Loreen's POV
Six weeks.
Loreen knew the number the way you know the number of steps between your bed and the door in the dark. Without counting. Without thinking. It was just there, sitting in his chest every morning when he opened his eyes and found the other side of the bed empty and cold.
Forty-two days.
He stood at the edge of the strategy table and looked at the map spread across it and tried to remember the last time he had eaten a full meal.
Yesterday, maybe. The day before.
Someone had put a plate in front of him at some point and he had moved the food around until it was cold and then a servant had taken it away without comment because the servants had learned, in the way that servants always learned things in a palace, that commenting was not welcome.
Loreen had not slept properly in six weeks.
He knew that too.
The strategy room was full. The king sat at the head of the table with the chief constable to his right and Lord Halvek to his left.
