That night, Lorraine waited in front of Leroy's room. She had woken from a strange dream, slapped her husband thinking he was on fire, and bolted into the cold without looking back.
He had done nothing wrong.
She vaguely remembered him apologizing for holding her. At the time, it hadn't registered, but when she returned to her room and composed herself, the truth gnawed at her. All he'd done was hold her under the ash tree, warming her against the wind.
And she had repaid that with panic.
She needed to see him, if only to… explain herself. She couldn't talk about the dream, but she could at least talk about something.
His rejection the other night still stung, so she came armed with a reason: the dress she had commissioned for Zara had arrived. Surely, he would speak to her if it were about Zara. Sylvia was with her to translate.
She was about to knock when Aldric appeared. "If you're looking for the Prince, he's in the make-shift study," he said.
