Her feet were bare, her hair unbound, and the dress she wore little better than a shift. She didn't glance at the audience, who'd broken out into excited whispers at her appearance, but she felt the sheer weight of their numbers pressing on her nonetheless.

It had never occurred to her before that eyes could be terrible things. Eyes that turned toward her, every one. Eyes that tried to pierce her, divine her, know her. Eyes that judged and, almost worse, eyes that hoped. Eyes that said they would wait and see before they decided. Eyes that wanted every bit of her, especially the secret longings of her secret heart.