“Well, it’s cold. Frozen. But, also quite lovely. I may be biased, but it’s a shame many don’t know about the hidden beauty of Mallory.”

Jovine blinked. “Pardon?”

The Grand Duke tilted his head, looking innocently bemused. “You wanted to know everything about Mallory.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said with narrowed eyes.

A deep chuckle rumbled out of him, and she could feel the vibration of it touch her chest as he stepped into her, gently lifting her off the floor in coordination with the playing waltz.

“I am a little disappointed, Your Majesty. I was hoping your questions would be about your curiosity for me,” he said as he twirled her back into his waiting embrace.

“I’m sure any relevant information about yourself will be tied to your explanation of what happened in Mallory,” she shot back.

The Grand Duke contemplated her words, nodding as if her statement made sense. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Jovine stifled a sigh of frustration, feeling as if she would never get a straight answer.

A small squeeze of her hand from him failed in its attempt to bring her attention back to the observant Grand Duke.

Jovine was already inside her head, and the discouragement from her hopeless venture caused her to miss a few steps. When she stumbled into him, he was quick to steady her.

“Nothing happened in Mallory.”

She looked up at the soft words muttered by the Grand Duke, who slowly swayed with her to the ending symphony.

“The late Emperor and his son visited my estate. There were official discussions on resolving confidential issues within Mallory’s borders. But, they left to return to the Palace a few weeks later. Whatever significant thing that happened to the Emperor and the Prince — it didn’t happen in Mallory,” he supplied.

Jovine stopped in the middle of the dance floor, unable to comprehend what she had just heard. “You showed up on the night His Majesty returned to the Palace. How do you explain that?” she forced out, staring at the woven Columbine Flower on his chest rather than meeting his eyes.

“His Majesty summoned me. I just happened to arrive when he did.”

“Why did he summon you?”

“To talk about my return to Court,” he replied with a frown in his voice. “Your Majesty? Are you feeling unwell?”

Jovine shook her head. This can’t be right, she thought. All this time, Mallory had been the bearer of the answers she had been searching for. But, now…

Now, nothing made sense.

“I sent letters to Mallory. What of them?”

“I never got them,” he muttered, gripping her hand.

Jovine’s mind raced with endless questions, and as much as she hated to admit it, doubt started to creep into her mind. Could Richard really be capable of —

The sound of her husband’s shout of pain whipped her head to the side, scattering her thoughts, and she was met with the horrifying sight of blood dripping from his hand.

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“Your Majesty!” she exclaimed, ripping herself out of the Grand Duke’s hold and frantically rushing over to where he stood by the grandiose fountain of sparkling wine.

Richard freed a string of vibrant curse words as he stuck his bloodied finger into his mouth, attempting to staunch the flowing blood. The chipped flute of his wine glass shimmered in red as a maid briskly carried it away, looking anxious and fearful of his wrath.

“Your Majesty,” Jovine breathed, reaching out to him through the gathering crowd of concerned subjects.

Taking his hand, she inspected the wound, hating the sight of his broken skin seeping trickles of fresh blood. Jovine searched for the handkerchief Lady Margaret had neatly folded into the breast of her gown, and she brought it to the delicate injury, wrapping the clean cloth around it with a deep, worried frown.

“No need to overreact. I’ll survive,” Richard huffed.

Jovine tied the fabric into a deft knot. “I don’t like seeing you bleed,” she murmured.

Richard breathed out a sound of amusement. “You always did fret over the smallest injuries,” he remembered with a small twitch of his lips.

Jovine looked up, reveling in the smallest smile she had seen from him, but one he had given to her nonetheless. Oh, how she had missed it.

“Please don’t hurt yourself. It pains me to see you suffer,” she admitted, keeping his hand gently placed in hers.

The Emperor gazed back in thought at his Empress, oblivious to the watching eyes surrounding them.

The sound of a loud clearing throat and the clink of glass interrupted the moment and brought their attention to the orchestra floor, where Lord Harrison stood with a raised glass.

“In commemoration of this grand night, I have prepared a musical gift for thy Royal Majesties,” he announced with a boastful, slurred voice.

Unconsciously, Jovine exchanged a knowing look with her husband, one that they had frequently traded in the past in response to the clueless, vexing Lord who always failed to read the room. Richard returned her look, and they both looked away to hide their growing smiles.

Jovine’s heart soared. There you are, she thought.

The shameful doubt that had inched its way into her mind evaporated. No matter how much he had changed, he was still a good man. She believed it.

As the ensemble played to the request of Lord Harrison, Richard extended his arm to her. “Well, I suppose I should dance with my Empress.”

She gave him a sweet smile, letting him lead her to the floor where she passed the forgotten Grand Duke, who looked at the scene with a stoic face.

As Jovine danced in the familiar hold of her husband, she felt happy for the first time in a long while.

But even that peace was short-lived.

As the Emperor and Empress gracefully swayed to the gentle tune, an alluring women in red settled behind a large golden harp waiting for her on the stage.

At the first pluck of its strings, a hauntingly beautiful voice glided through the air, capturing the attention of several spectators. The enchanting song slithered into Jovine’s ears, compelling her to look towards the sound of such beauty.

With blood-red hair and tempting, sumptuous lips, the singer reminded Jovine of sin. She pulled the attention of countless men, who were now enamored by her bewitching dark gaze that roamed the room expertly and her petite, yet voluptuous body that oozed in sheer confidence. And, her voice. It was so enticing, even Jovine found herself leaning towards the melody.

Jovine stopped against the stiff form of the Emperor, whose eyes were suddenly fixed on the mysterious woman singing a ballad of love.

She froze.

The way he was looking at her…

With a slightly parted mouth and a flushed face, he looked captivated. Jovine’s heart galloped in panic.

No.

She recognized that gaze. It was one she would find in the darkest of nights when he used to ravish her body in a rage of pure, lustful passion.

The pierce of betrayal ripped through her chest. Why was her husband looking at another woman this way?

The sudden dissonant strike of a chord and a whimper of pain put a halt to the lovely song. The broken string of the glittering harp had cut the woman’s finger.

Without hesitation, Richard rushed to the stage in concern, where the woman was caressing her injured hand.

Kneeling down beside her, he gently took her hand and, with a deep look into her eyes, stuck the tip of her finger into his mouth to lick away the flowing blood. As their eyes clashed, tension pulsated throughout the room and whispers started to form.

Empress Jovine de Tristaine, left behind on the emptying dance floor, watched as her husband looked upon another woman with desire.

Right in front of her.

Death would have hurt less than the fracturing shards of her broken heart.

Now, she had truly lost him.

Now, he was too far gone from her.