The ride home was torture.
Not in the dramatic, poetic sense, but in the real, suffocating, tense kind of way. The kind where you could almost hear the silence buzzing between two people who were thinking a thousand things but saying none of them.
At first, Leofric had tried.
"Isabella," he had said gently, turning to face her as the carriage wheels rumbled over the stone road. "Can we talk about what happened?"
She didn't even blink. Just kept her eyes on the window, her gloved fingers curled tightly on her lap. Her body was stiff, her jaw clenched.
Leofric sighed and leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face.
So that's how it was going to be.
After the third attempt, he gave up. Maybe the silence would do them some good. Maybe it would help them calm down, clear their heads.
