What a minefield that was. He ought to have known when she crossed her hands in her lap. He knew the answer to her question, but he couldn't see how honesty was going to make what would follow any easier for both of them. If anything, he thought it might be misleading. If she harbored any thoughts that she might be able to change him — fix his inclinations towards something more societally appropriate — then being honest with her would only give her unfounded hope in that plan. That was only prolonging the torture for both of them, only delaying the inevitable heartbreak. He wasn't going to change. He'd been who he was his entire life, and no matter how he felt about her, it wasn't enough to rewrite his inner character. Whatever label society might have applied to him — degenerate, pervert, what have you — he'd rather own the label in his space than have Angelica believe there was some hope that with sufficient time and attention she could reform him.

But that didn't answer her question. The answer was yes, and as unwise as he thought it would be to admit it, he knew he couldn't lie about it. She'd see right through him if he tried.

Emrys considered her for a moment. He felt trapped, but not in the same way he had last night. Last night he'd been like a hunted animal. Now he felt more like a player in a game of chess who was seriously outmatched. He had to consider the situation carefully to determine how to move forward without accidentally forfeiting the game.

"I reject your premise," he eventually replied. "That we could be something more. You've conflated a title with intimacy. I've already given you everything."

(Not everything, but more than he'd ever given another person, friend, lover, or otherwise. And it was unlikely that anyone else would ever get more than Angelica had, so it might as well be everything).

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