"Now, tell me," Arlot bent down, brushing a finger across Cynthia's reddened eyes. "Have you been crying?"
The silver-haired young woman simply shook her head.
With a soft chuckle, Arlot sat beside her, leaning his back against the wall, his gaze drifting to the broken window where a cold breeze swept through the room.
"Your Highness, what happened?" he asked, breaking the brief silence that had settled over them.
Without a word, Cynthia lowered her head onto Arlot's shoulder and closed her eyes.
"You…" Arlot faltered, surprised by the gesture. He didn't want to disturb her by questioning her strange demeanour—she surely had enough to deal with.
"I shouldn't ask her," he thought.
As he sat there, he gently glanced at the weary young woman beside him. He wanted to ask her, "What made you cry so much that your eyes turned red?"
But he couldn't.
He didn't have the right.
