“That is exactly the problem.”
Veya’s gaze moved toward the closed door.
“The man in the corridor. Who is he?”
“Sule.”
The name settled heavily between them.
“He is our king.”
“And the baby?”
“His son.”
Veya remembered the infant screaming against his chest.
The grief carved into Sule’s face.
“Where is the child’s mother?”
Rhen did not answer immediately.
His gaze shifted toward the fire.
When he spoke, the words were stripped to bare fact.
“She died last night.”
Veya’s stomach tightened.
The house suddenly made terrible sense.
The blood on Rhen’s cuffs.
The muted footsteps.
The silence pressing behind every closed door.
The king holding his son as though the world might steal him too.
“How?”
Rhen’s eyes cut back to hers.
“You do not need that information.”
“Was she the woman you left to help?”
His jaw flexed.
“Yes.”
Veya looked at the blood again.
“She died while you were with her.”
The room changed.
