Marigold sashayed her words like a weapon, every syllable dripping with false arrogance. Half the nobles bristled, some muttered, but it worked—the focus swung off me, off the clasp of our hands, and right back where it belonged: the so-called “safety” of this cursed palace.
Still, I couldn’t unclench my jaw. Couldn’t ignore the memory of her skin beneath my palm. Couldn’t forget the Queen’s smile.
Not here. Not ever.
*****
A few hours later.
The King’s library smelled of leather, smoke, and old blood. Not literal blood—though gods know enough of it had been spilled to keep this throne in place—but the kind of iron-thick history that clung to every bound volume and carved shelf.
The storm outside hadn’t lifted. Rain slashed the high windows, thunder grumbling like a witness to what w
