Not Fit for a King?. Jane Porter

      He had a point. But what was she to do? Sign as Emmeline? Impossible. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s exactly what you do when your future queen is ill and unable to make the meeting.”

      Zale drew a slow breath. He exhaled. A small muscle pulled in his jaw.

      “I apologize, Your Highness,” he said from between clenched teeth, color darkening the high slash of cheekbone.

      “I did not mean to appear insensitive. Your health is of course my first concern. Everything else can and will wait.” Then with a brief, icy bow, he walked out.