He stood himself, raking his fingers through his hair, a mad smile on his face. “You are so spoiled! Do you think wars that happened more than a hundred years ago have anything to do with what’s happening now? Do you have any grasp of how many villages your king has burned?”

“My king? Your king burned your family, and you dare speak against me?!”

“Yes, and I will continue to do so until the day you leave or become an Isolten! Which, by the way, will never happen.”

“Have I not done enough?” I asked, throwing my hands wide. “I married an Isolten. I left Coroa. I have come to be with my family, which I consider you part of, and you still—”

“You are not my family,” he insisted, pointing his finger at me. “All you are is the girl who got this close to Jameson’s bed. Didn’t you hear a thing they said at the border? They think he’s trying to get into the country. Why? Because he’s lost his mind over you, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom. And why wouldn’t I believe you’d help him? Why would I trust you with my secrets when, at any minute, you could go running back to that man?”

I stared at him, feeling my gaze coming out dark and cold. “Don’t. Move.”

I left the room quickly, hurrying up the stairs and into my room. I grabbed what I’d come for and dashed back down, arms heavy. They were talking in my absence, quietly but forcefully. I couldn’t make out much beyond Etan’s unswerving refusal to apologize. I marched to stand across from Etan and tossed the entire bag of gold I’d brought with me at his chest. It hit him hard and he stumbled back into his chair, several coins spilling to the floor.

“Goodness, Hollis,” Aunt Jovana said. “Where in the world did you get so much money?”

Etan was still looking down into his lap, shocked, but he finally dared to look at me.

“That is what I could carry of my widow’s fund. This is what’s given to every noblewoman in Coroa when they lose their husband. And now it’s yours, you pig. Use it to raise whatever army you need, bribe whoever you have to. From this moment on, Jameson Barclay’s money is funding your pursuit for justice, and it came at my hands. Do not forget it.”

“Hollis,” Mother whispered. I held up a hand, stopping her, unable to tear my eyes away from Etan Northcott.

“I have never said this to another living soul . . . but I hate you,” I breathed.

He smirked humorlessly. “I’ve said this to too many people to count, but I mean it all the same: I hate you.”

“Etan,” Uncle Reid said calmly. “Apologize.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve been lied to enough. Do excuse me.” I turned and left, head high, hoping I was still holding on to some trace of the lady I once was.