The maid lowered her gaze, clearly uncomfortable, as Rowan straightened his shoulders.
Inside the room, muffled laughter could be heard—Genevieve, no doubt, mocking his persistence.
"I'm afraid I must insist—" Rowan began, but his words were interrupted by the loud, imperious voice of Genevieve herself.
"Tell him to leave! I don't have time for his groveling today."
Rowan's lips pressed into a thin line. His icy gray eyes flicked toward the closed door as if he could burn a hole through it with his gaze alone.
Still, he forced a thin, composed smile and took a step back.
"Very well," he muttered, more to himself than to the maid. "Her Highness always knows how to make a man feel welcome."
As he turned to leave, his mind churned. He didn't truly care for the princess—she was vain, insufferable, and utterly dismissive—but she was useful.
