[Leif's Pov—continuation]
Alvar finally let go of my hand and strode forward, cloak swishing dramatically like some winter god descending from the heavens. He stopped right in front of Sirella and Crown Prince Arden.
He said something. Something very smooth. Something very Grand-Duke-y.
I wanted to hear. Really, I did. But they were too far, and my ears were tragically mortal.
What I did catch, though, were the reactions.
Arden's eyebrow twitched. Sirella's smirk cracked like old porcelain. And both of them… glanced at me.
Squinted. Hard. Like they were trying to solve the mystery of Leif Thorenvald—enigmatic man, decorative burrito, occasional walking disaster.
I quickly looked away, internally screaming, DON'T LOOK AT ME. DON'T LOOK AT ME. I AM BUT A HUMBLE PIECE OF FURNITURE. POLISHED. FUNCTIONAL. NOT WORTH INTERROGATING.
And then—they sighed. In perfect, unified teacher-disappointment fashion.
Just like that… they left.
