Duke Thompson's Residence
The heavy silence in the drawing room was shattered by the clatter of a teacup against its saucer.
Elizabeth stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, face pale but burning with indignation. She had just been told of the king's announcement—his intent to reconcile with Anastasia as queen, and to name her, Elizabeth, as his mistress.
"A mistress?" she repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. "He wants me to be his mistress? While Anastasia takes back the crown?"
Duke Thompson sat calmly in his chair, his fingers laced together. "That's the arrangement."
Elizabeth turned on him, eyes blazing. "He used me! And now he expects me to sit quietly in the shadow of that woman?"
"He didn't use you," the Duke said sternly. "You stepped into that room willingly. You wanted to outshine your sister. Now that it has consequences, you want to back out?"
