Chapter Twelve

Miriam would never forget the look on her father’s face, the agony he endured before his head lolled forward and his crown slipped.

“Training?” she queried, beginning to quiver.

“As a sex slave,” Renaud told her, roughly fondling her backside.

Why couldn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut?

“Do I get a choice of instructor?” she queried, and was unprepared for the reply.

“No, but it’s someone you know very well,” the Masked King sneered.

Miriam wondered how he knew, seeing as he had only been in the territory for a very short time. Or had he? Maybe he’d camped a few leagues distant and had been plotting this for weeks? The same applied to Renaud. Had someone betrayed her? She wouldn’t put it past Daphne, or maybe even the late King Gregory.

Numbness was all she could summon when she thought of her father and the horrible way he’d died. Perhaps she was still in shock. She ought to be upset, enraged, and worried about her own circumstances, too, but it felt like all those emotions