Marissa's smile didn't falter, though her eyes were cold.
"He is busy with official duties," she replied, her voice smooth and practiced. She looked directly at Lady Anita, her stepmother, whose eyes were glittering with malicious curiosity. "I haven't seen him in two weeks. He has been at the barracks, preparing. The King's business waits for no man."
Ashlyn, standing beside her mother in her crimson velvet gown, exchanged a look with Lady Anita. They both chuckled. It was a mean, dismissive sound, like dry leaves scraping together.
Lord Malone, Marissa's father, leaned in. His face was flushed, perhaps from the journey, perhaps from the wine he had already consumed in the carriage. His voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial growl that was meant to be private but carried easily in the echoing hall.
