Theresa lowered herself gracefully into the chair across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap, though her sleeves still hung loose and her hair was a mess. She changed tactics.
She wanted him to see her as vulnerable, as though they shared the same wounds.
"I know who you are," she said softly, watching his reaction carefully. His shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling into the fabric of his robe. She smiled faintly, reassuring. "Don't worry. I'm not here to accuse you of anything. I just… I needed to see you with my own eyes."
Riven wondered what the King told her. Maybe a different story, a different set of lies.
Riven looked down, his voice quiet. "If you came to see the person who ruined your marriage, here I am." That was what he was now, a filthy mistress. "I miss when I was just a whore..." He whispered to himself.
