The palace blurred behind them, its towers receding into the ether-lit skyline as the dark, sleek car pulled away from the Winter Wing.
Inside the vehicle, the silence was oppressive.
Lady Delphine Roseroth sat composed in the back seat, her posture immaculate despite the smooth hum of the engine beneath them. The city's lights flickered past the tinted windows—ghostly blue and silver reflections skating over the interior.
Across from her, Rafael sat rigid, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, his face pale with the sting of humiliation he hadn't yet mastered how to hide.
The electric hum of the tires against the road filled the space between them.
For nearly three blocks, Lady Delphine said nothing.
She peeled off one glove with deliberate care, finger by finger, folding it neatly across her lap. Her rings—opal and pale etherstone—glinted coldly in the dim cabin light.
Rafael shifted, the movement small but desperate.
Finally, he broke.
