The day Liliette set out to come here was etched in her memory. She recalled how she could do nothing but clutch her dress as vile insults were hurled at her. The image of Buttercup trembling at her feet after shattering the vase lingered vividly in her mind. To those outside the castle walls, Vlad was merely a bastard child—a demon, a murderer, a monster—and Tristan was no different.
Slowly, Liliette released the arm she had hidden behind her back, her tightly clenched fist trembling slightly.
“Apologize, Tristan,” she demanded.
“What?”
“You insulted my husband, the Lord of Arcadia. You don’t know anything about him…”
Tristan stared at her in disbelief, as if she had struck him with a hammer. “Liliette, how could you…?”
