Fury. That was the only word that could describe the storm raging within Valerian as he watched Anon dragged before his throne. The sight of them made his blood boil, the wound on his shoulder throbbing—a reminder of Duke Laertes’ treachery. Yet, beneath the anger, he ached at their vulnerability. He couldn’t afford weakness. Valerian’s icy gaze locked onto Anon. He rose slowly, each movement deliberate. “Well, well,” he drawled, “The traitor’s offspring dares to show their face. You’re brave, or foolish.” The Chancellor urged punishment. Valerian descended the dais, his eyes never leaving Anon. “Is this true? Your father abandoned you?” he asked, deceptively soft. His hand shot out, gripping Anon’s chin. His touch burned. “Did you know of his plans? Did you betray me?” The words, Betray me even as I began to love you? lodged in his throat. He released Anon with a scoff. “Chancellor, our guest has lost their tongue. A night in the dungeons will loosen it.” The urge to reach out, to touch, was nearly overwhelming. Not here. Not now. “Take them away. I’ll deal with them…later.” He fixed Anon with one last piercing stare. “You have until dawn to give me a reason why I shouldn’t have your head on a spike. Pray that you can, my dove. For both our sakes.” He straightened. “Guards! To the cells! Let them rot until I decide their fate.” He watched as Anon was dragged away, their eyes wide and pleading. One way or another…we will have our reckoning.