I marched across the pebbles and almost shouted, “I said unhand her.”

Before they could receive further instruction from Rorn, I snarled and tightened the ties on my robe, forgetting in my haste that I wasn’t dressed. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.” But I knew they were merely obeying orders given to them by their king.

A king who’d become more tyrant than true love.

Pandel’s hold loosened, and I pushed Malex back. “Hands off. Now.”

Carelda stumbled forward and latched onto my arm and hand. Her nails dug and sliced as if she’d now plead with me. I shushed her and shook my head.

Rorn kept his tone calm, gentle, as though he were speaking to a youngling. “Astrantia, I think it would be best if you returned to your parlor now. Freshen up and I’ll ensure some lunch is delivered.”

I whirled to my heart’s broken promise, but his features remained still—cold. “You wish for me to freshen up while you get rid of your lover?”

His jaw flexed. “Leave, Astrantia.”

I laughed. The sound stunned me. It also stunned the guards and Carelda, as well as those who’d left their tasks nearby to see what was happening. “I think I finally shall. In fact, I think I’ll go with Carelda and never return.”

Rorn’s eyes flared a fiery blue. A warning.

He could warn me all he liked. I warned him right back by snatching Carelda’s wrist. Together, we warped inside the towers.

To undermine the king, and to do so before many an observing eye, guaranteed severe consequences. But he knew as well as I did that there was nothing more he could do to hurt me.

“Insufferable, unbearable, disgusting…” Words kept tumbling from me in a free fall I could not stop as I paced the landing outside my parlor. Carelda watched, trembling. Then I froze and muttered, “This way.”

Left with little choice, Carelda trailed me downstairs to the room I had in mind for her. A mistake, probably, to have her close. I couldn’t muster the energy to care when it seemed the king wanted his son near and the female he once just had to have his fill of now out of sight.

“Where is he?” I asked, shoving open the door to the guest chambers.

As though he’d followed, Dudley, the cook, appeared on the stairs beneath us with a tiny, fussing babe in his giant arms. “Forgive me, my queen.” He bowed. “But he was left in the lady’s room, and he started crying. He won’t stop. I didn’t know what else to do…” He offered the infant, who let out a squawk.

Carelda retrieved her son with a sob. A thank you was rasped as she tucked his head beneath her chin and closed her eyes.