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When he did not answer, I turned my head toward him. I could feel his breath on my cheek and his hand pressed against my stomach.

“Adrian?”

“No more than anyone else,” he said, his voice low, and I took deep and steady breaths as his lips trailed my neck, his hand moving from my stomach to the bodice of my dress.

“We have court,” I said, trying to turn toward him, but he held me in place. “Adrian,” I said, growing frustrated, and he chuckled against my skin.

“Yes, my queen?”

“Do not pretend you do not know what you are doing.”

“I’d rather you explain,” he said.

“That you are making me furious?”

He laughed again. “I like your fury,” he said, hand lifting to my neck. “Let me taste it.”

Just as his lips crashed against mine, someone cleared their throat, though Adrian was in no hurry to stop his assault on my mouth until I pushed against his chest.

Daroc stood at the door that led into Adrian’s study. His eyes were fierce, his face like stone. I thought of my conversation with Sorin and wondered if his frustration came from their fight or Adrian’s obsession with me.

“We’ll open the doors if you are ready, Your Majesties,” he said.

“Does it look like we are ready?” Adrian asked, annoyed.

“You cannot have me in the throne room before court, Adrian,” I said.

He raised a brow and I knew what he was going to say.

“That isnota challenge,” I said, stepping away from him and heading for my throne. “We are ready, General.”

Daroc nodded and closed the adjoining door.

As I turned to sit, I found Adrian still standing at the base of the dais staring at me.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, my sweet,” he said. “I am only imagining what it will be like when I fuck you on this throne before my court.”

I could not help the smile that tugged at my mouth. I straightened my back and crossed one leg over the other. I was not sure how I felt about performing in such a way, though I knew those who attended Adrian’s court had no qualms about having sex publicly.

“You would let your court look upon me?”

“Your body? No,” he said. “Your pleasure? Yes.”

He took the two steps to the dais and sat beside me just as the doors to the great hall opened. Adrian’s noblesse entered first and took their places near the dais. I avoided meeting their gazes, especially Razan, whose expression was strangely smug. The guards entered next, stationing themselves around the room, fencing in the large crowd of people who followed. Not everyone fit within the hall, though they tried, cramming into the doorway and spilling into the foyer and beyond, into the cold and snowy courtyard.

They all looked tired and withered, their faces red and raw from the cold.

Adrian gave no signal to begin, and yet a villager came forward anyway. His hair hung at his shoulders and half was pulled back, exposing a wide forehead. He had prominent brows and a mustache that hid his thin lips. He carried a weapon, a bow and arrow slung across his back, and while he wore gloves, they were fingerless, exposing cracked and bloodied knuckles.

“Your name?” Adrian asked, expressing no irritation over his boldness.

“I am Oskar of Scarif, my king,” he said, and I could tell by how he spoke, his breaths were shallow. He was working up his courage, and as he began, his voice shook and his eyes watered. “You cannot deny your people have suffered. We have been witness to the corruption of the crimson mist, the horror of the monsters in our woods, and now an illness tormenting our children. My oldest son was stricken first. He died an agonizing death, eyes bleeding, unable to stop screaming, and we were forced to watch. My wife and daughter also fell ill, but it was my youngest son I lost, the same as the first.”

He spoke, emphasizing his words with his movements, jabbing his fingers and clenching his fists, and where before he had fueled his speech with grief, it now turned to anger.

A weight settled upon my chest as I listened to the man talk about the deaths of his children, and that dread slowly turned into fear as he continued.