“I’ve been chasing after you since Stand Hall,” he noted irritably.

“Have you?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice. I’ve much on my mind.”

“We must speak,” he declared.

“Of course,” she agreed.

He opened his mouth to do that.

However, she continued.

“Talk to my secretary. Find a time. Much is going on, but I’ll have a word with her and make certain she fits you in.”

His face grew hard. “I meant now.”

Mercy put her hand to her chest in apparent astonishment. “Now?”

“Yes, now. I have urgent matters to discuss with you.”

“Well, then, first thing in the morning,” she stated. “I have things on my schedule at that time, but I’ll see if I can shift them around.”

His expression changed again, this time to one she did not like.

It was smug.

“My queen, the things I wish to discuss are messages from your king. And as you know, there is nothing more urgent than that.”

Of course, he would be smug about this, for he knew Mercy was no longer sleeping in the same bed with Wilmer. Not only that, they weren’t even speaking.

So now, Carrington thought he had the upper hand, for if there was something Wilmer wished to share with her, Carrington would be sent to share it, thus whatever it was, he would know it before her.

And whatever it was, he likely had a say in the message itself.

“Your king,” she returned blithely and watched shock hit his eyes at the inference he thought she was making. “My husband,” she finished.

He frowned and took the decision to ignore that.

“It’s come to our attention that you’ve ordered a new wedding gown.”

“I have,” she confirmed.

“You must demand the seamstresses cease production on it immediately.”

She showed no reaction to this declaration except curiosity. “And why would I do that?”

“You’ve been given a strict budget for this wedding, my queen. No more, no less. The figure was astronomical to start with—”

“Hardly astronomical,” she interrupted him to say. “The crown prince of Wodell is getting married. The king’s own nuptials had the same budget and that was thirty-three years ago.”

“Regardless, it was what you have to work with and what we could afford, and you do not have permission to go above it.”

Permission?

She did not have permission?

Mercy stood completely still and stared at him.

The superciliousness returned to his expression, for with this message, and the fact he’d been sent to deliver it, it was clear he thought he finally had a firm grasp on the upper hand.

“And we’ve learned you’ve hired twelve new seamstresses,” he remarked.

She responded to that.