The Count's face went pale, shock, humiliation, and fear flickering in his eyes.
Jay didn't bow, didn't thank them for cooperation, didn't offer another explanation. He simply turned away as if the conversation, their grief, their status, meant nothing before the threat he was hunting.
Because right now, only one thing mattered:
Someone was targeting Liv. And Jay would burn every house, every name, and every quiet whisper of conspiracy,
before he allowed anyone to touch her again.
Jay left the Erickson estate with a cold expression, his thoughts heavy with unanswered questions and threats buried beneath diplomacy. The wind bit his skin as he walked toward his horse, ready to leave and return with orders, soldiers, and authority from the crown.
But then, voices.
Soft whispers.Careless.Too close.
He paused.
Two maids stood near the gate, carrying baskets, unaware he was still within earshot.
"I heard Her Grace asked about Lord Andrey earlier," one whispered.
