shouted.
Clayton’s hands balled into tight fists at his sides. His nails started digging painfully into his palms. He controlled his anger by concentrating on the pain. If he didn’t, the King would surely not be standing in front of him; he’d be lying on the floor, crying in pain.
Clayton, we know it has something to do with your health,
the Queen said. But we heard no word from you. You ignored the people that came to your door, and you did not even try to contact the healer.
The Queen looked innocent and petit sitting on her large silver throne. The jewels that were embedded into it gleamed in the light and made her look like a goddess.
Clayton relaxed somewhat and answered her, ignoring the King. Yes, it is my health. The past week I have not been able to get out of my bed, so I could not answer to anyone or contact you, my Queen.
He couldn’t help but look into her blue eyes as they stared back at him. Unlike her King, she was understanding, kind—the qualities a true Queen. She was one of many things Eomadas didn’t deserve.
A memory crawled its way into Clayton’s mind, a memory he would never forget, even if it was probably best that he did . . .
The snow-covered grass crunched
