Cassis resumed descending the stairs as the steward pronounced, “We do not have flowers in the royal foyer.”

“You do now,” Elena replied.

“And those red cushions will be removed from the davenports in the informal sitting room immediately,” the steward went on as if she did not speak.

Red cushions?

“If they are, I’ll have you beheaded,” Elena threatened.

Yes.

It was happening.

In this place. This terrible place where his mother died. His wife died. And he had lived what felt like a walking death.

He was fighting back laughter.

He moved beyond the gleaming rosewood table standing on its richly colored rug (and he wondered where she’d procured them), heading toward the Great Hall, succeeding in the endeavor of quelling his laughter, though with some effort.

No further effort was needed as he heard the steward sneer, “You do not have that power, female, and you never will.”

“Elena, find Mac.”

Both turned to him at hearing his voice.

“Your Grace.” The steward dropped into a graceful bow.

He halted ten feet away from them, eyes to the servant, but his words were aimed at Elena.

“Elena…Mac,” he growled.

“Cass, I think that—”

His gaze sliced to her.

She quieted.

“Go…find…Mac,” he bit out.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered.

“Go,” he whispered back.

Her eyes blazed amethyst as her mood set to stubborn.

“Not until you tell me what you’re going to do,” she demanded.

“He’s going to the dungeons,” Cassius drawled.

Elena’s face paled.

The steward shot up straight and stared at him with fright.

“Cassius, we were just having a discus—” she began.

“Get Mac.”

“It is not that important,” she retorted.

“It is my will that women will be treated with respect in my realm, Elena. And obviously, this will start in my own, gods-damn, bloody home. If I allow my own steward to speak like this to you, all is lost. He is a servant. You will live here your whole life, raise our children here, and die here. Thus, this is his place of employment, but it is your home. He does not get to tell you that you can or cannot have flowers. And he does not…ever…speak to you in that manner. Now, go…get…” he leaned her way, “Mac.”

“And you can speak to me that way?” she attempted to make her point.

“Yes, because you have my respect, you have my regard, you have my cock, and you can speak to me any bloody way you feel like doing it, and you do, and when you do, I listen to you,” he returned, making his point.

“This is true,” she murmured.

“By the gods, Elena, just go find Mac.” He finished this time with, “Fucking please.”

“Well, since you said please,” she mumbled as she made her way to him. She kept mumbling when she was close, doing it to say, “We’ll be discussing this dungeon situation later.”

“No, we won’t,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes before she left the room.