"You know, when you left for the battlefield, Oliver cried for weeks," the count says, his voice soft but insistent.
And what exactly am I supposed to do with that information? My expression must have given away my thoughts, because he quickly adds, "Don't be so mean."
I bite back a sigh, turning my gaze to the chessboard between us, though my mind is far from the game. The count's words linger in the air, and I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for some kind of reaction. But what am I supposed to say? It's not the first time I've heard something like this, though the detail about Oliver crying for weeks is…new.
"To be honest," the count continues, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort, "I thought it was just a childhood crush at best. You know how kids are." He smiles a little, a hint of nostalgia playing at the edges of his expression.
