When at last the moment cleared, he leaned in—only for her to rise.
“My apologies,” she murmured. “It has been a long day. Fatigue makes me poor company.”
As she left, his eyes strayed to her plate.
“She barely ate,” he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone in particular.
“She said she’s tired,” Yrenna reminded. “It was a long day.”
He gave a small nod, as though that explained everything.
But that didn’t sit right.
“She seemed fine earlier,” Conrad muttered.
“If she said she’s tired, then she’s tired,” Alexander replied, sharper than he’d intended.
Darion hadn’t spoken much, focusing more on the food than the ambiance or company as usual. He chewed thoughtfully, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Put your foot in your mouth, didn’t you?”
Alexander set his goblet down with a soft thud. For a moment, no one at the table spoke.
Darion reached for the roast, helped himself to vegetables, then added, almost idly, “I spoke to Ulrik earlier. A man of few words, that one, but he spared a few for your wife.”
Alexander grunted in response.
“Apparently, the princess eased his daughter’s pregnancy pain.” Darion scooped a bite of food. “You know how he dotes on that girl. Apple of his eye.”
Alexander didn’t respond. He reached for his knife and began cutting into the roast, though his appetite had long since diminished.
He didn’t know Annett hadn’t been feeling well. Hadn’t spoken to Ulrik in weeks. Everything about the keep—the people, their stories, their needs—had taken a back seat to the marriage preparation.
It seemed the bride he’d treated like an afterthought had done more for them in one day than he had in one season.
“The princess didn’t say a word about that,” he muttered.
“Does she ever?” Yrenna said quietly.
He glanced at her, but she didn’t look up from her plate.
Darion set down his fork, now watching Alexander directly. “Seems to me she deserves more indeed.”
Alexander said nothing.
What was there to say? He’d sat in that study and listed her limitations while she’d left him a cup of restorative tea. And he had nothing to offer but awkward silence and the weak intention to ask about its ingredients over dinner—as if that would bridge the chasm he’d cleaved between them.
“I was going to ask her about the tea,” he admitted at last, though it sounded foolish the moment the words left his mouth.
Conrad didn’t laugh. The boy craned his neck over the table to look at him. “I think she would’ve liked that.”
Darion only gave a snort. “You can still ask. That is, if she ever decides to join you again.”
Alexander pushed his food aside. “I’m aware I mishandled things,” he finally said.
“Mishandled,” Darion echoed dryly. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Alexander shot him a look.
“I’m just saying,” Darion went on, tone steady but not unkind, “she’s your wife now. Whether she acts like it or not might have something to do with how you’ve treated her.”
