"Cut the bullshit, Jeane. Is Isolde responsible for my mother's death?"
His voice held an unfathomable weight.
The maid blinked.
"No, young master."
A tense silence settled between them.
Then—
"You're lying."
The words struck like thunder.
The Mawglass cut through all lies and illusions. This was the first lie Jeane had spoken throughout the night.
Lugh stood up abruptly.
"You can leave now."
"Wait—young master!"
Without waiting for her to speak, he turned on his heel and left.
Jeane and the other maids moved to go after him, but his words stopped them cold.
"Don't make this worse than it already is."
It wasn't the words themselves, but the presence behind them. Something unnatural weighed down on their hearts. They all felt a chill seep into their bones.
Lugh followed the person sent to escort him to the ballroom in utter silence. The carpeted steps swallowed his footfalls, the tension behind each step rising.
