Bianca froze.
The question was not an accusation but it was not an invitation to honesty either. It was a warning wrapped in calmness. She realized that before her stood someone who was not easily deceived and more dangerously, someone who did not always care about explanations.
"I…" Bianca drew a slow breath. "I only heard that Lady Ivanka is ill. I was worried, Your Grace."
Demian did not respond immediately.
In his mind, Valerie's face flickered her request to have Bianca reassigned, the cool tone laced with caution. He remembered how Valerie had called her cunning. And now, standing before him, Bianca indeed seemed far too careful for someone who was merely concerned.
"Your concern is not your responsibility," Demian said at last. His voice was flat, not raised, yet enough to make Bianca lower her head again. "There are people far more entitled to think about it."
Bianca tightened her grip on the basket. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not intend to overstep."
