"No, I am not," I shook my head, "You don't know there is a war coming. We finalized the peace treaty, and things will be good. You're only saying this to bluff."
Lewis let out a sigh, exhaustion evident in every line on his face, and then he took the handkerchief from the drawer and threw it on the table. The crimson stain was painfully clear, revealing his poor health condition.
"I'm dying, Emma," he said, taking a long breath. He leaned back in his chair as if he could no longer bear the weight of his own words.
"How... does Alex know about your health condition?" I asked, totally caught off guard.
"No, he might have a feeling, but that's what everyone feels, right? They look at me, and they know my life is waning each day, but they don't know when, and they don't have the courage to bring it up," Lewis replied, his voice heavy with resignation.
