"Bad news?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence.
Lucien folded the parchment slowly, slipping it into his coat. He looked at her for a long moment, as though measuring what he could and could not say. Finally, his lips curved in something that was not quite a smile.
"News," he said simply. "And news, Liora, is never good or bad. Only useful."
The cryptic reply unsettled her. She crossed her arms, refusing to let him brush her aside again. "Useful for whom?"
His eyes glinted with that dark humor of his. "For those clever enough to use it."
Before she could push further, Rowan appeared at the edge of the garden. He bowed politely to her but spoke directly to Lucien.
"The queen dowager has sent for you. Privately."
The tension between master and confidant was subtle but unmistakable, a taut string neither of them dared pluck.
Lucien's expression sharpened. "Of course she has," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder: "Prepare the horses. We leave within the hour."
