In the dream, Cynthia stood in a field of roses she had planted in the palace yard. Surprisingly, she was smiling—smiling at something or someone.
"What are you doing here?" a cold voice demanded, his dark hair blown by the gentle warm breeze of summer.
Her expression remained unchanged despite the sharpness of the voice questioning her.
"I've been waiting for you, Your Highness. I heard from the servants that you were out on an expedition for a while and would be returning today, so I came to welcome—"
"There is no need for that," Lucian interrupted, walking past her.
As always, he did not spare her a glance.
Mustering all her courage and pursing her lips, Cynthia managed to ask, "Do you hate me so much that you won't even look at me?"
"Do we both not hate each other, Princess Cynthia?"
***
The sound of footsteps in the room caused Cynthia to slowly regain consciousness.
She blinked her eyes open.
