The King's indifference towards his injured wife was astonishing.
His hand trembled. He slammed the letter down and rose abruptly, his golden hair whipping behind him like a banner. "I will confront him myself."
One of the ministers ran into the hallway after him, alarmed by his abrupt movements. "Your Highness—!"
The King's amber eyes flashed dangerously. "Do not follow me."
The man froze where he stood. The King turned on his heel and strode out, his focus entirely on confronting Riven, oblivious to the cries echoing from the ballroom behind him.
Theresa swayed where she stood. Her breathing grew shallow, her lips trembling. And then, she collapsed.
"Your Highness!"
"She's bleeding, someone call the royal healer!"
"Where is His Majesty?!"
But the King was gone.
