The carriage ground to a halt before the palace gates, the heavy iron bars standing like silent sentinels. Though the unspoken war between them had reached a fragile ceasefire, the air remained thick with the remnants of their shared strife. However, the tension shifted the moment they noticed a silhouette—dark and motionless—leaning against the stone archway with arms folded tightly across his chest.
"So, you have returned?"
The voice was cold, slicing through the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Mathias stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "Yes. Why are you standing out here? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing," Leon replied, his voice devoid of warmth, "except that I find myself desiring a small word with your wife."
"Me?" Olivia breathed, the word barely a whisper.
