Alice leaned back against the carved armrest of her chair, eyes half-lidded as memory replayed itself.
The incident had been nothing remarkable—at least, it shouldn't have been. For someone like her, stares were inevitable. Every ballroom, every corridor, every gathering since childhood had been filled with them. Admiration, envy, resentment… it was the air she breathed. She had long since stopped noticing.
But this time, she had noticed.
His eyes.
Julius's gaze wasn't the sly, irreverent one she had grown used to—the one that made her want to scold him and laugh at the same time. No, it had been wide, unfocused, almost dazed.
As though he had forgotten himself for a moment.
As though he were looking not at his master, but at something untouchable.
'The same as the others,' she thought bitterly, her lips curving faintly. 'The same shallow reverence I see in courtiers and fools.'
And yet… it hadn't felt the same.
