Reynand's jaw dropped in disbelief. Elara had spoken of marriage so plainly, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. But that wasn't what enraged him.
"What did you just say? I hope I misheard you."
Elara hesitated, pressing her lips together before murmuring, "To be your wi—wife—"
"No, before that. What rumor did you hear?"
She swallowed, then answered, "Ah… That the Marquess doesn't like women. It's just—" She gasped, realizing too late how offensive her words might have been. Lowering her gaze, she stammered, "F-For-Forgive me, Your Grace."
"For fuck's sake, who's the blighted bastard spreading that treacherous lie?"
Elara gaped. Of all the things she had imagined about the esteemed Prince, hearing him curse like a common rogue was not one of them. A small smile played on her lips—how very unprincely of him.
