As I walked out of the Lycan King's study, feeling the weight of humiliation and the lingering sound of his mocking laughter still in my ears, I almost bumped into Sabastine. He was heading toward the study, a tray of tea balanced expertly in his hands. When his eyes landed on me, his usual composed expression faltered, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. His brow furrowed in confusion.
"My lady?" he called softly, his tone uncertain, as if he was questioning whether it was really me standing there.
My face flushed with embarrassment, the heat creeping up my neck as I lowered my gaze and hurried past him, not trusting myself to say a word. I didn't need to. Sabastine wasn't stupid—he would figure it out himself. I felt his gaze follow me as I moved down the hall, the unspoken questions heavy in the air.
Why? Why had I let myself be reduced to this?
