The air inside the bedchamber grew fragile, brittle as spun glass.
Evangeline's breath caught in her chest as she stared at the back of Silver's head. The words he had uttered to Jericho echoed like a slow, deliberate poison. Strictly a Queen and her court jester. A bitter, metallic taste settled on her tongue, masking the sweet, lingering warmth of his lingering touches from the night before.
Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"Yes..." Evangeline finally spoke, her voice dropping into a dangerously flat, regal tone that concealed the bleeding fracture in her chest. She looked straight toward Jericho's shimmering image in the glass, her chin held high. "We are a Queen... and her jester."
Silver's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. He didn't turn his face, but his eyes narrowed in dark irritation. Slowly, deliberately, he cast his gaze downward, his jaw clenching until a faint pulse throbbed along his pale neck.
