Yeara stood in the garden, her eyes fixated on the flower before her.
Her lips pursed without her realizing it as she sank deep into thought. She simply stared at the white flower blankly while different thoughts ran through her mind.
Even though she was finally relieved that Zalthor had promised not to have a mistress, a part of her still felt guilt. Then why was she not keeping her part of the promise? Why was she now doing the very thing she herself hated? Why did she still meet that man despite having a husband?
Not only that, the risk she was taking—if caught—could cost her head, and his as well. Not to mention that, regardless of the fact that he had told her to leave, she had still stayed.
"He is mute…"
Her fingers moved to her lips, now resting between her teeth as the warning thought disappeared, leaving behind a new question.
Why was he mute?
And who was that man?
Why would there be walls during the daytime, but at night they were doors?
