STANDING IN the middle of his bedroom in the suite he and Velia had been given to share, Flavian admitted to himself that he was in trouble.
Well, he admitted how much trouble he was in, because he had known he was in trouble from the instant Queen Tanya had invited them to stay in the palace. His stomach churned with a mess of emotions he couldn’t begin to sort.
It was supposed to be over. That night, he was supposed to be free of the charade, of the life he had before and the danger of being dragged back to it. It should have been easy enough—he would have stayed behind, feigning illness, while Velia and her aunt and uncle went to dinner with her betrothed and his family, and he would have slipped away before they returned.
Except that simple, easy plan rested on their being in a ho
