Reuben stood frozen in the doorway of the king's study, disbelief hardening into rage as the herald repeated himself.
"His Majesty did not summon you, Your Highness."
The words echoed in his ears, hollow and mocking.
He'd been tricked.
A slow, burning realization crept over him—Alaric had played him. The message, the summons—it had all been a ruse. A deliberate distraction. A calculated move to tear him away from Lara.
He had a beautiful moment with Lara in that gallery. He still remembered the look on her face when she saw the painting of her dancing. She looked shy and endearing, and the flush on her cheeks made her even more beautiful.
Reuben's jaw tightened as a furious heat surged through his chest. He turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor. Without thinking, he lashed out—his boot smashing into an ornate vase perched in a decorative alcove. The porcelain exploded in a burst of shards and dust, scattering across the marble floor.
He didn't care.
