Chapter 21

It was a strange time to be alive when I found myself barred from entering my wife’s estate by a tiny slip of a maid.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” the maid said in a heavy Irish accent. “She explicitly told me not to let you inside.”

The butler, a granite-faced man who could’ve been thirty or seventy, stood behind the maid and nodded.

“I need to speak with her,” I repeated slowly. “It’s urgent.”

The maid just shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s not possible—Your Highness.”

And then a door was shut in my face. Me, a prince, heir to the throne of Salasia. I had to admit that had never happened before. People tended to open doors for me, not close them.

Then again, Niamh had done the same thing to me multiple times now. Clenching my jaw, I went to gaze out at the vast Irish Sea, the sea air cool against my face. 

I didn’t understand why Niamh was literally shutting me out. Had the maid even told her I was here, in Dublin, begging to see her? Did she want me to climb some trelli