I might have been married, but it was not out of choice. It hadn’t been my choice for a long time. I might have no choice but to stay in Wistensia and forget about Scythe and the burgeoning new life I’d tasted, but it was not because I wanted to.

I was so fucking tired of not being able to make my own choices.

Rorn rubbed at his chin, at the shocking amount of growth now decorating it. Not since his brother had died had I seen him with so much facial hair. It was almost a beard.

“Truth be told, I don’t quite know what to do with you.”

I didn’t answer. He wasn’t looking for one.

“I…” He laughed, the sound bitter and cold. “Well, I suppose I’m still stunned, really. I’d known what you were up to, yet to see it with my own eyes…” He shook his head, his steps faltering momentarily. “I’m torn between the need to bend you over and fuck you senseless and the need to have you executed for treason.”

That raised my brows and opened my mouth. “Shouldn’t you be executed too, then?”

Rorn laughed once more. He shook his finger as he paced from the door to the fireplace again. “It’s not the same. What I do does not warrant the same ramifications.”

I should’ve been scared. I should’ve spoken with care. But I’d lost the will to worry, so I rolled my eyes. “Rorn, this marriage was over nearly two years ago. Cease letting your ego get the better of you.”

He stopped, glowering yet again. “You think it’s merely my ego you’ve wounded?”

“You do not love me. Perhaps you did once,” I said gently. “But now…” I didn’t need to say anything more. Now, he had Carelda—and a queen who’d humiliated him by fleeing to another realm to be with the only thing he’d always lamented not being himself.

A wolf.

“Just because I’ve fucked another does not mean you know what I do and do not feel, Astrantia,” he seethed, and heated enough to make me waver in my beliefs. Noting as much, he smiled, and the sight of the sad lilt to his lips alarmed. “It was not a choice I made lightly. And not something I would have ever even considered had things been different.”

“Stop using my inability to have a babe as a weapon.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?” I dared to ask, but I knew he would say no more.

His throat bobbed and his eyes glossed as he watched me study him. Snarling slightly, he resumed his pacing. “Him,” he spat. “Of all the fucking creatures to wound me with, you chose him…”

“Insulting Scythe is pointless, Rorn. I do not wish to—”

“Scythe?” he questioned absently.

“His name.” I frowned, confused.