Contrary to what Liam had expected after his mother and aunt declared social war on House Canmore, the world did not explode immediately.
That, in itself, felt suspicious.
People reacted, of course. The capital had been dining out on the Ray-George scandal for three straight days, and even Wrohan's most disciplined hypocrites could only pretend surprise for so long when a man looked almost identical to the king in bad lighting and unforgivably similar in good lighting. Still, there had been no public collapse.
Felix Canmore, however, had not enjoyed it.
That alone made the inconvenience worthwhile.
Three days later, Liam was in his study at Ravenwood Manor, still technically confined by his mother's will and his aunt's enthusiastic support of it, but at least no longer bruised. The swelling had gone down. The color had faded. His jaw only hurt when he laughed, yawned, or thought too hard about violence, which unfortunately remained a frequent hobby.
He was healed.
