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He's tall and dressed like money. Fine dark coat. Polished boots, filthy now from the trail. Neat blond hair under a fur hat. Behind him, beyond the garden gate, half a dozen men sit on horses that are steaming and blowing, their heads hanging low. They must have followed the trail all the way up. In the dark. In this snow.

The man on the porch looks past Zarek into the cabin. His eyes slide over the garlands. The candles. The bed.

He looks around like he owns the place. Like he has every right to be standing here.

I hate him instantly.

"Good evening," he says, with a pleasant smile. "I'm Lord Silas Brusteen. I'm looking for my betrothed."

My dragon rears up.

"Get out of our garden," I tell him.

It isn't loud. It doesn't need to be.

He takes three steps back before he realizes he's doing it. His smile slips. Then he catches himself, straightens his coat, and puts the smile back on, a little stiffer than before.

Then Elara leans around my shoulder.

Silas's whole face lights up.

"Elara!" He spreads his arms. "There you are, my darling. My beloved betrothed. Thank the gods. I've been so terribly worried about you."

Betrothed. The word goes through me like a blade.

And then I remember. Her voice by the fire, trying so hard to sound light. The village is determined to marry me off. Lord Silas Brusteen. Refuses to accept that I'm not interested.

This is him. The man who made her run into a blizzard alone rather than stay in her own home.

My dragon is snarling. It's surging against my skin so hard I can feel scales prickling up along my forearms. Heat floods my throat. My vision goes sharp at the edges, tinted gold.

It wants him dead. It wants him in pieces.

I hold it. Barely.

"Stay away from her," I say, "if you want to keep living."

Silas's eyes flick to me. Then away, fast.

Zarek steps forward. His voice is ice. "You're mistaken, my lord. Elara isn't your betrothed. She's our..."

He stops.

I look at him. His jaw is clenched. His mouth is still open, the word right there on his tongue, but he doesn't say it. And I understand why.

My stomach drops into my boots. Because she hasn't said yes.

She never got to answer. She hasn't accepted the bond. She hasn't accepted us. And none of us has the right to speak for her. We swore it. That first night, by the fire, we swore it.

Silas doesn't seem to notice. Or he doesn't care. He's already looking past all three of us, right at her.

"As soon as the storm broke," he tells her, "I gathered some of the men from the village to search the mountain trails. We've been searching for days. We'd nearly given up hope." He shakes his head, all tender concern. "And then tonight, we saw the most incredible fireworks lighting up the sky over the mountains. And I knew someone must be up here. I knew, somehow, that I'd find you."

The fireworks.

Our fireworks. We led him straight to her.

"I'm so relieved you're safe, my love," Silas says. "Truly. And now I can take you home. Where you belong." He holds out his hand to her, palm up. "Don't you want to go home, Elara?"