  &quot;Faster, Selene,&quot; I whisper to my mount as she gallops, silvery mane and tail flying, wherever she desires. I just need to get away for a while. What have I done? my mind repeats to the rhythm of Selene s pounding hooves. The Berkeley mansion fades into the rest of the scenery behind us, but this brings me no relief. The weight of the plan agreed upon by my fiancé s family and me sits so heavily on my shoulders that I almost wonder that Selene can run so swiftly. She is joyous to have been released from the stables, ecstatic to feel the turf beneath her hooves, and my melancholy self-doubt does not affect her mood at all, as yet.
  Selene s gait slows to a trot and then a walk. I open my eyes and lift my face from her neck to see that she has brought me to the garden of the clear stream, where once Dmitri painted me. How long ago that seems!
  &quot;Why did you bring me here?

  Sweet, alluring notes float out of my beloved piano under my skilled fingers. I know I haven t much time before someone interrupts me and orders me back to practising with magic. A harried meeting with Malina earlier reminded me that we have a mere two days until the wedding, and most of the time since our schemes regarding the wedding (and, I hope, the defeat of Xenia de Poitiers) were hatched has been spent in training. Two-hour breaks here and there provide, to some extent, for my needs for sleep and nourishment, and because of this insane schedule my sense of time has been completely thrown off. I must rely on Malina to know the date, and I cannot for the life of me determine what time of day it is currently, though I believe, based on the light that comes in my windows with the light breeze that stirs the curtains, it is at least daylight.
  I play more softly than usual, hoping a

  The dining room is more oppressive than usual this morning. Its windowless walls covered with thick red drapery and its heavy mahogany furniture always make it feel stuffy, but tension hangs over everything in a dense fog that makes it hard to breathe and unspoken words cloud the room. The servants have made themselves scarce in an effort to escape the feeling that a storm is about to break. Zinaida is oblivious to it and no part in the atmosphere, seeing as she is still struggling to wake up; despite her elegant appearance, it is plain that Wesley has dragged her to this meal for reasons I cannot fathom. Wesley, in contrast, is on high alert, like a rabbit being stalked by a bird of prey. I can almost see such a bird--a devil-servant called Anxiety--dark and torturous, hanging over him and harrying him. Dmitri s father watches his son and me, as well as the doors, as his torturing bir

&quot;Faster, Selene,&quot; I whisper to my mount as she gallops, silvery mane and tail flying, wherever she desires. I just need to get away for a while. What have I done? my mind repeats to the rhythm of Selene s pounding hooves. The Berkeley mansion fades into the rest of the scenery behind us, but this brings me no relief. The weight of the plan agreed upon by my fiancé s family and me sits so heavily on my shoulders that I almost wonder that Selene can run so swiftly. She is joyous to have been released from the stables, ecstatic to feel the turf beneath her hooves, and my melancholy self-doubt does not affect her mood at all, as yet.
  Selene s gait slows to a trot and then a walk. I open my eyes and lift my face from her neck to see that she has brought me to the garden of the clear stream, where once Dmitri painted me. How long ago that seems!
  &quot;Why did you bring me here?&quot; I ask Selene, eyes wide with wonder as memories of all the hours spent here flood back. Selen

Chapter 57 Ready For Love