There was something very wrong with him and Azrael was not in the right mind to figure out what it was. He could not understand why despite hating Lareina, he had this instinctive urge to protect her from all her troubles. And he did not know why, the moment he said something hurtful, he could not bear to see her face. It was like an invisible force caging him in his own conflicting emotions till he was suffocated.
As he moved in his chair, his boot slipped an inch over something. When he looked down, his eyes narrowed. A familiar silk handkerchief laid on the cold ground. The very same one that he had handed to Lareina.
When he looked up at her, he found her brows furrowed, lips curled down. She was struggling yet she sat straight. The faint tilt of her face told him that she was aware of his gaze on her but if anything, she did not return it.
