Viola.

The uncomfortable day started with Mathew rolling in the bed restless and choked as if trapped in a horrible nightmare, sheets tangled, sweat beading.

"No—get out!" he'd groan low. Honestly, since last night, I wasn't comfortable one bit to attend that ministry party tonight—dreading the crowd, the politics.

I didn't want to see Prince Azaro there lurking; he looked like a straight trouble maker, eyes scheming, and I was sure that would end badly somehow, sparks flying.

"Why ...