Evelyn
I stand my ground in the shadows of the grand ballroom, even as my heart races at the idea that the tyrannical king may have discovered we’re mates. When he calls me over to him, I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears.
“I’d like some wine please,” he says, handing me his glass.
I take it quietly, moving over to the table to pour him wine from the jug there. When I return to his side and hand him his refilled glass, he murmurs, “Stay here.” So I stand next to him, or a half-step behind him, trying to stay out of his way.
I look around, picking out the key members of the royal family who are present at the banquet. One of the butlers told me about them: the two princes, George and Henry, and the only princess, named Emma.
Prince Henry stands across from King Alexander, glanci
