“Are you all right?” whispered Marra, when she couldn’t stand it any longer. The man looked down at her. “I don’t know. Are you planning on killing me?” he asked. He sounded as if he were commenting on the weather. “No! I need your help, but I wouldn’t . . .” It occurred to her suddenly that killing a prince was a very dangerous thing to do, and perhaps the moth had landed on him because someone was going to have to die, and that was what she had needed after all. Oh gods! That can’t be it, can it? “That is, I don’t know if I . . . I . . .” She stared up at him, having run out of words and
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