When we returned to the palace, it was already late at night. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds, and the entire courtyard was plunged into thick, almost palpable darkness.
Richard de Stone, despite his fatigue and bandaged arm, maintained his dignity throughout. It seemed as if the pain did not affect him at all.
He maintained the same reserved posture as always, and only occasionally did a shadow of fatigue flicker in his gaze. Even then, however, he tried not to show it — a truly aristocratic habit of hiding weakness.
When the carriage finally stopped in front of the main entrance, the guards hurriedly opened the doors, and the palace physician and his assistants came out to meet him. A few moments later, Richard was surrounded by servants ready to escort him to his chambers for examination.
"Lady Weinstein," the prince said to me before leaving, "are you sure you don't want to go to the doctor with me?"
I shook my head slightly.
