As Celeste's gaze lingered on Sephrina, Lucien caught the faint tightening of her hands at her side. She longed for the girl she loved like her own, not this mimic standing before them.
"Lady Celeste," Lucien said deliberately, drawing her attention away. "Would you walk with me? There are matters I'd like your counsel on."
Celeste looked at him, then nodded. "Of course."
Sephrina's expression shifted, almost imperceptibly, but Lucien saw it—the irritation at being excluded. He ignored it, offering her the faintest bow of his head. "I'll return shortly."
As he and Celeste left the garden, her composure faltered. She exhaled heavily, her voice low so the guards could not hear. "That is not her, Lucien. I know it. I can feel it."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "You're right. It isn't Isadora."
Celeste stopped walking. "Then where is she?"
He shook his head, pain twisting inside him. "I don't know. But I'll find her."
