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great iron-clamped door. She trembled anew as he took her hand.
On the threshold he paused and bowed very low. “Welcome to your future home, my queen,” he murmured, and led her in, past wooden-faced footmen, who stared over her head, to his private room, where a table was set for two. He would have taken her in his arms then, but she evaded him and slipped wearily into a chair.
“I protest,” she managed to say, “I protest, I am faint through want of food.”
Andover, looking at her white lips, believed her. He took a seat opposite.
Two footmen came to wait on them, and although her very soul was shamed that they should see her there, she was thankful for their restraining presence.
