Lucian didn't sleep a wink that night. Regret and guilt consumed him until the break of dawn.
The hand he had slashed with broken glass had long since dried up, crusted with blood. He no longer felt the sting of physical pain, his heart had gone numb.
He descended to the dining hall with a heavy heart, hoping—though it was futile—to see her there, sitting upright as always, proud and unyielding.
But the only one who greeted him was Laura, her mother. The warmth that used to soften her features was gone, replaced by a cold indifference. The events of last night must have reached her ears.
Lucian's stomach twisted with unease. He couldn't bring himself to meet Laura's eyes.
"My daughter's health is not well."
No sooner had he taken his seat than Laura's distant voice rang out, laced with quiet warning.
"I'm afraid she won't be able to accompany Your Highness on this journey. I ask for your understanding."
