How she knew wasn't important. Both men would believe she was psychic even without her trying to lie to them about it. What was important was to grovel now and hope they wouldn't think of killing themselves out of it later.
"Your Majesty, please excuse us," Oathran said solemnly.
Arkai bowed his head, conflicted, not awkward. But when he was about to leave, Cecilia pointed at him sharply. Seeing him freeze, she shook her head at him with such deep pain in her eyes.
She didn't even need to say anything to fuck up his conscience.
"Do I look like someone you can pass around?" Cecilia seethed, whispering to both men. "Oh, is this because I was another man's mate before you, Oathran?"
"Cecilia," Oathran hissed, his jaw tight, his eyes burning.
"I see you think so highly of me," Cecilia hissed back. "The two of you."
"Saintess Araceli…" Arkai tried to raise his voice, only to change his mind and stop. The man closed his eyes.
