The morning dawned grey and brittle, with a sharp wind that raked through the courtyards and whispered along the stone corridors. Liora stood by the outer colonnade, arms crossed, watching the sky churn.
She wasn't waiting for Lucien, but his approach was impossible to miss.
His stride was measured, his cloak rippling behind him, yet when he spotted her by the columns, he paused. Just for a second. Then he continued walking, past her, not toward her.
Still, he spoke.
"The southern orchards need inspection today. Beatrice says, You know the grounds better than the new steward's boys."
It wasn't a request, nor was it exactly an order.
Liora blinked, then nodded. "I'll go," she replied, keeping her voice even. "The irrigation channels might still be blocked."
He nodded once in response, then added, after a beat too long, "Dress warm. The wind's worse out there."
It wasn't warmth. But it was something.
