"What?" She was startled. "He has what?"
"He has your painting, a portrait of you" Alaric repeated, his voice was low like he was shaking with anger.
Daphne stared at him, shocked. "A painting? Of me?"
"Yes, princess." Alaric exhaled sharply. "He kept it close. My men saw it when they spied on him when he was in Varennes before the war."
She put a hand over her mouth.
"I don't… I don't understand," she whispered. "I truly don't."
Alaric ran a hand through his hair, pacing to the other side of the room.
"Daphne," he said, voice breaking with a raw mix of jealousy and fear, "he spoke to you like he knew you. Like you cared for him. He called you his flame. He looked at you like, like you were his."
Daphne stood from the bed, walking toward him slowly.
"I don't know him," she said. "I swear on my life, Ric. I swear on Nathaniel."
He shut his eyes, torn between wanting to believe her and the fear he felt.
