Silence.
Grey looked from one face to another.
The monk's expression had finally cracked. Rosie stared at him from the back with her lips slightly parted. Even Petri looked like Grey had just announced he was the reincarnation of the Pope.
Grey had to fight the urge to laugh again. He was really damn good at this shit. In fact, he had forgotten to bask in the glory of the fact he had literally made Caldrin spit blood in rage. No, that wasn't what happened. Caldrin's entire eye had burst apart.
This damned game wanted to make his life a living hell. If he didn't put the bastards through the wringer, he'd never be satisfied.
"You…" The monk stopped, not sure what to say. "There is no prince consort."
"Oh? Did she not tell you yet? That's awkward."
Several heads turned toward one another, trying to see if the one to their side knew what the hell Grey was talking about.
The prince consort matter was one thing, but the heir problem...
