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“If a wife cannot speak ill of her husband, then what joys are there left for her in marriage?�
And there, beneath the platform, cowered a boy. The shadows hid his dirt-smudged face, but not that bright white grin he carried. Not until it disappeared between black feathers as he bit into one of the dead birds.
A deep cleft cracked open somewhere in my heart, letting new pain pour into my chest until the pressure ached behind my sternum. I wanted to cry, and scream, and thrash, and wail, but I� didn’t.
A prince with no kingdom, no kin, no rightful claim to the throne of Dranada. Five hells, he didn’t even possess manners. The only thing he actually did have was the personality of crotch lice.
