Seraphina sat on the edge of the enormous marriage bed, already changed into a pale silk nightgown that left little to the imagination. She had dismissed the maids. A single decanter of dark wine and two crystal glasses waited on the side table.
"You barely spoke to me all day," she said, keeping her voice light. "Not during the feast. Not during the dances. People noticed."
Caspian did not turn around. "People notice everything. It changes nothing."
The coldness in his tone made her spine stiffen. She rose and crossed the room, stopping a few paces behind him.
"We are married, Caspian. The vows are spoken. The realm expects—"
"I know what the realm expects." He finally looked at her. The grey of his eyes was winter-hard, stripped of any residual politeness he had maintained in public. "Do not pretend this is anything other than what it is. You wanted a crown. You have one. That is the beginning and the end of what exists between us."
