Thomas had been thinking of Sylvia for weeks, and he knew what he was about to do was the most selfish thing he had ever done.
Unfortunately, he did not feel guilty enough to stop himself.
That, perhaps, said something terrible about him.
Sylvia stood in front of him now, talking about the wedding finally being over as if she had personally survived a military siege and not an imperial ceremony.
"I can breathe again," she said, one hand pressed against her chest as if checking that her lungs had not resigned during the vows. "I thought I would die somewhere between the third wave of representatives and that old countess saying Dean looked too ruling for someone meant to be submissive to the Crown Prince."
Thomas's eyes sharpened. "Who said that?"
Sylvia paused.
Then narrowed her eyes at him. "No."
"I only asked."
"You asked like a commander preparing a casualty report."
"She insulted the consort."
