“Are you satisfied now?” he asked.
I gave no reply. The remainder of the journey passed in silence until we reached the grand hall prepared for celebration. Darian had arranged candles, floral wreaths, and a private table for our meal. The scene appeared elegant, even romantic, drawing admiring glances from nearby associates.
Before I could reach for the wrapped token he placed before me, a runner arrived with urgent news.
“Fever?” he asked through our secure line. “Does the child require medicine? I cannot leave now—what? The fever is high? Very well. I will come.”
He ended the connection and turned to me, unease shadowing his features. “It’s Selara. Her child is burning with illness. I must go.”
A knot tightened in my throat, yet I forced calm into my voice. “Go. The child comes first.”
He hesitated, studying me as though searching for resistance.
“Wait here. I will return for you,” he said, grabbing his cloak before departing in haste.
I remained alone before the untouched feast. Outside, rain began to fall, drumming against the stone walls like distant timpani. The sound mirrored something inside me—steady, subdued, unwept.