Quinlan
It wasn't totally unheard of in the royal houses to be handed a bedslave as a peace offering. It was a messed up, outdated tradition, sure, but not uncommon.
But Tessa doing it? That was a calculated, sick joke.
She had literally sent a girl with the exact same height, the exact same build, and the exact same terrified blue eyes as Maisie. But this girl's skin was flawless. Unblemished. It was Tessa rubbing her victory right in my face, parading a shiny, unbroken toy while my actual mate who had barely escaped death, still fought for her life even now when she was safe.
Traumatized. Brutalized. She couldn't even go one night without screaming in her sleep.
The fever had begun right after her burn out, but even that and the herbs she was given to aid her recovery wasn't enough to give her one night of peace.
This wasn't just a sick joke. It was salt to her still healing wounds and the vitriol in my gut expanded.
