“Good evening, sire.” Valdemeer poured him a glass of cognac without asking. He put it on the edge of the desk before sitting in his chair behind the desk. “She is here?” He lifted the crystal glass to sip the cognac before answering. “Yes, sire.” “And your journey? Was it…uneventful?” Demi hesitated over mentioning Anca’s attempted escape. He sighed. “She grew frightened upon learning she is your heir.” Valdemeer’s gray brows formed a V. “She didn’t know?” “No, sire.” He stroked his beard, looking thoughtful. “What does she know of us, Nicodemus?” “I don’t think she knows anything, sire. Katrine told her you had died, and that she was a Ukrainian immigrant.” The king swallowed heavily. “I see.” He glanced down at the amber liquid in his glass, seeming to collect his thoughts. “How is Katrine?” He set down the glass. “She’s been ill. She’s had heart surgery, and Anca said she’s fragile.” He shook his head. “How can that be?
