Conaan lay in bed, his eyes wide open as he watched the light dance around the white ceiling, his chest constricting painfully. He closed his eyes, but every single time, he heard Eleanor, each time the words hurting a bit more, each time sounding more and more accusatory.

He never even looked at another woman. Not before or after her. He swallowed, vaguely remembering the woman who could have replaced Eleanor back then, a week after the then king, his father, realized Eleanor had run away from home.

It had been his own timely intervention, or the beta wouldn't have died of natural causes like he did.

Naturally, his father...