No no no no no.
My feet carry me forward anyway. Toward him. Because that’s what I do now—I go to him. He’s my husband. He kissed me breathless before he left. He called three kings to protect me. Whatever this is, whatever’s happening, I can fix it. I just need to reach him, touch him, make him look at me—
Two guards step into my path.
I stumble to a halt.
They don’t touch me. They don’t have to. They’re a wall of black suits and broad shoulders, blocking my way to my own husband.
“Devyn?” My voice comes out small. Confused.
He doesn’t acknowledge his name. Doesn’t acknowledge me at all. He’s looking through me. Past me. Like I’m not even there.
“I’ve summoned you all here,” he says, addressing the room, “to discuss the conduct of the queen during my absence.”
Why is he being like this?
“It has come to my attention,” he continues, his voice flat and cold, “that during the diplomatic function, the queen demonstrated a fundamental lack of understanding regarding proper protocol.”
What?
“She allowed herself to become a target for public humiliation.”
I try to step forward. “Devyn, please—”
The guards shift. A hand lands on my arm—not rough, but firm. Holding me in place.
Like I’m a prisoner. Like I’m not fit to approach him.
“Why—” My voice breaks, and it takes a moment before I can try again. “W-Why are you being like this?” I search his face for any sign of the man who cupped my face in his hands. Who studied me like he was memorizing every detail. Who kissed me like he was staking a claim.
There’s nothing.
Just stone. Just ice. Just a stranger wearing my husband’s face.
“You have embarrassed this household. This territory. You have embarrassed me.”
“Please.” The word tears out of me. “Will you—”
“There is nothing for you to say.”
I try to pull free of the guard’s grip. Try to reach Devyn. If I can just touch him, just make him see me—
“Hold her.”
Two words. Quiet. Final.
The second guard takes my other arm. Not rough—almost gentle—but immovable. I’m held in place like a criminal. Like someone who isn’t allowed to be near the king.
Around me, I hear soft sounds. Sniffles. Muffled sobs.
The staff. They’re crying.
Arlene’s broad shoulders shake. Thomas stares at the floor, jaw tight, eyes wet. Connie and Josie cling to each other. Mrs. Lyme stands rigid, tears tracking silently down her cheeks.
They’re crying for me.
I try to catch Arlene’s eye. Try to smile.It’s okay,I want to tell her.It’s going to be okay.But my face won’t cooperate and my eyes are burning and—
