Princess Gabriella was brought before the king, her fine gown and lustrous jewelry sparkling in the sunlight. She was defiant, her tongue full of crass explanations that did nothing more than prove her mad. The king took no pity. “I’d beg the gods for a child,” Freemont warned. “I have no doubt your father’s punishment will be harsh should you not conceive. If your temporary union with Cadeyrn is fruitless, the marriage is null.” Freemont looked at the guards. “Take her to the tower.” Gabriella was dragged away, her hands bound, her lips thin with fury. I’d been standing in the hall when she passed, the hood of a brown robe pulled low over my face. The cloak did nothing to conceal me. The glare she threw my way was chilling. “It’s wrong,” Catriona said later. “Madness is overlooked in royal families. Too many die because rulers fear the extinction of their line. King Henry is worse than most. His throne will pass to his nephew, Oliver, upon his death, and Henry doesn’t want that.”
