[Lavinia's POV — Later, Outside the Council Chamber—Imperial Palace]
The echo of the council doors closing behind me still rang in my ears, mingling with the distant hum of the palace corridors. The scent of ink and smoke clung to my sleeves—the scent of war and decision.
I expected to see Sir Haldor waiting, his usual silent, steadfast figure.
"Sir Haldor, let's go and—"
I stopped. Because the man standing there wasn't my captain.
It was Osric.
Leaning against one of the marble pillars, arms folded, eyes sharp beneath the faint glow of torchlight. His smile didn't reach his eyes—it curved just enough to look polite, and not a shade more.
"Don't you think," he said softly, "he's getting a little too involved in your life, Lavi?"
My breath caught—not because of the words, but because of how easily he used that tone. The one that wasn't jealous. The one that was wounded.
I blinked, forcing my face into calm neutrality.
