I tried to push myself up, but the hand I'd just shoved away reached out, catching mine. I sat on the edge of the mattress, still unable to meet his gaze.
"I will take care of you until you're well," I said, my voice shaking. "But I cannot be your mistress, if that is your intention."
"That is not my intention," he gasped, struggling to force the words out. "Isa—"
"Oh, is it not?" I whirled toward him, arms crossed. I ignored the way his skin was turning pale and his eyes were fluttering. "You are either going to marry Tyra or this mysterious Maryann."
He frowned again. He always did that the moment I mentioned her. I felt like a fool for ever kissing him; surely he only lied about the poetry because I'd asked about her.
"I shall serve tea for you, Your majesty, while you massage your wife's feet."
He closed his eyes, his breathing turning ragged and shallow once more.
"And I shall change the sheets of your matrimonial bed after you've had intimacy with her."
