The war room had required a king. The corridor required a husband. Something that Maddox apparently was now, whether he remembered signing up for it or not.
When he reached his chambers, the doors were open, servants already moving with urgency. Trunks were being carried.
He turned left into his study. The fireplace was cold. He didn't bother lighting it. He would keep the woman in his arms warmer than any fire could.
He sat in his desk chair. Adjusted her against his chest. Her head settled into the crook of his neck like it had been designed to fit there, which, given recent revelations, it had.
He kissed her hair. Held his mouth there.
