To make an already bad situation worse, Crow could tell that Penelope wasn’t okay after Cedric had kissed her. He frowned as he felt her shift against his touch, almost as if she didn’t want anyone to get close to her right now. If there hadn’t been so many other people around, and if she didn’t have to give a speech soon, he would have taken her by the hand and led her someplace where they could speak in private. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option, so the less densely crowded part of the ballroom would have to do.

Her following words tugged at the viceroy’s heart. When he’d told her to keep her guard up around Cedric before, he hadn’t meant to make her think the other man’s actions were her responsibility to keep in check. He knew she was quicker to trust than he was, and sometimes, that trait was good. It made her a more likeable person to be around, and it was the reason why he had warmed up to her so easily when they’d met two years ago. However, he also knew there would be people in their kingdom who would take advantage of the same special quality. Cedric was one of those villains tonight.

“Don’t,” he breathed, sobered by the guilt in her voice. His anger toward her former suitor hadn’t vanished, but he had calmed down enough to think clearly again. He gently trailed his hand over her shoulders in an attempt to soothe her. “This wasn’t your fault,” he insisted, trying to meet her lowered gaze. “I saw what he did. It was a dirty trick for him to force himself on you when your back was to the wall. And don’t you dare blame yourself for that.”

Vacuously, Crow glanced away from her toward the other nobles in the ballroom. Most were either too drunk or too distracted by other, more entertaining things to notice what was going on between the former thief and the hostess, but he did see a few people looking their way. Among them were Fye and Percival—the two least intoxicated people he’d talked to at the party—and Cedric. He shot the latter a hateful scowl, no longer able to feign even a semblance of congeniality toward the man who had left Penelope in such a miserable state. From a distance, he couldn’t tell how the knight reacted to his open hostility, but, having expressed his anger as much as he could, he turned away from him to look at her again with softened features.

“I love you, Penelope,” he murmured quietly, still stoking the exposed skin of her upper back. “And I trust you. I just don’t like seeing you let him get inside your head like this. You did nothing wrong, and nothing’s changed between us. Okay?”