"Perhaps," Lysander nodded slowly, his pace measured as he walked deeper into the musty, hushed library, the creaking of leather-bound books echoing through the air.
"Speak, Lysander." Eleanor followed, her reluctance evident in her dragging footsteps.
"King Leocade is grooming him for the throne, despite the other Matizizs' disapproval," Lysander said, his fingers trailing along the book spines.
Eleanor bit down her lower lip, her eyes dimming. "So, you think they'll target me to get to him?"
Lysander turned to her, his eyes somber. "You're his cure, aren't you?"
He paused, his fingers pausing on a leather-bound tome. "He'd rather suffer, enduring pain and hunger, than take the one thing that could relieve him."
A sharp pang struck Eleanor's stomach, but she swiftly regained control, tapping her foot impatiently. Her jaw set, eyes meeting Lysander's head-on.
