After all the ups and downs of the last few days, this is the final straw. I’ve done everything in my power to reach her, and even though I knew she was holding back, I’m not ready for this sort of betrayal.

I take a step back. “When exactly did you plan on telling me about this? The day before you left?”

“I was going to tell you,” she insists. “But there hasn’t been a good time. And I knew you wouldn’t understand—”

“Damn right I don’t understand. You’ve been lying to me!”

“I just haven’t told you the whole truth. There’s a difference.” She crosses her arms, and I can tell by the stubborn look in her eyes that she has no intention of backing down. “I married you because it was what was best for Rosvalia. But there’s only so much of myself I can give to a man I hardly know. I…I need to do this. I don’t expect you to understand, but that’s the truth.”

“The only reason you ‘hardly know’ me is because you push me away every chance you get. Did it ever occur to you, even once, that had you discussed this with me I might have supported it?”

“You don’t sound like you support it.”

“Because you lied to me.” I sigh and rub my hand down the side of my face. “Because it’s clear now that you’ve never had any actual intention of committing to this marriage.”

She reaches for me. “William—”

“Not tonight,” I say, continuing to back away. “I need to think.”

I turn and stride to the door. She calls after me again, but I ignore her. Nothing she could say would change anything. She’s planning on leaving in seventy-nine days—has been planning to from the day we were married—and I only found out by chance. No wonder she’s been stubbornly refusing my attempts to bridge the gap between us—she knew this was only temporary. She has no reason to entangle herself emotionally with me.

Anger churns inside me—along with some other emotions I don’t want to examine too closely. I entered into the marriage in good faith—committed to being a good husband in whatever way I could. I feel like a fool for wanting her to do the same.

What did you expect? I ask myself. You agreed to the engagement without consulting her. Can you really blame her for running away? For finding her way out of a situation where she was trapped?

My anger burns out such thoughts quickly, though.

I don’t return to our suite—I don’t want her to find me. Instead, I head outside. The Royal Guard at the door looks at me in surprise as I head out into the gardens, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

The night is still young, but the gardens are quite dark. The sky is cloudy, blocking what little light the waxing moon and scattering of stars might have given me. And while there are lanterns along the paths across the palace grounds, they’re few and far between. I have the feeling that, unlike the gardens around the palace in Montovia, these see little use. Neither the King nor Queen seem like the type who enjoy wandering through flowers just for the beauty of them. If I had to guess, I’d venture that the only reason they maintain gardens is for show.

In addition to the dark, it’s also quite chilly out here. Winter is coming quickly, and the damp heat from the storm two weeks ago feels like a distant memory. I didn’t bother stopping for a coat on my way out the door, so I just cross my arms and try to keep what heat I can as I stumble down the dark stone path. Areas of the ground are still a little muddy, but I manage to make my way to the edges of the grounds without injuring myself. All the while, my mind is churning.

Justine is leaving in seventy-nine days. She never had any intention of making this marriage work. My thoughts keep coming back to that knowledge. I gave up my life, my home, my family and friends for this marriage—for the good of both our countries—but it was easier when I thought I wasn’t alone. When I thought we were a team at the end of the day, despite our disagreements. For better or for worse, our fates were intertwined—we were in this together.

I’ve reached the wrought iron fence that surrounds the palace on all sides. Gripping two of the bars, I stare out at the city. There isn’t much activity in the streets at this hour, but many of the houses and buildings are still lit up.

And to think, I was finally starting to bond with the people here. I was finally starting to see how this place might come to feel like home. The storm, for all the destruction it caused, turned out to be a sort of blessing in disguise for me—the subsequent repairs gave me something to do while also helping me get out of my own head. Working on the bridge allowed me to work out some of my marital frustrations in a physical way. But now I wonder why I even bothered. There’s no reason to care about getting along with Justine anymore. No reason to try and seduce her. No reason to try and make her fall in love with me. All of that is wasted effort.

I sigh and lean my forehead against the bars. They’re cold, but the shock against my skin clears my head.

And then I find myself remembering the good things I’ve shared with Justine—the times I’ve danced with her in my arms. The handful of times I’ve managed to tease one of those brilliant smiles from her. The way her body felt against mine when we finally came together in bed. I think of all the ways I’ve come to admire her—how humbling it was to see her working on this conference, how inspiring it’s been to see how much she cares about her people. Her stubbornness might frustrate me sometimes, but it’s that very spiritedness that draws me to her again and again—her passion is beautiful. And I know, though she may demur, that she feels at least some of that passion for me.

She didn’t fake the connection we had last night—in spite of her intentions to leave, there’s something between us. She may deny it, or try to fight it, but it’s still there. And in spite of my anger, I’m not willing to let that go.

With a grunt, I push myself away from the bars. What am I doing, sulking out here? Why aren’t I in there, fighting for her? If she’s determined to go to Yale in the spring, then so be it—but I won’t let her go without a fight. Come to that, who’s to say I can’t go with her when the time comes? There’s no reason her acceptance needs to spell the end of our marriage.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m jogging back across the grounds. I nearly slip on a muddy section of the path, but I don’t let that slow me down. Once inside, I dart through the corridors, back to her office.

The office is dark. She’s already gone. I hurry down the hallway to the suite she’s taken for herself, but no one answers the door. Tentatively, I try the handle, and I find it unlocked. But like the office, the guest suite is dark. There’s no one inside.

Maybe she went back to our suite. Maybe, like me, she realizes there’s something to save here. I practically sprint through the corridors, making it across the palace to our shared suite in record time.

“Justine,” I say breathlessly as I tumble through the door. “I’m sorry.”

But just like the other two places I’ve checked, the suite is empty. My wife is nowhere to be found.

Frowning, I leave the suite. Where would she have gone at this hour? If she’d come after me into the gardens, we’d certainly have crossed paths. But where could she be?

I hear footsteps coming up the next corridor, and I hurry to the next corner, expecting to turn and see Justine coming down the hallway. Instead, I see Reginald.

He smiles when he sees me. “Brother—I trust you’ve spoken to Justine about everything I’ve told you?”

“Unfortunately.” The conversation didn’t go quite the way I’d planned, but I’m not sure I want to get into that with him now.

“Ah, I was wondering if you two had had some sort of spat.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says, holding up his hands defensively. “Only I saw her a short while ago and she seemed upset.”

“You saw her? Where?”

“Heading into the guest wing. Didn’t know why she had reason to go there at this hour, but Justine did always like to play the good hostess.”

My gut tenses up. “The guest quarters?” Most of the conference attendees are staying at the facility itself, but many of the important guests—the dignitaries and titled attendees like my siblings, as well as the guests of honor—are being housed in the visitors’ quarters at the southern end of the palace.

“That’s what I said,” he says flippantly. “Honestly, I can only think of one person she’d visit at this hour—but why she still gives that bastard the time of day is beyond me.” He shrugs. “But if you two had a fight…who knows what’s going on in her head right now?”

I have to fight a growl down in my throat. “She wouldn’t go to him. She hates him.” But my thoughts are already working overtime—she may hate him, but she did invite him to be the keynote speaker at her conference. And took his side when we fought at the celebration. And as much as I hate to admit it, Reginald is right—Justine and I just had a fight, so who knows what’s going on in her head right now? I stormed out of her office without letting her explain anything. Maybe she decided to find someone who would listen.

My hands have curled into fists at my sides. I swear, if that man takes advantage of her current emotional state…he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

I storm past Reginald, who laughs behind me. That grating sound only fuels my anger.

If my wife has run to her ex-lover… If that bastard lays a single finger on her… I won’t be held responsible for what I do.

I hurry through the palace, returning first to Justine’s office. After searching around in her desk drawers, I finally find a chart detailing where each of the important guests has been housed during their stay here. I find James Camden’s room on the chart, commit the location to memory, and shove the chart back into the drawer.

Before long I’m standing outside his door, fist raised to demand entry, but something makes me pause.

You don’t know that she came here, a little voice in my head says. What if you’re mistaken? Reginald only saw her coming in this direction—you have no idea where she was actually going. Threatening to knock down the door and then realizing James is here alone won’t win me any points against him.

Taking a deep breath, I lower my fist and bring my head close to the door, pressing my ear against the wood.

For a long moment, I don’t hear anything at all. Then, finally, my ear picks up the faint sounds of movement. And a voice.

Wait—two voices.

One is male—James, obviously—but the other is distinctly female.

I feel as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

Stumbling back from the door, I try to calm my suddenly racing thoughts. Until this moment, a part of me still believed—hoped—that I was just being ridiculously foolish. That jealousy had made me jump to conclusions. But if she’s in there with James right now…

My back hits the wall on the far side of the corridor, right across from the door. Part of me still wants to bang on the door, to make James pay for what he’s done—what he’s doing—but another part of me just feels sick. In spite of my jealousy, I still believed, deep down, that what Justine and I have between us would prevail. The moments of connection we’ve had, as rare as they sometimes feel, have been deep and intense. I still have a hard time believing she’d cast everything aside so easily, even in a moment of anger.

You drove her to this, another voice says. You didn’t stay to listen to her. You stormed out.

I don’t know now long I stay there, staring at the door. At one point I creep closer again, just to prove to myself that I wasn’t imagining things, but then the faint sound of female laughter meets my ears, and my entire body goes rigid. I remember one of her poems in which she described how James made her laugh—how he was so serious with the rest of the world, but how he saved his humor for her—and I can’t stand it anymore.

I won’t stand here and listen to this.

If Justine wants to throw this marriage away, then so be it. There’s no reason to keep trying to win her over, no reason to try and find common ground. She’s made her decision, and I need to accept that.

It’s surprising, the sense of relief I feel when I give myself permission to give up. I chose to ignore the lump of anguish that I feel beneath it. I’ve been fighting an uphill battle this entire time, but now I’m free—I don’t have to think about anyone but myself anymore.

And with that resolution, I return to our suite and go to bed alone.