Lucian sought a quiet corner, one of the lesser-used balconies overlooking the gardens where moonlight silvered the fountains and hedges. He needed to clear his head, to convince himself that he wasn't a complete failure, and a terrible person. If he had known it would end that way, then he probably wouldn't even have touched Rosaline. He felt bad for her, but above all he hated himself for what he'd done.
He drew a deep breath, hoping to forget that embarrassing moment, but it was all that plagued him. He could still see Rosaline's face, her eyes when the vigor in him slowly slipped away. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just get over some measly squire?
The cold night air swept through him, carrying the faint scent of blooming night jasmine. Lucian leaned against the balustrade, gripping the stone until his knuckles whitened. "I can't keep doing this," he muttered to the empty darkness. "Lying to myself. Lying to her. To everyone."
