“I don’twantyour skiesdamned throne,” I snap, glancing back toward the tent entrance. Sulon’s muffled orders drift through the canvas. “I just want—”
“Your precious wife?” he mocks, green eyes blazing. “You think she actually loves you? After all you’ve done? You’re nothing but a butcher. The Dark Commander who slaughtered her people, her family, her friends all these years. She probably only slept with you on the journey because she was afraid—wanted to make herself useful so you wouldn’t murder her, too.”
Rage burns hot in my veins, snaking between my ribs. Thunder rumbles overhead, and Faramir’s malicious grin stretches taut. It’s the same cruel smile I’ve seen time and time again, since I was a child, desperate for his approval and love.
And now I’m done protecting him.
Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the tent with its violent flash.
I’ll kill him if I remain here a moment longer.
I take a steadying breath, trying to exhale my rage, but it lodges in my throat.
“You’re a hateful bastard, Faramir,” I snarl. “And being your brother is my greatest shame.”
I stride toward the entrance but can’t escape his next words.
“Mark my words, little brother. She’ll leave you. The first chance she gets, she’ll leave your worthless ass behind.”
You think she actually loves you?
“I need a horse. I’m returning to the palace tonight.”
The camp general eyes me warily. Behind him, the bonfire has been reduced to flickering embers. A handful of soldiers walk past with shovels in hand, their faces grim.
“Sire, forgive me, but it’s far too late to travel alone. Perhaps wait until morning. You’re less likely to be ambushed.”
I bristle at his impertinence, but he speaks the truth.
“Tomorrow, then. First thing.”
I sleep in the stables.
Chapter Forty
Imighthaveriddenmyhorse right into the palace foyer.
Perhaps I did, I don’t know.
My boots thud against the marble floors as I race through the halls, unconcerned with who might see their prince so undignified.
Fuck dignity. I want to see my wife.
I careen around a corner, thundering down the corridor that leads to our chambers—Gregoran and Freynk stand guard outside our door, exactly as they were when I last saw them. Gregoran’s lips twitch when he sees me barreling toward them, but the stocky man hides his smile with a deep nod.
“She’s well? She’s safe?” The words rush out before they can speak.
Both men nod quickly. “No trouble, sire,” Gregoran says. “We’ve been exceedingly vigilant, as you commanded. But I think—”
“What?”
Did she get hurt?
Did my father do something?
Did she fall ill? No, idiot, she would’ve healed herself.
“What happened?” I snap when Gregoran doesn’t respond immediately.
