Liora looked down at her hands. "Lucien doesn't see that."
"Oh, but he does. That's the problem. He sees it and doesn't know what to do with it."
The next morning, Lucien found her near the old stables, brushing down a young horse the grooms hadn't touched in days. She didn't look at him when he approached.
He stopped beside her. "His name's Arin. Wild. Hates reins."
"I noticed," she said, calmly.
Lucien hesitated. "You heard what I said last night."
"Yes."
"I don't mean to make you a pawn."
"You already have," she replied. "But... I understand why."
Lucien watched her brush the horse's mane, each stroke deliberate. "You could leave. I wouldn't stop you."
"I know," she said, and finally turned to him. "But I won't. Not yet."
A beat passed between them. No promises. No confessions.
Just the weight of a quiet understanding.
And somewhere deep in Lucien's chest, something shifted.
