When I wake up again, Tristan is standing over me.
I gasp, reaching for blankets to cover my naked body, only to find that a sheet has already been draped over me. I don’t hope to think King Caleb has done something like this. Perhaps Tristan has.
Although, with the way he’s staring at me with a bored, annoyed expression, that seems equally unlikely.
“Get dressed. You have five minutes,” he says.
“I need a shower.”
“Five minutes.” He turns toward the door.
“I don’t have any clothes.”
“In the wardrobe,” he says and steps out into the hallway.
Not wasting time, I hop out of the bed and run to the bathroom. There, I take the quickest, coldest shower of my life. I grab the first dress I see in the wardrobe – a plain white sundress with small pink flower print – and pull it on. In the
