Warric bit back a curse, reversed his path and trudged to his father’s study. He was half-frozen and his head was killing him. His blood churned with the need to get to Kya’s cottage but he was sopping wet, starving and needed supplies. Ten minutes, ten little minutes inside the castle was all he needed. But the instant his boots had hit the foyer, the king had bellowed. “You called for me, Papa?” The king started to speak then raked his glare over Warric. “You look terrible. Warric, you’ve got to stop the drinking and whoring.” A sarcastic snort blew out before Warric could catch it. Of course, his father thought the worst. He always did. Warric hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in days and Kya was no whore. He’d been with no other woman in almost two summers. “Right, I’ll take that under advisement. Did you want something? Because I really nee—” “Sit.”
