Light from the morning poured softly over the marble floor, sending long, golden shadows into the room. Walter was motionless before the mirror, smoothing the front of his uniform jacket with his small hands. He was dressed like a young lord, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that aged him beyond ten.
Behind him, Bretum clutched a comb in his hand, unease in the way he stood. He readjusted Walter's tie with a familiarity that had become habit every morning for years, but today, it was different.
"Bretum," Walter said, sidestepping his eyes in the mirror, "is what Mother is doing to Jonathan, right?"
Bretum's motion stalled. The question was not unusual, but it weighed heavily between them.
"I don't know, my lord," he said truthfully. "Lady Seraphina, she always does have motives. But I do not know what is in her heart this time."
Walter's brows pinched in aggravation. His face hardened, though it still held the gentleness of youth. "It just doesn't feel right."
