Selene stared into the middle distance, her vision unfocused, her mind circling the same thoughts endlessly like trapped animal.
Then—
Knock! Knock!
The sound jolted her from the spiral.
"My lady?" A maid's voice came muffled through the door. Young and nervous. "There's... someone here. Wanting to meet with you. They're waiting in the guest room with Lord Ferick."
Footsteps retreated quickly. The maid clearly didn't want to linger, didn't want to face whatever mood her mistress might be in.
Selene closed her eyes. Drew slow breath through clenched teeth.
Couldn't they just come later?
The thought was bitter. Because she had no capacity for visitors right now.
No strength for maintaining facades, for political niceties, for pretending she was anything other than this.
But duty didn't care about personal devastation, it demanded performance regardless of internal state.
