All alone in the suite that had been his, Garranon closed his eyes. He was so tired. For two decades Garranon had been hostage for his brother, for his homeland, and now he’d outlived his usefulness. When the time was right he would retreat to his home like Haverness had, and not return to court. Surely the king would allow him that, after all these years.

He felt hollow and useless. All of the sacrifices he’d made had ended at nothing. He was no longer of importance to the king, and because of it he was no longer of importance to Oranstone.

The suite where he’d lived for the past two decades felt curiously abandoned without his things. Garranon supposed he ought to open drawers and wardrobes to make sure the castle servants had gotten everything, but instead he wandered from one room to the next watching the flickering torchlight reflect in the polished floors.

The king had found a new favorite. Someone more important to him than Jade Eyes—who had been as much a weapon to be used against Garranon as he had been a serious rival for the position of king’s favorite. The king had been very angry with Garranon for choosing to fight for Oranstone after Jakoven had determined that Oranstone should fall to the Vorsag before he mounted a defense. That Haverness’s Hundred had managed to throw back the invasion had rubbed the king’s wounded pride with salt.

Jade Eyes had been a punishment for Garranon and a warning. This new favorite was something else—Jade Eyes had not been triumphant when he’d delivered the message for Garranon to vacate his apartment.

Garranon’s reign as the king’s favorite was ended, and with it any hope he held to help his people. Not that he’d been able to do much these past few years. It was time to go home and leave Jakoven to his new plaything.

Why did that hurt?

He touched an embroidered couch absently and a memory came to him. He’d been in the garden chatting quietly with the queen, so it must have been before the young Hurog’s death a few years ago had driven her to living in solitude on her family estates.

A servant had dropped a tray of food, distracting him from his conversation. When he’d looked up his eye caught the face of one of the lesser nobles, a man he’d seen any number of times over the years, and for an instant Garranon was once again a terrified young boy being raped in the remains of his mother’s gardens and the insignificant Avinhellish nobleman was holding his wrists.

Unable to deal with the unexpected memory, Garranon had turned without a word and retreated to this embroidered couch. He hadn’t noticed the king in the garden, but Jakoven had followed him only a few moments later.