The novelty had worn off.
She no longer wanted anything to do with him.
Mik’hail turned and walked away.
He didn’t look back.
Chapter Eleven
ARETHA WOKE TO THEsmell of antiseptic and the dull throb of pain in her leg.
The place was unfamiliar, but the situation was not.
She was back where she was belonged...and everything that was stolen from her, she would take back.
A smile curved her lips as she took in her surroundings. The hospital wing of the palace was modest by royal standards—a small, private room with pale walls and gauze curtains that filtered the morning light into something soft and golden. A vase of white roses sat on the bedside table, their petals perfect and still damp with dew. Someone had thought to bring her flowers.
How sweet...and utterly inadequate.
She deserved more than flowers. She deserved groveling. Apologies.
But that would come later.
First, she needed information.
Aretha reached for the bell on her bedside table and rang it twice. A maid appeared within moments—young, plain-faced, eager to please. One of her old ones, if she wasn’t mistaken.
“Lady Aretha.” The girl dipped into a curtsy, eyes wide. “You’re awake. I’ll fetch the doctor—”
“Not yet.” Aretha let her voice tremble, just slightly. Just enough to seem fragile. “I only wanted...I’ve been gone so long, and I don’t know what’s happened in my absence.”
The maid told her about the envoys from Suneria, and Aretha noticed how the maid started avoiding her gaze when she asked about what the sheikh’s response was.
“Whatever it is,” Aretha said gently, “I can handle it.”
“I...I wouldn’t really...”
