It started weeks ago, but it was easiest to notice now in the early morning. The curtains at the windows were still drawn shut and with the weather outside so dull and gloomish, candles were lit upon the walls by the same servants who usually came about to let first light in each morning.

You were wrapped up tight into the covers and furs adorning the bed, the bed curtains closed around it. Spring storms brought a dense humidity that had started to creep back into Summerhall.

It was unusual for you to wake up with your new husband, prince Maekar. After all, he’d never wanted to wed another wife—especially not one as young and temperamental as you—and that had been abundantly clear since your wedding night, only but a fortnight ago. With his duties taking up large parts of his day, it made avoidance all the more convenient. Maekar had been tense as of late, often irritated whenever you saw him around the castle. Perhaps you were lucky in some sense. Maekar wasn’t a cruel man, he never laid hands on you, never forced himself upon you—not that he cared to touch you much at all. Sometimes it was as if you were never even there.

Until boredom stuck you, that is.