I should’ve taken the wine instead, but the last time I’d done so, someone had tattled. Rorn had then decided to pay my parlor a visit out of concern. I didn’t want his concern. It was far too late for him to finally show any regard for my well-being. Furthermore, I didn’t want to see him.

Avoidance was futile. A game that could only be played for so long.

My blood ran cold when I reached the bottom step. His voice traveled down the hall above, hushed and angry.

I slunk back into the kitchens against the stone wall, the carafe hugged tight to my chest as if it could somehow protect me from what I was overhearing.

“You did this to me, and you think to simply dump me down here to hide me as if I’m the one who did it to myself?” The female voice hissed just above a whisper, “As if I asked for any of this?”

Shockingly snide, Rorn responded with, “You speak as if you had no say at all in the matter, Carelda.”

Carelda.

The name rang through me like a war bell, hollowing what remained of my heart.

“The matter?” Carelda half-laughed. “That’s what this babe means to you? What I mean to you? We are not a problem you can simply hide from, Rorn. This is horrifically cruel, and I do not remember bedding a cruel male.”

“I am your king, and you would do well to address me as nothing else.”

Silence froze the musty air. I quit breathing, fearing my struggle to do so would potentially give me away.

“And I never said you were a problem,” he spoke again, softer now. “But I’ve given you more than you had, more than I think is fair, considering what I am is a married male. A fact of which you seem to be forgetting.”

“Oh, you remember that now? For you did an impressive job forgetting yourself over the course of those three nights, my king.” Carelda spoke over Rorn when he attempted to respond. “Does the queen even know?”

I slid down the wall, the rock tearing at my nightgown and scraping the skin of my arms.

Three nights.

Carelda.

His iced responses now seemed warm as he growled with low venom, “Aster is none of your concern, and you’d be wise to never speak of her again.” His steps clipped down the hall.

Three nights.

Carelda called after him. “I don’t want this.” Her statement dripped with heartache and desperation, enough that my own heart clenched more in response.

Rorn’s steps faltered. “You want everything. You said so yourself.”

“But I didn’t think that would mean…” She paused, finishing quietly, “I didn’t think at all.”

Rorn was silent, then his steps sounded again. Moments later, softer footfalls headed down the stairs, followed by a door closing.