Denzel’s POV
Venessa sat curled on the couch in the room assigned to us, her posture deceptively relaxed. I could tell she was anything but calm. There was a tightness in her shoulders, a restlessness in the way her fingers kept fidgeting in her lap.
It wasn’t every day someone discovered they were royalty.
I understood her nerves. I understood the sharp edge of anger pulsing quietly from her, too. When I reached for her hand, she looked up at me, her eyes already glossed with tears.
“How do I tell him I don’t have long to live?” she whispered.
The question tore through me. I pulled her into my arms as she broke down, her sobs soaking into my chest.
“It will destroy him, Denz,” she cried. “It will break him.”
I wanted to tell her it was breaking me too, that every breath felt like I
