MARIGOLD POV

The past few hours were hell.

The banquet had been a blur of poisoned wine, narrowed eyes, and the suffocating pressure of my own pulse hammering too loud in my ears. One slip—one squeeze of Gregor’s hand under the table—and the Queen had smiled.

Not politely. Not warmly. The kind of smile that said caught you.

Thank every star in the heavens that Prince Leon had been quick enough to take my other hand, shielding us in plain sight. Quick enough to play the devoted ...