Lucien was standing behind the stables, tendrils of smoke clouding his face from the clove cigarette between his lips.
The afternoon was warm, the sun hiding behind the clouds as the warm wind blew the trees and leaves around.
"Y-your grace, you called for me," the stable hand, Lawrence, walked over with a crouched back, too scared to look up and face the Duke.
Lucien plucked his cigarette from his lips, his eyes accessing the man with scrutiny.
"Lynda. What happened to her?" He asked, his green eyes intense and threatening.
Lawrence suddenly fell to his knees, "Forgive me, your grace! I was drunk; I had not intended to throw the girl inside the well. But the moment I realized what I had done, I took her out. Please, spare my life, your grace, I have a family to feed!" He cried, groveling.
"So did the girl you threw inside the well," Lucien spoke calmly, taking a drag from his cigarette.
