The silence stretched between them, heavy and painful.
Finally, Samuel said:
"If you're going to leave anyway... at least tell me the truth. Tell me who you really are. Where you're really from. Why you're really leaving."
Heena considered this request.
She owed him that much, at least.
Heena looked at him coldly. There was no flicker of hesitation, no softening of the jaw. "I don't think that is necessary, my lord."
Hearing that title again—that wall of ice she had thrown up between them—Samuel slumped. Then, a sound started in his chest. It was a laugh, but it was hollow, a dry and humourless sound that echoed off the expensive porcelain and the heavy drapes. He looked at her, his eyes bright with a jagged, painful sort of mirth.
"You are too cruel," he said, shaking his head. "Really, you are. We are at least husband and wife. People say one day as husband and wife is a hundred days of living together. That the bond is supposed to be thicker than this."
