"I knew you'd come find me," Dorian said, a dangerously dashing grin on his face as he wrapped my hand into his elbow and pulled me to the edge of the dance floor. Under the cover of my skirts, I reached out a foot and sank the heel of my slipper onto his toes, in no mood to play games. His face remained impassive, but he jerked his chin up, his jaw muscle spasming.

"I'll thank you to release me," I said, grinding my foot even harder. Unfortunately for me, the music for the next dance was about to begin and Dorian seemed to have feet of stone. He tore his shoe out from underneath mine, effectively throwing me off balance and using the move to sweep me into his arms.

"I see you had quite the conversation with her Majesty," Dorian said, his hands like iron around my fingers. I struggled as best I could, craning my neck around in a search for a friend or acquaintance to assist me, but Dorian had backed me towards a corner of the dance floor that held nothing but unfamiliar faces.

"It's no concern of yours," I snarled, "Unhand me, you great brute."

"No, I don't think I will," he said, his eyes taking on that dangerous glint once again. I swallowed, glaring up at him. The music started and he dragged me into a waltz, while I did everything I could to ensure I stomped on his feet at every opportunity.

"I fear for you, Libby," he said as we danced, "Every time I see you, you seem to be in a fouler mood. The pressures of becoming a future queen are daunting, aren't they?"

I didn't dignify his statement with an answer, instead stomping on his foot once again. But my stone-footed dance partner pressed on.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if it all stopped?" Dorian asked.

"No," I snapped, only for some traitorous, honest corner of my mind to scream yes. My thoughts were in a turmoil, all the dark doubts I'd been trying so hard to ignore swirling around in a tempest of despair, fatigue, frustration, and worry. I hated that I did think it would be wonderful if I could get a proper night's rest without worrying what impossible task the queen would set for me the next day, or what cruel rumour Ashley would spread at breakfast. Thankfully, I was acutely aware that the words stirring up my mind were coming from Dorian Fletcher and that, tempting as they were, they surely veiled some more sinister motive.

"If only you weren't so terribly easy to read," Dorian chuckled, "My offer still stands, you know. I am still very much in need of a wife."

"I pity whatever poor soul ends up shackled to you for the rest of her days," I all but spat at him, the leer on his face enough to banish all consideration of his offer to end the queen's tyranny.

"Just as I'll pity you if you end up shackled to that throne, with her breathing down your neck until her dying day," Dorian drawled, "I must say that a tiara would make quite the beautiful manacle, but the palace walls would no doubt serve as a constant reminder of the wide world you gave up on so easily."

"Stop talking as if you know me," I said through gritted teeth, his words pushing my stomach to teeter on the edge of an infinite precipice.

This man I hardly knew had somehow just given voice to the very fear I'd buried down as deeply as I could. I'd hoped that particular fear would eventually shrivel and die in that dark corner of my mind, suffocated by my love for Andrew. But now that every evil thought I'd banished there along with it had resurfaced, I was keenly aware that it had only become more powerful as I attempted to ignore it, fed by the queen's bullying, in the dark recesses of my thoughts.

The future Dorian laid out for his bride, a future of travel and exploration, of adventure and excitement, was exactly the future I'd always envisioned for myself - a rootless existence fed by new experiences and memories rather than repetition and rote. The only problem was that the life I wanted was tied to a man I hated, while marrying the man I loved meant incarcerating myself in a gilded prison. 

"I think I've had quite enough of this dance," I said, feeling the bile rise into my throat. Dorian did nothing to stop me when I pulled away from him, dodging my way through the rest of the dancers to bolt for the terrace doors.

The cold winter air bit at my skin as my breath plumed out before me. I was shivering not from the temperature, but from the turmoil in my head. I paced on the terrace, attempting to force my thoughts back into proper order. I loved Andrew, which was why I was putting up with this. There was little more than a week left until his announcement. Once I could calm myself down sufficiently, I was going to go back in there and demand that he step in to defend me from his mother and whatever she had planned as punishment for my 'lackluster' research.

I was still pacing when the terrace doors opened and I whirled to face whatever fool had decided to interrupt me.

"Have you learned your lesson about dancing with Dorian Fletcher?" Andrew asked, his mouth quirked up into an I-told-you-so grin. But instead of softening my heart, it lit my temper.

"No, I learned my lesson about talking to your mother!" I snapped. Andrew blinked, taken aback. He watched me warily as I continued to pace, prowling like some captive wildcat.

"Libby, I-" he started, but there was no controlling myself now.

"Yes, yes," I snapped, "Go on and apologize, tell me there's only a few more days left and that I should stay away from the likes of Dorian Fletcher. Just one more thing to add to my growing list of forbidden activities. Perhaps I should just sit quietly in my room, staring at a wall until you or your mother tell me what to do and what to think!"

The words hung between us like a verbal slap, the muffled music from the ball only serving to further irritate my frayed nerves. He stared at me, his green eyes flicking briefly toward the ballroom windows before he seized my hand.

"Where are you taking me?" I demanded, hating that I loved the way his warm fingers felt around mine. I wanted to scream at him, not be seduced by his touch. He dragged me wordlessly across the terrace towards what I had assumed to be a bank of darkened windows. He pushed one of the frost-laced panes and a gust of warm air ruffled my skirts as the pane swung inwards. Andrew preceded me, drawing me towards the center of what I now realized was the winter garden, a greenhouse with a high, arching glass ceiling, the frost lines glittering in the moonlight overhead.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked, his fingers still around mine as I paused, spellbound by the winter garden. The air was warm and humid, heavy with the scent of flowers and fruit trees. Rosebushes wove around the glass walls, while a small ring of trees reached their branches up towards the bright ceiling, casting dappled moonbeam shadows on the ground.

"I don't want to do this any more," I said finally, my thoughts still roiling despite the tranquil, fragrant silence of the winter garden. The tears were brimming in my eyes, a mixture of frustration and despair in the sob I managed to choke down. Andrew had stilled, immobile as a statue as the invisible shutters slammed down over his green eyes, rendering them unreadable.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his gaze unblinking.

"I'm saying that I'd like to take the next week to be by myself, to collect my thoughts and do the things I want to do without being ordered about like a servant or constantly supervised from the moment I leave my suite," I said. Andrew said nothing, staring at me, the rapid rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was anything more than a statue.

"Please don't do this," he said eventually, breaking in the total silence that blanketed the pair of us. I swallowed, the plea in his voice like a knife to my heart.

"I need a few days away from all this, Andrew," I said, resting my hand on his cheek, "I love you, but I'm losing my mind here."

He closed his eyes and despite the amount of torment I'd been through because of my love for him, I hated myself for the pain I was inflicting on him.

"I can't give you the entire week, but I can make her stop for a day or two," he said, opening his green eyes to imploringly search mine. A little twinge of anger ignited in me.

"I'm putting up with so much, surely a week isn't too much to ask," I said, my expression hardening.

"It's not as simple as you make it sound," he said, shaking his head, something akin to panic in his eyes.

"Yes it is! All I'm asking is that you focus on your mother's other choices for a few days so the pressure isn't so stifling. If she sees you paying attention to Adelaide, Ashley, and Dulciana, she'll stop breathing down my neck," I snapped, "I'm not an idiot, Andrew, I know she's testing to see how far I can bend before I break, but I will never change into Adelaide Winters no matter how hard she pushes!"

"I don't want you to change! You're not Adelaide and you never will be and that's one of the reasons I love you!" he fired back, "How can you not see how strong you are? When faced with a difficult decision, you sacrificed your own freedom to hold true to the morals you so openly espouse. You impressed her, Libby!"

"You knew about Audra? About the maid uniform?" I demanded.

"Of course I did! I know about everything she's forced you to do," he said, at once dismayed and angry.

"Then why didn't you put a stop to it?" I demanded, ripping my hands away from him, "If you loved me, you'd protect me from her!"

"Because the things she's making you do, the sacrifices she's forcing you to make, they only get worse when we're married!" he said, his voice rising to meet mine.

Once again, the words hung between us, heavy as the fruit on the fragrant trees.

"Then I don't see how asking for a week to catch my breath and gather my wits is asking for too much," I said, the tears running hot trails down my cheeks now, "I need to remember what it feels like to be free before I throw the rest of my life into this regimented business of being the future queen."

"Throw away the rest of your life?" Andrew repeated in angry disbelief. I felt a little dart of despair, realizing that every word I spoke was driving an invisible wedge deeper between us. But I was too far down this path now to consider going back to suffering in silence.

"Not throwing it away, throwing myself into it!" I clarified, unable to keep the annoyance from my voice, "I'm not cut out to be queen Andrew, but I will give it my best try. I just need some time to compose myself before-"

"Before you're trapped in my palatial cage for the rest of your life," Andrew interrupted, running his hands through his hair. I watched as he turned away from me, his fists balling at his sides as he paced. His movements stirred the roses around him, their heady perfume stifling in the humidity.

"Is that the real reason? My mother? The pressure?" he demanded suddenly, rounding on me. I took a step back at the ferocity in his gaze.

"What are you asking?" I said slowly.

"I'm asking whether that damned Dorian Fletcher has anything to do with this!" he snapped. I narrowed my eyes, annoyed that he'd think I was foolish enough not to recognize Dorian for what he was.

"Do you really think I'm that fickle?" I demanded, "You said it yourself that you what I've been put through, how can you not believe me?"

"All I know is that you and Dorian keep dancing together and tonight he said something that sent you storming off into the winter night without so much as a cloak. Suddenly when I come chasing after you to make sure you're all right, you're asking me to leave you alone! It feels wrong, Libby. Something isn't right and I demand to know what it is!" Andrew said, his voice rising dangerously close to a shout.

"I'm asking you to give me some time to collect myself so I can face the constant barrage of attacks that is your mother!" I fired back, my own voice rising. We faced each other, my fists curled at my sides as I stared him down. He looked away first, his jaw muscle pulsing.

"Do you have any idea how this is going to look?" he demanded finally, massaging the bridge of his nose again.

"I don't care how it looks," I replied, "I need this, Andrew. I need time to gather my wits and be better prepared to face her!"

"They're going to say that-" he started, but I cut him off.

"I don't care what they're going to say! They're only words, they can't hurt us!" I snapped, "I care about you and I don't want this pressure to drive us apart!"

"Hasn't it already, though?" he asked quietly. The flash of hurt in his green eyes before he threw on that steely-faced expression of a king once again cut through the haze of my anger.

What was I doing? Why was I pushing him away when we were so close to freedom from this Season and its dreadful competition? My stomach tumbled in a panic, only to battle against my white-hot rising anger that insisted I follow through with the argument I'd started.

"I'm only asking for this because I love you and I know that if I keep pressing on, I'll start resenting you for it," I said, crossing to him to rest my hands on his shoulders. He rested his hands atop mine, unable to keep the pain from his face now that I was touching him.

"This is going to tie my hands, Libby," he said, fear in his eyes for the first time since I'd met him.

"Then I don't know what to do," I whispered, resting my forehead on his chest, "Because I can't go on like this, not without losing my mind."

"Then I'll find a way," Andrew said softly. I felt him press a kiss onto my head and I longed to hold on to this moment forever, to leave all the court behind and simply exist in this room for the rest of my life, my arms around the man I loved.