I have thought upon the conversation we had last night. I could not, for the very life of me, think of why you must leave so soon after our marriage. You slayed for me, would almost kill yourself for me, and now you begin preparing to leave? Mean I so little to you, my lord? I spit upon thee, but that was in my rage. What could I do, standing over the body of my Edward's father? Was it all for my beauty that this blood was shed?
I am beginning to doubt.