“I’m telling you now,” he murmured, running a hand through his wet hair. Already I could tell his mood was slipping. He began pacing the room, his arms crossing tightly. “You didn’t think I needed to know?” I asked. “I’m to be your wife soon! I should know if my husband is being sent off to war!” “And I’m to be king someday! I do not answer to your demands, or anyone else’s for that matter!” Flinching, I tried to gather my thoughts. Any remnant of patience left had disappeared. This was no use. “You’re not king yet,” I snarled. “And you certainly aren’t my king.”
