Essen's hand burned. He wasn't warm but rather he was scorching. He felt as hot as an open flame, just like the poker that I had gripped with the entirety of my soul. Just like the poker, there were no remnants of his hands on my skin. I had to accept it, as I did everything else.
"The Duke Evander was supposed to escort me," I said. I kept my tone pleasant, my expression modulated. I needed to maintain a level of calm before I let myself snap.
Essen smiled at me. I knew he was feigning it; the grip on my hand remained level but it was more like a vice. I hated this, "He'll understand. We're old friends aren't we?" He questioned.
I didn't say anything in response.
"Aren't we, Irene?" His hand slid to my back.
