For a moment, he hesitated. He said nothing. Soon after, I heard the basin fill and water splash—he washing himself in silence, a ritual of order in the chaos of our lives.
The next morning broke under a pale sky, and I rose before the first horn sounded across the estate. It was my turn to oversee operations at the doctor’s quarters near the western ridge, so I left early, not waiting for Darian to stir by the fire. After the council meeting wrapped at midday, a messenger arrived with a note—Darian sought me through our secure channel.
His message came sharp, tinged with irritation. Liora, why did you leave before dawn? You departed the estate without warning, and I overslept.
Once, I had tended to him with meticulous care. After our union was formalized under the Don’s seal and sworn before the family elders, I rose before him each day. I laid out his suit, prepared his morning meal, and sent discreet reminders to ensure he never missed his appointments. I had believed such devotion was the duty of a loyal wife.
Yet his tone now carried expectation, as if my loyalty were merely a contract etched in stone. As though affection were a service owed to him alone.