Hugh fought his way blindly back to self-control. He pushed her from him.
"Nay," he whispered hoarsely. "It may not be. I want you not."
Her eyes darkened; a terrible light flashed in them. But he met their gaze full and square, thankful for his newfound manhood.
"You fool," she hissed.
She wound herself around him with a strength more than human.
"Ho, guards!" she called in a high, shrill voice, vibrant with hate. "Ho, guards! Take him!"
Hugh was too bewildered to struggle. A hand jerked his sword from his side; other hands lashed bonds about his arms.
Across the room from him stood Helena Comnena, her hair blown loose, her eyes twin hells, her hands opening and shutting spasmodically.
"You fool," she said to him again. "You might have had—anything. Now you shall have nothing. You will be begging me on your knees to save you from the torture, to spare you one eye of your two, to have you killed quickly. Oh, you poor fool! You could have had Helena Comnena and an Empire! Now you shall have a dungeon—like that other fool who spawned you!"