It was the right thing.
It still felt like being abandoned in the center of the room.
Maelor wrapped Lucien’s hand in white cloth. Then Sabine’s. His fingers lingered over her mark for a fraction too long.
The cold aversion returned.
Sabine pulled her hand back.
Maelor smiled.
Lucien saw.
His eyes went flat and deadly.
Maelor stepped away.
No one spoke while the doors were opened.
The trial had passed.
The room had not.
Lucien caught up with her in the passage before the attendants could return her to the bride wing.
“Leave us,” he said.
The two attendants hesitated.
Lucien’s voice dropped. “Now.”
They left.
Sabine turned to him.
The corridor was narrow, lit by a single lamp. The antechamber door stood several turns behind them. She could still smell the incense. Still feel the chamber pressing its false words against her tongue.
Lucien took her bandaged hand.
Not the cut.
The wrist beneath it.
His thumb brushed the edge of the mark.
“Did it put the words in your mouth?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“When?”
“The final response.”
“It put them in mine before Serast spoke.” His voice was rough. “That was new.”
“You changed the line.”
