For a moment, I manage to convince myself that it’s the drugs talking, but the longer I look at her, the more serious I realize she is.

King Maximilian is trying to take down Montovia.

That knowledge doesn’t surprise me, of course—there’s always been tension between our two countries, and the last several decades have been a power tug-of-war. Montovia typically comes out on top, but I suspect that’s only served to make King Maximilian more determined. After all, we Montovians are not without fault—only a few months ago Andrew humiliated Justine, and by extension her entire family, on international television.

But it’s one thing to know that King Maximilian hates my family and another to know that he’s actively enacting a plan to take us down—and that he’s put Justine at the heart of it.

I straighten, dropping her hand. “How long have you known about this? From the very beginning?”

“I don’t know all the details,” she says, struggling onto her elbows. “I never did. You think my father would have explained everything to me?”

“But you knew he was planning this,” I say, betrayal seeping into my belly. “You knew he had something up his sleeve.”

“My father always has something up his sleeve.”

“Stop dodging the question, Justine.”

“I’m not dodging the question. I’ve told you everything I know. He’s up to something.”

I stand, agitation rippling through me. “You’ve known about this since before we were married.”

“Yes. But—”

“There’s no but about it. You knew about this. First you lied to me about Yale, then about being on birth control, and now about your father’s plans. How many more life-altering things are you keeping from me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” I jerk a hand through my hair. “Why bother telling me at all?”

She forces herself up to a full-seated position. “Because I want us to stop it! Why do you think?”

I stare at her for a long moment, still trying to understand everything. The sting of her betrayal still burns inside me, but I try to force myself to look past it. She’s right—she did choose to tell me. And now I have a choice—to believe her, to transfer my anger where it really belongs, or to widen the gap between us. A choice between love and anger.

Looking down at her, I know my heart only has one option.

I choose love.

“Okay,” I say, forcing myself to take a deep breath. “Then what are we going to do about it? How can we stop him?”

Relief floods her eyes, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I don’t know exactly what he has planned. But we can probably start by learning what he’s told your father.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard.” I sit back down, thinking. “My father would probably tell me outright, given that I’m now married into your family.”

She nods. “And I’ll see what I can learn from my father. He doesn’t usually tell me his plans, not like with Reginald, but maybe…” She frowns.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe if he thought I would help…” She shakes her head. “It’s a long shot, but he knows things have been a little rocky between us. Maybe if he believes I hate you and still have every intention of leaving this marriage, he’ll let some things slip. I could even offer to help. After all, there have been a few fairly public incidents between us these past few weeks. He’ll have every reason to believe we aren’t getting along.”

“Even though we showed up here together?”

“There are plenty of excuses for that,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I could tell him we fled here to escape the embarrassment caused by the fire alarm incident at my conference.”

My cheeks go hot. “I know that was out of line, but—”

“Of course, we’ll need to be less affectionate with each other in public. And it will probably help if I request a separate suite while we’re here. Anything that’ll make my father believe we’re struggling. Maybe we can even stage an argument—something semi-public—and I can tell my father I want to leave the marriage earlier than expected. Yes, that might be perfect. If I can convince him I hate you, he might allow me to be privy to his true plans.”

I frown. “This seems…excessive. Is that what you really want? To sleep in separate rooms and argue with each other?”

“It’s not going to be real,” she says. “We can plan out the argument in advance. And as for the rooms… We just need the servants to spread the word that we’re sleeping in different places. We don’t actually have to sleep in different places.”

“So you want me to sneak in and out of your guest suite every night?” I ask. I’ll admit, the idea does have a certain wicked appeal. That’s one way to add a little extra heat to our marriage.

“The point is just to convince my father that I’d be willing to help him with his plans,” she says. “It’s the only way we’re going to find out what he’s actually up to.”

I reach out and take her hand again, lacing my fingers through hers. I have to admit—though it does sound like a solid plan, the idea of even pretending to hate her isn’t very exciting, especially since we finally seem to be on the same page. I was enjoying being affectionate with her, and I don’t want that to end.

But if King Maximilian means to take down Montovia… A couple months of pleasure with Justine won’t be enough to withstand the damage her father is sure to cause. I’m not sure our relationship will survive whatever he has planned.

“You’re right,” I say finally, sliding my thumb across the back of her palm. “I’ll speak to the servants immediately about arranging a separate suite for you. And maybe…” I glance around, assuring myself that we’re currently the only ones within earshot. “I know a few members of the staff who, at my urging and with no questions asked, would spread word that they’d overhead us arguing. Honestly, you can trust any servant in this palace, but some are more discreet than others, and I think we should tread carefully. If half the palace knows this is a ruse, word will certainly get back to your father, even if my people have the best of intentions.”

She nods, but there’s something in her eyes that troubles me—something almost sad.

I lean forward, bringing my face to hers. “I hate that we have to do this so soon,” I murmur. “I was beginning to get used to holding your hand. And having conversations that weren’t arguments.”

She gives a small smile. “Me too.”

“I’ll sneak into your room every night,” I promise her. “And then we’ll shower each other with the affection we couldn’t all day.”

“I’m looking forward to that.”

I kiss her gently. My body aches for more, but I’m afraid to kiss her too passionately right now—she has no idea what it did to me, seeing her face puff up like that, watching her lose consciousness, thinking for a split second that I was about to lose her forever.

I lean back, then help her back down onto the pillows.

“Get some rest,” I tell her. “I’ll get everything arranged.”

She nods, but there are still shadows in her eyes. It makes my heart ache.

Please let this be the right thing, I think. Let love and goodness win.

And telling myself that I’m doing what my beloved wife wants, I leave to go arrange for her new suite.