As Cassian stormed through the corridors, the servants and guards pressed their backs flat against the cold stone to clear a path. Their eyes, wide with a mixture of scandal and dread, lingered first on the undeniable strain against the King's leather trousers, then shifted to the torn green fabric clutched over the Queen's chest.
The two clues were more than enough to ignite a wildfire of rumors. The silent halls seemed to hum with the collective realization of what was unfolding between the two of them.
As they reached the Sovereign Wing, Cassian made a turn at the crossway so decisive that Hermi froze in his arms. He was not heading toward her chambers at all. He was marching straight toward his own, the part of the fortress she had never been invited to pass.
"My dear," Hermi inquired, her voice wavering with hesitation, "are you quite certain that you wish to have me in your chambers?"
