ETAN
Etan lay in his bed, eyes wide and aching with tiredness, but sleep had never been further out of his grasp. He couldn't breathe without thinking of Ayleth and the pain she was in.
He had been forced to stay for the ball, dancing attendance on Sarya until well after midnight. It had been perhaps the most painful few hours of his life, watching himself deceive and manipulate an innocent woman, his parents, hers…
And through it all, the vision of Ayleth—her back stiff and straight, hair quivering with her tension. The malicious glare of Falek. The image of Ayleth comforted, protected, guided by other men, their hands supporting her, their assurances whispered in her ear, when it should have been his. It should have been his!
