Alex didn't go to the servant's wing immediately.
He couldn't.
He stood in the center of the private dining hall, the silence after Lucas and Kyle's departure ringing in his ears like a physical blow. The scent of Serian lilies, which usually acted as a balm to his frayed nerves, now felt like a chokehold.
It now reminded him of his mother's funeral.
It reminded him of everything he had lost and everything he was currently failing to protect.
He looked at the empty chair where Jasmine had sat. She was his tether to a version of himself that was still whole, still young and carefree. But the way she had looked at Kyle—with that sharp, piercing curiosity—had sent a shiver of ice through his chest.
'She can't know, he thought, his hand trembling as he reached for a glass of water, only to pull back before he shattered it. If the council hears even a whisper of dark magic in this wing, Kyle won't just be a maid. He'll be an execution.'
