And because I understand how it feels to have the foundation you built your life on get ripped away from you, I owe it to Rachel, too.

The Commander now stands behind Rachel’s chair, gripping its back with bloodless fingers. He’s beginning to look close to his seventy-odd years. His skin is worn and thin, and wrinkles score the backs of his hands. Still, his frame is muscular, and he moves with the steady grace of an experienced fighter. Only a fool would underestimate him.

“If not for me, the survivors of the Cursed One’s first attacks fifty years ago would be scattered across the ruins of their cities. Leaderless. Hopeless. Or do you forget that while the monster might lay waste to others, it never comes within Baalboden’s Wall?”

The Commander leans closer, the torchlight flickering across his skin to gild Rachel’s hair with flame. His words are brittle slaps against the air.

“If not for me, the Cursed One would have burned this city to the ground decades ago.” His voice is rising, his fingers clenched against the back of her chair like he means to snap it in two.

“I will not tolerate dissension. I will not tolerate disobedience.”

He grabs a handful of her hair and twists her around to face him. I clench my fists and prepare to defend her if he takes it any further. She hisses a quick gasp of pain, but meets his eyes without flinching.

“And I will not tolerate a mere girl speaking to me as if she was my equal. You live because I allow it. Never forget that.”

Deliberately unclenching my fists, I open my mouth to offer the Commander whatever assurances it takes to get him to calm down, but Rachel beats me to it.

“I won’t forget it.”

She sounds appropriately frightened and humbled, though knowing her it’s possible she’s simply figured out how to show him what he expects to see. He uncurls his fingers from her hair, wipes his hand against his pant leg as if he’s touched something filthy, and abruptly turns to me.

“Let that be a lesson to you in how to control your ward. It appears Jared was somewhat remiss in her education.”

He has no idea just how remiss Jared’s been about instilling in Rachel the docile, meek obedience expected from a woman in Baalboden. I manage a single nod, as if grateful for the tutelage.

“I should take her home now,” I say, making every effort to sound as if I feel nothing about the entire proceeding.

“Indeed,” Oliver says, reaching out to engulf Rachel’s hand in his. His voice is just as unruffled as mine. We both know better than to show emotion to the Commander. “We’ll need to pack her belongings. Or are you planning to move into Jared’s house?”

It’s going to be hard enough to adjust to living under the same roof as Rachel. I don’t think I can bear it if I also have to adjust to leaving the solitude of my little cottage behind as well.

“She’ll move to my house.”

Rachel jerks as if I’ve slapped her. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe she can’t bear the thought of leaving her home either, but it’s too late to take it back. To show indecisiveness in front of the Commander is foolish in the extreme. Regret over my words mixes with anger at being forced into a position where my only choices are to give up everything or expect Rachel to instead. There’s no right answer, no easy solution that will somehow make this bearable for either of us. The weight of my new responsibility feels heavy enough to crush me.

“May we leave?” Oliver asks the Commander.

His dark eyes gleaming, the Commander says, “You may.” But as we push our chairs away from the table and get to our feet, he steps closer to Rachel and glances at me, malice glittering in his eyes. “Tell me, girl, why do you despise your new Protector so much? And don’t bother trying to lie.” His eyes slide off of me and onto her. “I’d only have to punish you.” He doesn’t sound sorry about this.

Rachel throws me one quick look, her blue eyes pleading. It’s the same look I saw two years ago, the morning of her fifteenth birthday, when everything changed between us. I’d just won the apprenticeship to Jared, and he was out on a courier mission to Brooksworth, a city-state far to the north of us. Oliver was staying at the house as he always did when Jared was away, and he was busy in the kitchen baking Rachel’s favorite lemon cake for her birthday treat. I’d joined Rachel on the back porch at her request. I thought she simply wanted to talk about missing Jared, or missing her mother, something we both had in common.

Instead, she sat beside me, her cheeks flushing, her eyes refusing to meet mine, and told me she was in love with me. I heard the vibrant hope in her words, heard the way her breath caught in her throat when I took too long to answer, and felt clumsy and foolish.

She looked at me as I sat, baking in the early summer sunshine, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t hurt her but wouldn’t encourage the impossible. I tried to explain. To tell her I couldn’t think about romance when I had so much to prove. To make her see how fast Jared would terminate my apprenticeship if he thought there was anything improper between us. To assure her she was young, and there would be others.

The words were awkward and stilted, and I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hands as the hope in her eyes slowly turned to pleading and finally subsided behind a cold wall of anger. I reached out, bridging the distance between us like I could somehow erase the damage, but she jumped to her feet and left me sitting there with nothing but the echo of my promise that she’d get over me.