The halls of Evandale's mansion breathed silence when Lady Seraphine returned from the funeral of the late prince. The heavy iron gates closed with a groan, like an old knight putting away his shield after battle. Elric guided her through the marble steps, ever steady at her side. Yet Lissa, still adjusting to the suffocating corset and biting sandals, noticed something amiss.
A crimson stain marked Elric's cuff, subtle yet stark against the dusk-colored fabric of his suit. Her brows furrowed.
"Tell me, Elric… what mischief paints your hand with red?" she asked, suspicion curling in her tone.
The butler gave a small, courteous smile, the kind a man wears when hiding truth behind velvet.
"A mere accident, my lady. A careless servant bore a chalice of wine, and it danced upon me."
