A Trip To Jaron's

"Please. If Salviana ran off, it's hardly his fault. Why would he want anything to do with your charming wife?"

Alaric's jaw ticked, but he didn't spare her a glance. His focus remained locked on Irene.

Lucas, Jaron's younger brother, stood hastily. "Alaric, I think you're overreacting. This isn't the time to point fingers. We're all worried about Salviana—"

"Are you?" Alaric's voice lowered, a dangerous edge to his words. His knuckles whitened at his sides. "Because the only people not here this morning are your brother and Warren. Convenient, isn't it?"

Lawrence, the king's brother and Warren's father, bristled. "Warren left to fetch a witch doctor for Rose. You know this, Alaric."

"Yes," Alaric said, his tone still cold. "But what about Jaron? Where is he?"

The question hovered in the air like smoke.

"Sleeping," Irene repeated, though her voice cracked—just a fraction.