Mathias let out a long, heavy exhale, a sigh laden with the weight of the frozen mountains awaiting him in the North. With quiet, deliberate steps, he approached her and sank onto one knee before her chair—a rare gesture of humility that the Duke of Locron had never shown another soul. He reached out, enveloping her cold hands within his broad, calloused palms.
"Olivia... it isn't what it looks like."
She wrenched her hands from his grip with a sharp, violent motion, snapping her gaze toward the window. She refused to even acknowledge the exhaustion etched into his features.
"Is that your excuse? It isn't what it looks like?" she asked, her voice dripping with bitter irony. "Then enlighten me. Why did I have to learn this from a maid? Do you have any idea how that felt? I felt betrayed... I felt like a fool. The Duchess of this estate doesn't even know her own husband is marching to war tomorrow! And this isn't just any campaign."
