The room was quiet now, save for the soft ticking of an ornate wall clock and the faint rustling of sheets beneath Riven's fingers. The door had clicked shut behind Leon a few minutes ago, leaving Riven alone with his thoughts for the first time since the chaos of the kidnapping.
He let out a long breath, the air escaping him like the release of a tightly wound spring. Sprawled across the bed, arms flung to his sides, he stared up at the ceiling.
The silk canopy above was embroidered with the royal crest of Leon's family—an ever-present reminder of where he was. He did not think the Dowager Queen was on his side. Why would she? She would obviously take her son's side. But for now, she was playing diplomat.
Leon would learn a lesson, and Riven would forgive them and not create trouble by tattling to Ronan.
He had been taken—stolen—from Soren's territory. That fact alone could start a war.
