Elian allowed Rowan to lead him toward the weeping willow tree. The willow branches swayed like curtains around the old wooden benches, shielding the space from the rest of the orchard.
Between the benches sat a round wooden table draped with a silky red cloth, and atop it rested mouth-watering fruits, berries, and warm, inviting dishes.
But none of those held Elian's attention for longer than a moment.
On one of the benches sat Lucien, his spine straight and his arm draped around Rowena's waist like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go. His face was completely turned toward her, listening intently to something she was sweetly speaking about.
He was completely ignoring Elian, who had just arrived.
"Morning, cousin," Rowan, unaware of the tension slowly brewing between the Duke and his prisoner, casually greeted, leading Elian to sit on the opposite bench.
"You're late," Lucien stated, looking away from Rowena to glance at Rowan.
