Sophie stumbled into Prince Theodred's room, her eyes wide, before he slammed the door behind her. "Want to explain this, Lady Mask?" He held up the mask he'd found only an hour ago. He wasn't sure how to feel about this. Surprised? Relieved? Sophie gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing. "It is yours, is it not? I found it in the passage leading into your sleeping chamber. Along with the cloak you wore to meet me last night."

A sharp pain burst across his cheek, accompanied by the sound of a smak.

He blinked, pressing his hand against his cheek. "Did you just...?!"

"How dare you go into my room and invade my privacy, you...you selfish wretch!"

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, getting louder and louder. Well, well, well. This was something!

He had annoyed and even even angered a few women in his past. His caviler ways weren't exactly the picture of honorable. But no one had ever slapped him for it.

Sophie held no such reservations about his title. She wasn't the demure little creature she appeared to be. No, that was just one facet of her.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. He took in her face anew, the bow shape of her rosy lips, the high cheekbones, her short brown hair. He'd never gotten a good look at Lady Mask's hair, always hidden beneath a hood. Otherwise he might have connected the dots sooner. She'd lopped off the long length to sit just at her shoulders, something most ladies didn't do.

"Gods, you're so painfully beautiful I can't look away," he managed, and he meant it. Her rage filled icy blue eyes widened. She hadn't expected that.

He took a step closer, and then another, until the tips of his boots touched the tips of hers, until he could all but feel every curve of her body against his. She didn't flee from him, standing her ground with her fists clenched at her sides. He lifted the mask, positioning it over her face. Holding it there. She stared at him through the eyeholes. His arm dropped, the mask tumbling to the ground.

Before he could think better of it, he cupped her face in his hands, carefully, gently, and brought his mouth to hers. She gave a tiny squeak of surprise. He waited for her to pull away. When she didn't, he deepened the kiss.

His entire body erupted as she melted against him, as her hands tangled in his tunic, then roamed to the hem and slipped beneath. The feel of her touch against his skin sent shivers everywhere. He groaned. Gods, this woman!

It wasn't just the way she made him feel. It was her. Everything she was. Sophie Lasker. Lady Mask. Rebel leader. All of these aspects wrapped up into one person. She'd turned on her own father, her own family, for a cause she believed in.

All of the pieces clicked into place.

Her tongue brushed up against his, bold and unapologetic. She kissed him the way Lady Mask traded words with him. He met her stoke for stroke.

His hands fisted in her hair, her soft hair, cradling her face to his. Holding her like she might run. He wouldn't stand for it, couldn't bear the thought of her retreating from him—

His door opened. "Oops! Godsdamn it."

Sophie stiffened and jerked backwards, trying to escape him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, caging her to him. "It's all right," he breathed against her ear, trying to sooth the racing heart he felt beneath his bicep. "Xander doesn't bite."

"You...we...I...I am betrothed!" Her face was flushed as she struggled to find words.

"That's never stopped the ladies before," Xander teased. His eyes darted down to the mask at the ground, then up to Sophie's face. Then he began to laugh. The door closed behind him. "Have you told the others?" he asked Theo.

"You can't!" Sophie gasped, rounding on him, or trying to. She couldn't exactly move. He tightened his hold, loving how she felt against him. Loving it so much, he was sure she'd feel just how much against her hip.

"Don't worry, you can trust us, sweetheart," he murmured. She tensed, then began clawing at him to push away. He let her go, chuckling. Perhaps she wasn't all too fond of the endearment.

"Theo's right." Xander grinned. "You need not worry about our companions knowing your little secret. You can trust us."

She took another step backwards and rubbed her temples, her complexion turning pale. "This is..." She shook her head. "This..."

Immediate concern flooded him and he rushed forward. "Are you all right? Is it your head?"

She dragged a hand over her eyes, then blinked at him. "I'll be fine." Her words were clipped. "Where does this leave us, Princeling?"

"Well..." He glanced at Xander.

"The others are on their way," Xander said. "I found the ledger I was looking for in Lasker's study. It's got all the proof that—"

"You broke into Lord Lasker's study?!" Sophie rounded on Xander. "Are you insane? No one gets in there, even I—how?!"

"Relax," Xander said, lifting his hands. "I'm a drengr, remember? I flew up to the balcony." Her mouth opened and closed. "Then it was just a matter of using some magic to get the door open."

Sophie put her hands against her cheeks, then turned and paced across the room before turning back to face them again. Then she began to laugh, deranged. She muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like a repetition of what Xander had just claimed. He'd never seen her so...unhinged.

"Soph, why don't you come and sit down," Theo found himself saying.

She stopped her laughing, then glanced at the sofa he pointed to. "I shouldn't be in here. Oh, gods! I'm engaged. I can't be in here unchaperoned. If someone finds out..."

"Well you're already here, and we won't let anyone find out. So...come and sit," he said. Her throat bobbed but she did as he asked. He resisted the urge to sit down beside her, to be close to her. "Are you in any pain? Can I get you something to drink?"

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "My head hurts, but...no. I'll manage."

He frowned, then strode across the room to the wine cabinet and grabbed a pitcher of water, pouring some into a kettle before setting it into the fire to warm. The others filed in while he was busy with the tea. He'd acquired some of it from the kitchens after waking up. The staff had confirmed that chamomile and orange peel was Sophie's favorite, to help with her headaches. He'd taken a few sachets back to his room, mostly to soak in their smell, to try and dissuade himself from outright accusing Sophie of what he'd suspected.

He took a cup of tea to her, handing it over. Her eyes widened and she glanced up at him.

"It is your favorite, is it not?" Her mouth opened, but then she merely nodded, taking it from him. "That's how I figured it out, you know. You taste and smell like chamomile. It's...delightful."

Her jaw dropped open. She scooted back against the sofa, as if trying to put distance between them, then cradled the cup against her lips and blew to cool the brew.

"So..." Fallon cleared his throat, taking stock of the situation. "I take it this is only a recent development, or we would have heard about it this morning?"

The others took up seats around the sitting area, perching on sofa arms. Idris had dragged one of the dining chairs over. Theo glanced around, taking in the empty seat next to Sophie, and decided to go for it. He sat closer than necessary, then splayed his legs until his knee was against her thigh. She went rigid. "Relax, Soph. I've already tasted your lips, my knee isn't going to hurt you."

"Gods, must you always talk like that?" Her cheeks burned red. "It's...vulgar."

He huffed. Then, just to prove his point, he spread his legs just a little wider, a little more comfortably, pressing into her thigh more firmly. She was already against the sofa's edge, so there wasn't anywhere else for her to go. "So, Xander, tell me about what you found in Lasker's study."

Xander launched into what was clearly an embellished version of his infiltration into Lasker's study. He outlined the ledgers he'd found, detailing exactly how much money Lasker was getting for his wood sales, and what he was spending the taxes on. It was everything they needed.

Fallon joined the discussion, explaining how he and Amil had gone to the lower levels of the keep, to the lord's archives, where he'd found a detailed copy of the trade agreement between Lasker and King Tristan. He outlined what he'd read, confirming what Theo had already gathered. It was everything they needed. Well, almost everything.

"So, we just wait to hear back from my father," he mused.

"Your father?" Sophie sat up straighter, turning towards him. She'd listened to the entire exchange in silence, with a curious expression.

"I wrote to him and explained what was going on. I requested a specific document from him."

"What...sort of document?" Her brows pinched together.

"One that strips Lord Lasker of his titles and land, and passes it to his children. Torin is of age. He seems the best candidate. Or you, if you would like the position."

Her mouth opened and closed. "Women don't hold titled positions."

"Maybe it's time to change that," he barked back.

"You're delusional if you think the people would accept me."

"Why not. Your rebels do."

"But they're rebels, Theo. Lasker's supporters, the nobility of this region, will never allow it. No. Besides, I do not want it. The position belongs to my brother; he's been groomed his whole life for it and I wouldn't take that away from him."

"So...what? You'd rather marry this Hawthorne fellow?" He scoffed, disguising the hot jealousy forming in the pit of his stomach. He had no right to claim Sophie. He knew that. And yet...the thought of her marrying someone else made him want to stab someone.

She snorted. "Hawthorne is a wise match, a logical match."

His jaw popped open. "You sound as if you actually want to marry him."

How could that be true? If she actually wanted to, she never would have kissed him back—twice. No, these words were stemming from something else.

"Why not? If not him, it will be some other wealthy merchant or other. At least he's good to look at," she added, sipping her tea.

"Good to...good to look at?!" he all but roared.

"Should we give you two some privacy—" Xander cut in. They ignored him.

"Not all of us have the luxury of finding mates and falling in love," she spat.

Oh. Ohhh. Was that was this was about?

"Sophie, there's no law that requires you to marry. Your brother will be lord soon, surely—"

"Oh my gods, you are delusional! Noble women don't just...go unmarried if they feel like it," she cried. "It isn't done!"

He frowned, trying to think of the nobles he knew back at court. She had a point. All of them married, usually before the age of twenty. He didn't know a single unmarried noble woman except those who were widows.

He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to compose himself. This was not how he wanted things to be between them—all but shouting at each other. He'd nearly forgotten the others. They sat about watching with varying amounts of glee, pure glee, written on their faces. They were clearly entertained by the spectacle, even if he wasn't.

"I don't want you to marry him," he growled, before he could help himself.

Her jaw rocked back and forth. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but my marriage is none of your concern. We settle the matter of my...of Lord Lasker, and then you can be on your way. Back to your...to your parties and frivolity. Isn't that what you wanted?" she asked. He clenched his jaw but said nothing. When it was evident he wouldn't answer, she said, "How long?"

"For what?" he snapped.

"Until we receive the documentation from your father?"

"Oh." He grunted, trying to calm his ire. "A week, two at the most. Longer than ideal, but I find that suddenly I don't altogether mind prolonging my stay here to wait. Maybe I can convince you that you're making a poor choice in marrying Hawthorne, when you'd rather be kissing me."

"Enough!" she cried, her face reddening. "Enough. We are not speaking of my marriage. Drop it."

"Fine," he bit out.

"There are other matters that require our attention," she said.

"Like what?" he scoffed. He wasn't keen on changing the subject.

"Like all those people who rely on the rebellion for what they need. Or is my upcoming marriage more important than our actual people's needs?"

His mouth opened and closed. He could say nothing to argue. "What do you have in mind?"

"It will be weeks before your father's document arrives. I cannot just sit back and do nothing while we wait. Not when my people—our people—need us." He considered her words, pushing aside his irritation. "I know you asked me to cease all raids while you handled this, but we do not have that luxury. If I send my operatives out on another mission, are you going to interfere?"

Fallon laughed and said telepathically, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Princeling?"

"I think so," he confirmed, putting aside his frustration. This was bigger than his personal feelings. He could ignore the wedding, for now, if it meant making Sophie happy in other ways. "I'll do you one better, sweetheart," he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "I'll help you get everything you need."

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