With a scoff, I tossed my book aside. Ky would tell me his big secret as soon as he came upstairs, and it would probably be something stupid. Something that wouldn’t change anything, becausenothingwould change anything. We’d annulour marriage, then he’d marry Amryssa and leave. I’d take her to Hightower, and that would be that.
I just had to make sure Vick didn’t screw it up.
A knock broke the silence, and I frowned. That wasn’t Merron’s signature pattern. And Ky would’ve come right in.
Sure enough, when I opened the door, Olivian loomed in the hallway. He held out a letter—one with an ornate seal stamped across the front.
My heart splattered against my ribs, then went quiet.
The annulment certificate. Three days earlier than expected.
I made no move to take it. Instead, I just stood there, wondering how something so innocuous could wield such power.
“Well?” Olivian said. “I don’t have all night.”
I shook off my stupor and grabbed the thing, resisting the urge to pinch it by a corner, like I would a rat dangling by its tail.
“Sign it and give it back to me tomorrow,” he said.
I forced myself to respond. “Okay. Sure.”
“Amryssa will be married first thing in the morning. And this time, Iwillattend.” He gave me a significant look, which he shouldn’t have bothered with, considering I was the last person in this house who would interfere. “And Harlowe, thisisstill valid, isn’t it?”
I missed a beat, but his meaning quickly became clear. “If you’re asking whether I’ve lost control of myself and had some kind of sex marathon with the prince, then no. Of course I haven’t. Don’t be ridiculous.”
He gave me a narrow look. “It would require far less than a marathon.”
I grumbled. “Exactly zero sex has taken place.”
He grunted, but seemed satisfied. “Good. Fine. Then sign this, and have Kyven do the same. Your marriage will bedissolved the moment that certificate has two signatures on it. And whatever you do, don’t lose the damn thing.”
I heaved an exhale. “Where would I lose it, Olivian? Down the front of my nightgown?”
He shot me a look that would have sent a younger Harlowe scurrying for the corner. “Just don’t screw this up again.”
“Trust me, I have no desire to. I’ll be there tomorrow with bells on.”
He grunted again and traipsed off, scrubbing a hand through the mess atop his head. I watched him go, wondering if he cut his hair himself or if someone did that to him on purpose. The black locks stuck out at all angles and all different lengths, like each one had been hacked off at a random interval.
The seneschal reached the spiral stairway, then disappeared downward. With all distractions removed, I had no choice but to confront the letter in my hands. The seal had already been slit, and I thumbed it open to find a document nullifying the unconsummated marriage of one Harlowe X and His Royal Highness Prince Kyven Windermere, on the grounds of “deceitful claims on the part of the bride.”
Well. I couldn’t argue with that. Not that the king needed to be so snooty about it.
At the bottom of the paper, dual signature lines awaited—two long, bare marks that stretched like these endless hallways.
I coughed out a cold laugh, slammed my door, and scrounged for a pen at my vanity. This document was the key to Amryssa’s future, absent only a few dashes of ink.
I spread the parchment on the vanity and stared at it. A minute passed. Then another.
But I managed, in the end. I signed the damn thing and went to bed, leaving the annulment certificate folded on Ky’s pillow.
He finally came in sometime around midnight.
At least, that was my best guess, because I was drifting in the velvet reaches of sleep when sounds infiltrated my awareness—first the click of a latch, then the rustle of paper.
I surfaced, mostly, and lay unmoving. Ky was somewhere nearby, obviously aiming for stealth, but when footsteps shuffled and hinges creaked, I gave in and cracked an eye.
He stood in the bathroom doorway, his outline blurred by the candleglow from within. He was filthy, coated in bits of grass, his hair a sticky, sweaty mess.
