He brooded. Sitting at the head of the room, he watched her. She barely picked at her food. She, who had eaten like a starveling drake while on the road. She didn't talk, didn't laugh. Nobles and servants alike vied for her attention. She ignored them. As unlike herself as could be. Unwilling, sympathy edged up within him. He tried to ruthlessly squash it back down again. It was her choice, her decision. Snarling to himself, he turned his head to watch the room. He caught a glimpse of his new wife, and unbidden comparisons arose. Her insipid blondness compared to her dark beauty. Her scheming compared to her natural command. Her court-born charms compared to her battlefield grace. Bile rose and he swallowed against it.
She was leaving tomorrow. He knew it had to be. Maker please, she'd be back.
Maker? Please?
