"Be calm," he replied. "He will be gone soon." He leaned against the doorframe.
Isolde's eyes burned as she advanced toward him, her words spitting fire. "Today is the closest I have gotten to the king since he marked me. And the fool ruined it!" The bitterness in her tone was desperation. The king was hers, stolen by that wretched queen. Every lost opportunity tightened the noose around her ambitions.
But William doubted it had anything to do with Talon at all. Damien was king. King. He could command Talon to vanish. No, the bitter truth was far simpler: Damien himself was resisting her. William could see it as plainly as the flicker of hunger in Isolde's eyes. The king might be bound to her flesh by a mark, but his will, his every stubborn choice was tied irrevocably to another.
