That evening, Selene returned to Damian's chambers for her duties. Still confused. Still torn. Still not knowing what to believe. The corridors leading to his rooms felt longer than usual, each step heavy with the weight of the afternoon's confrontation with Alaric. Her shoulders still ached where he'd grabbed her.
Damian was at his desk when she entered. But he looked up immediately, setting down his quill with a soft click against the inkwell. His eyes going to her face.
"You look troubled."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. Something's bothering you."
Selene started preparing his evening meal. Trying to focus on work instead of the chaos in her mind. The tray she carried held roasted meat that still steamed faintly, fresh bread with butter, and wine in a crystal decanter that caught the firelight. The familiar motions should have been soothing, but her hands trembled slightly as she arranged everything.
