The Marchioness' eyes widened. How did her husband know?
"Y–Your Grace…" Elara stuttered in a panicked voice.
"Why did you lie to me? You mentioned Agatha in your letter, didn't you?"
Elara averted her gaze toward the sea of sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze. A cold sweat crept into her palms; she couldn't hide it anymore.
"Th–that's… I… I didn't want to burden you, Your Grace."
"Burden?" Reynand's voice rose. "Elara! Agatha is my daughter. Why would she ever be a burden to me?"
"The fact that someone messed with my letters is… terrifying. Be–because whoever did it must hold great power. And…" Elara trailed off.
She wasn't sure how much she should confess. Should she tell him that Agatha's life might be at risk, just as the Seer Nuntius had warned?
"And?" he pressed.
"And what if this only complicates things for you?" Her voice faltered. "What if it brings you more trouble? You already carry too much, Your Grace…"
