Something was off about Shahin. He was much too calm, the two days after he’d blown up at us over our offer that we came to settle upon. I sat across from him at that same table on the third day of negotiation, watching as he put on the act of a grief-stricken widower so flawlessly. I hated him, with every ounce of my being I loathed the Duke. He agreed to a number of other settlements—promising to speak kindly of our nation in the coming months once he’d left. The last day he negotiated with us, he made a request that took me by surprise.


    “May I see her room…?” Shahin asked with feigned earnest. “I haven’t a single reminder of her, the servants threw away all of her old belongings not long after she passed. Something about bad memories…”If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    I couldn’t tell him ‘no,’ but I could strongly urge him against it.


    “Lord Shahin, I highly recommend against it.” I said gently. “Al’Hala’s room is strictly off limits to anyone but her blood.”


    “I was her husband, Abyad.” He replied, his eyes filling with woe. That bastard. His mediators looked to me pleadingly, more than tired of quelling the man’s upset. I hesitated for a long while, rubbing my face with my hands and trying to pretend that the notion pained me. He was cornering me into no other option, as I felt his eyes burning into me. Bastard.


    “Fine…” I muttered, giving my eyes one last rub. I hoped Bròn had been snooping in the shadows. Maybe he could do something to keep our act in place.