What would you know of my leadership? rises to Francel’s tongue, but the young lord keeps his thoughts in his mouth. He has not forgotten that Felih Tia saved him from certain death at the hands of a false inquisitor, and theoretically that should still hold weight between them, even if Francel nowadays is of the belief that he would have been happier to die then than to be alive now.

“Yes,” is all he says instead, and nothing more.

He allows Felih to come closer, but he says nothing further. Francel’s gaze drops to the dying bouquet in his arms. It seems a mercy to ruin it now rather than to let it continue wilting. With icy determination, he starts to pick off the petals of each lily; now and then he stops to let the breeze snatch the petals off his palm. The game is meaningless now. The answer will always be the same: he loved me not, loved me not, loved me not...