Homer caught the physician by the arm. "How is my wife?"
"She'll live. But I'm afraid..."
Homer's voice dropped low, unsteady in a way I'd rarely heard when it concerned me. "Afraid of what?"
The physician shook his head with a heavy sigh. "Her body is ruined. She'll spend the rest of her life in pain."
Something like guilt flickered across Homer's face. He gathered me into his arms, my body limp as a threadbare rag. "I'm sorry, Penny. It's not that I didn't want to help you, but the Crown Prince's wife is carrying a royal heir. I couldn't afford the delay..."
I gritted my teeth against the pain and pulled myself free of his embrace. I shook my head. "It's fine. You were up all night, my lord. Go rest."
His hands hung frozen in the air where I'd been. His voice came out scraped raw. "Are you angry with me, Penny?"
I closed my eyes. My answer was flat, toneless. "This commoner wouldn't dare."
"Commoner?"
Homer caught the shift instantly. He stared at me as though I'd spoken a foreign language.
Before, I had always addressed myself as "your wife" in his presence.
Now I'd changed the word. The line between us, drawn clean.