osbert was saying. But then he heard, "and she said you forced yourself upon her."

Bile crept up Marin's throat and he had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting all over the Abbot's imported woven rug. He looked down at his hands. His thin and scrawny fingers. Wrists thin as saplings. Who would believe that he was strong enough to do overpower someone else, even a woman? And worse, who would believe that he was evil enough to do such a vile thing?

"So, what do you say for yourself?" the Abbot asked.

Marin looked up. There wasn't much malice in the man's voice. Maybe the Abbot wasn't convinced by Greggory's story. Didn't think that Marin was capable of such a horrid deed, either in character or in physical strength. But he couldn't respond.

Why had Jocelyn made such an accusation? If she was with child, it didn't take a genius to figure out who the actual father was? Why not just marry Albert and claim she conceived on her wedding night? No one would be the wiser.

But if she had accused him instead of Albert, there had to be a reason. Hadn't there? And if Marin loved her, maybe this was a sacrifice he could make for her.

"I am guilty of lust," Marin whispered.

There was a pause. "Lust?" the Abbot repeated. "It takes more than simple desire to make a child. Did you force yourself upon her?"

Marin couldn't say the words. He had done nothing of the sort. But to reveal the truth, to reveal his body's inadequacies, was also too heavy a price to pay. Not only would this admission strip him of his maleness, what about his father? Would they punish him for keeping Marin's secret?

So, instead of answering, Marin sat with his head lowered and wept.