“Sire,” he gasped. “I—”

“She is my mistress,” Verence said, his voice harsh with jealousy. “Her pleasure is none of your concern.”

“But—but you misunderstand,” Gavril said hastily, feeling as though the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. The countess was a fascinating, intelligent woman. He had happily spent time conversing with her whenever she permitted him to visit her little circle of ladies. “I merely sought to abate her loneliness during your absence. The building was proposed for her amusement only. I did not—” “You have also been busy seeking to be named marechal of my armies,” the king continued. “When we discussed this, I told you I did not wish you in such a position.”