Trafalgar adjusted the weight of his two suitcases—one in each hand—and stepped into the cold morning air. The marble floors behind him were silent now, his room left untouched, the place where Mayla once greeted him now only a memory.
Nobody wished him a happy birthday yesterday.
Nobody but Valttair and Caelum.
Lysandra was away in a larger city on official business. And Mayla… well, Mayla was still lying in that bed...
He walked alone.
'I don't want help,' he thought, tightening his grip on the leather handles. 'I don't trust anyone in this place, well only Caelum he proved himself killing Roland.'
The courtyard gates were just ahead, but footsteps echoed behind him.
A man in servant's garb approached—tall, slim, with a featureless expression.
Caelum.
"Young master," he said in a low tone, his eyes flicking to the sides to ensure they were alone. "Lady Seraphine will attempt to kill you during the journey."
Trafalgar didn't slow down. He didn't look surprised either.
