Marina shot to her feet and began pacing the length of her chamber. She moved from one end of the room to the other, her embroidered skirts whispering across the polished floor with every restless step.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The longer she walked, the more unsettled she became. Then, without warning, she stopped.
No. She could not continue waiting like this. Why should she be the one swallowing her pride to win that woman's favor?
Why should she force herself to smile, flatter, and curry favor with nothing more than a lowly embroiderer?
A flicker of defiance flashed through her eyes. She wanted to see Rhaegar. Not through messages. Not through other people.
She wanted to stand before him herself. She refused to believe that if she faced him directly, she would truly lose to Caelith.
With renewed determination, Marina strode toward her dressing table. She changed into a fresh set of robes and sat before the bronze mirror, carefully studying her reflection.
