“Princess Lucinda would have told you she loved you, a long time before now.” “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t confuse what you feel with the stories you’re writing. You do not love me. It is not possible.” Lucie wanted to stamp her foot on the floor but restrained herself. “I know what I feel,” she snapped. “You cannot dictate such things, nor tell me what is possible!” “You don’t understand,” he said. “When I am with you, I imagine that my heart is beating, though it has not beaten for seven years. You give me so much, and I can give you nothing at all.” He caught up a handful of papers from her
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