“You needed that,” the woman moaned.
“After all that restraint with the southern girl.” Malachi pulled out.
He still had not noticed Lauretta.
He dragged his trousers up with deliberate calm, fastening them while Mira straightened her dress.
Only when he turned toward the washbasin did his gaze lift—and lock on the open doorway.
The air left the room.
Mira followed his stare.
A slow, delighted smile curved her mouth.
“Well.
Look who decided to join us.” “Close the door, Lauretta.” The door shut.
She remained inside.
Leaving would have been easier.
Staying felt like the only scrap of pride she had left.
Mira rose from the bed, unhurried, and smoothed her skirts.
“Shall I go, my king?
Or would you prefer I stay and show your new queen how it’s done properly?” Malachi’s eyes never left Lauretta.
“Leave.” Mira crossed the room with a soft laugh.
Malachi turned fully to face his wife.
He looked every inch the King of the North—broad, scarred, and utterly without remorse.
“You were sent to fetch me for dinner,” he said.
“Not to stand in doorways.” Lauretta turned away before he could say more.
She straightened the wool dress and forced her breathing to slow.
The corridor was cold.
Every step back toward the dining hall felt like an embarrassment.
It seemed like her mother-in-law had intentionally sent her to fetch Malachi because she knew what he was doing.
When she re-entered the family dining hall, conversation paused.
The Dowager’s sharp eyes swept over her, those evil eyes observing her too keenly.
“Well?” the older woman asked, voice sweet as poisoned honey.
“Did you find our king?” Lauretta took her seat.
“He will join us shortly.” The Dowager’s smile widened.
“Did you interrupt something important, girl?” One of the lords chuckled into his wine.
Lauretta stared at the roasted meat on her plate and said nothing.
Silence was the only armor she possessed.
A few moments later the doors opened.
Malachi strode in, hair damp as if he had washed quickly.
He took his seat at the head of the table without glancing at her.
Servants rushed to fill his cup.
Talk of border patrols and newly conquered territories resumed as if nothing had happened.
As if his new wife had not just walked in on him buried inside another woman.
Lauretta forced herself to lift her fork.
The food tasted bland in her mouth.
The Queen Dowager’s eyes gleamed with mischief, like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Almost immediately the doors of the dining hall opened once again.
It was the woman Lauretta had caught with Malachi.
Her hair looked as if birds had attacked it, her gown was wrinkled, and her steps faltered slightly, as though she wanted everyone to believe someone had fucked the living daylights out of her.
As she drew closer Lauretta noticed her face was heavily made up, yet the makeup remained surprisingly in place.
She took her place right beside Lauretta’s mother-in-law, her gaze locking onto Lauretta’s.
“I see you’ve met your co-wife,” her mother-in-law said just as Lauretta raised the spoon to her mouth.
She paused, her hand trembling.
What did she mean by that?
“This is Mira, my second daughter-in-law.
And yes, she is Malachi’s concubine, soon to give us an heir.” She looked toward Mira.
“Isn’t that right, Mira?” “Yes, Mother.” Mira nodded and fixed Lauretta with a sweet, poisonous smile.
Lauretta glanced at Vaelor, who seemed completely preoccupied with his food, oblivious to every word leaving his mother’s lips.
“You know, before my son brought you into this territory—” She turned to Malachi with a scowl on her face.
“—Mira was supposed to be his beloved wife.
But since my son has added you to the equation, we have to make you useful around here.
From today you will become Mira’s personal maid.
You will see to her every need until she gets pregnant and delivers our heir.” Lauretta dropped her fork.
The sharp clang rang through the dining room.
She stood up from her seat, eyes lowered for only a second before she lifted them again.
She would not take this disrespect.
“Sit down.
You have not been dismissed from this table.
I’m sure you know your wifely manners.” Malachi’s voice cut through the air, his thick eyebrows raised in a silent dare.
Lauretta sat back down, staring at the bland food in front of her.
She could feel her eyes growing misty, but she refused to let a single tear fall.
She would not accept defeat so easily.
“From today on you will also join me for training together with your duties as Mira’s maid.
Is that clear?” Malachi asked.
She nodded.
Malachi slammed his fist on the table.
The sound cracked through the room like a whip.
“Use your words, Lauretta.” She said nothing.
Her lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line, the only defiance she could still claim.
The silence stretched.
Mira’s soft laugh broke it first.
“Oh, she is spirited.
I like that.
It will make breaking her more entertaining.” The Queen Dowager sipped her wine, clearly entertained.
Vaelor finally looked up, but only long enough to exchange a glance with his mother before returning to his plate.
Malachi leaned back in his chair, studying her.
“You refuse to speak when ordered.
You refuse to accept your place.
Very well.” His voice dropped.
“Since you seem determined to forget who you belong to, I will make certain you never forget again.” He stood.
The entire table went still.
“From this night forward you will no longer sleep in the east wing.
You will share Mira’s chambers.
You will wake when she wakes, bathe when she bathes, dress her, feed her, tend to every need she has.
You will sleep on the floor at the foot of her bed like the servant you have proven yourself to be.
That is your punishment for defiance.
And if I hear even one complaint from Mira’s lips, the next punishment will make this one feel like kindness.”