He had pulled her close. So close she could feel his breath brushing against her cheek.
Lydia's heart pounded in her chest as her eyes locked with his. His grip was strong, firm… but there was no anger. Just something else. Something she couldn't name.
"Your Highness…" she whispered, confused. "What did I do?"
He didn't respond. He just kept staring at her like he couldn't look away. His eyes, usually cold and distant, were stormy and restless now. For a brief second, it felt like he might say something. Like he might let her in.
But then—he snapped out of it.
His expression shifted, as if he had suddenly realized something terrible. His grip loosened, and he pushed her back—too roughly.
"Leave," he said sharply. "I want to be alone."
Lydia blinked, startled. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The warmth of his hand still lingered on her skin, but his tone had turned cold.
Without a word, she turned and left.
