Leroy returned from the palace just after noon, his thoughts still heavy with Lorraine. He wanted to speak with her brother, Lysander. Something about their conversation after she left the arena gnawed at him. He was sure it had played some part in her sudden disappearance.
When he closed his eyes, all he could see was her: standing tall in the arena, eyes sharp and defiant when they locked with his… and then fleeing like a startled little mouseling. He almost laughed at the memory, but the ache of her absence crushed any warmth from it.
He had acted foolishly, assuming she could weather anything. And now… he had lost her.
A part of him knew, no, trusted, that Lorraine would be fine. She was stronger than she let anyone believe. But being here, in the same city, breathing the same air, and yet not having her by his side… it was unbearable.
On his way to Lysander's business in the market, a messenger intercepted him with a note, from his sister.
