Royle knocked at the thick, white door and turned the golden knob without waiting for an answer. Rage brewed within him, and he saw no point in hiding it in the privacy of the room. Most of his anger had been suppressed, even abated, when he spent his time with Misa the previous day, but the moment he had returned to his chambers to rest, he couldn’t catch a wink of sleep at the thought of what Prince Peron had done to Misa.
The prince in question didn’t even turn around from his position at the window. His right hand clasped around a paintbrush, his left tilting the paint palette until a thick drop of green fell onto his shoe. Peron’s eyes were fixed on the window, and it seemed he hadn’t heard Royle’s burst of entrance.
Shutting the door behind him, Royle cleared his throat
