Julian
"Unbelievable."
I scoffed, taking a long gulp of wine as I watched Nevan, the man who had supposedly been on the verge of death for the better part of a week, standing in the centre of his ballroom with his tongue in his wife's mouth, looking remarkably alive for a man whose seer had declared his condition "beyond her."
I didn't think he'd show up tonight.
He was the last person I expected because Rosamund had told me he was in terrible shape. Even when I'd requested to see him a few hours ago, he'd been lying lifeless on his bed, his skin translucent, his breathing barely visible. So what had changed between then and now?
His posture was rigid, yes. His movements carried a stiffness that suggested he was running on willpower rather than strength. But the way he'd descended that staircase, the way he'd cut through the crowd without a glance at anyone but Rosamund, the way he'd seized her wrist and pulled her into that kiss; that wasn't the behaviour of a dying man.
