Leon's POV
"Leon," Myrcella said.
Her voice pulled me back to the present.
I was in her room, again. The same room that had slowly turned into a second office for her. Papers were stacked on the desk, neatly arranged but obviously untouched for hours. A faint scent of ink and parchment lingered in the air, mixed with something more subtle. And that was fatigue. The kind that seeped into everything and refused to leave.
She looked worse than before.
Not sick and not injured—but worn down. Gaunt. Her cheeks were a little hollow, her eyes duller than usual, rimmed with shadows that no amount of composure could hide. The bags under her eyes weren't subtle anymore. They were blatant, like her body was openly protesting against how hard she'd been pushing herself.
She was exhausted.
And it wasn't the kind of tired that went away with a nap.
