Vlad turned to look at her and exhaled heavily, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. The unwelcome sense of déjà vu was suffocating.
“What are you sorry for?” he asked.
Liliette bit down on her lower lip. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stand up to the Princess. I know how much you despise the imperial bloodline, yet I made the decision to bring her child here without consulting you. I’m sorry for that, too.”
Her green eyes, serene as a sunlit forest, met his squarely. She was composed, her neatly braided hair and pale blue dress unruffled. This wasn’t an apology born of anxiety or guilt, but of frustration. Just recalling Ingrid’s venomous words made her face heat with anger. She understood now why Vlad had locked her away; the Princess could instinctively pinpoint a person’s deepest wounds and strike without hesitation.
Vlad studied her in silence before running a hand over his face. When he finally spoke, his voice had softened.
