Kat
Kat hadn’t gone back.
Not to the palace.
Not to Gabriel’s quarters.
Not even to the training yard.
Six years.
Six years of patience.
She sat in the back room of the seamstress quarters with Lysa — her oldest friend — twisting a loose thread between her fingers.
“He says he’ll talk to her,” Kat muttered.
“To his mother?” Lysa asked.
“Yes.”
Lysa blinked slowly.
“And you believe him?”
Kat let out a hollow laugh.
“He means it,” she said. “He always means it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Kat’s jaw tightened.
“I love him,” she said quietly. “But loving him means loving the shadow of her.”
Lysa didn’t interrupt.
“Even if he proposes,” Kat continued, staring at nothing, “she will decide when we marry. She will decide where we live. She will decide what I’m allowed to say.”
“
