He was laughing at her.

She could kill him, Ambrosia thought for a mad moment. She could kill him and claim it had been an accident. Her wand had gone off and, alas, her husband had been blasted out of a second floor window onto the shiny, black railing below. Not her fault at all.

Or, better still, she could make him disappear, a concealment so powerful that Trystan would be proud of her, and she would let the children spend the rest of their lives thinking their father had deliberately abandoned them for some foreign whore: it would hardly be a stretch.

“You utter,” she began slowly, “Absolute,” she learned on the dressing table, eyes scanning the artefacts with the speed of a hummingbird after a fix of nectar. “Bastard!” She screamed, hurling the pitcher from his washbowl directly at her husband.

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them