The air in the east parlour still held traces of him. Selene stood near the window, with her fingers resting lightly on the carved frame as the carriage wheels faded into distance.
For a long moment, she didn't move. The world outside was washed in pale gold, with the last of the afternoon sun sinking behind the tall hedges.
She should have felt calm.
Damian's visit had been kind. Well, too kind. But instead of soothing her, it had left her adrift. His gentleness had unsettled her more than his arrogance ever did.
She could still feel the weight of his gaze, and the heat that lingered where his lips brushed her hand.
And yet… none of this belonged to memory.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath, when the soft rhythm of footsteps reached her from the hall. The footstep was light, and deliberate.
Anne's steps.
