He'd been kneeling for a while now.
No one knew what the hell he was doing. The rain had soaked through his cloak, through his shirt, probably into his bones by now. Still, he didn't move. Just stayed there, in front of the old manor, head bowed, he looked down like the ground might forgive him before she could.
And she just stood there. Silent. Watching.
"Eliza," one of the younger knights muttered. "That's her, right?"
They didn't know her. Not really. Just the name — the adopted daughter of a fallen marquis. Nothing important. Nothing that should make a duke kneel in the mud like a damned ghost.
"Your Grace," another called out, stepping forward. "This… this is beneath you. She's—"
The girl looked at him.
Not a glare. Not anger. Just a look, calm and quiet and strange enough to shut him up mid-sentence.
No one said anything after that.
The rain kept falling. It wasn't loud, but it felt loud in the silence. The duke's men shifted, glancing at each other. No one moved to help him up. No one knew what he was doing. No one had ever seen him like this.
And she didn't say a word.
She just stood there, watching him kneel like he deserved it.
And maybe he did.
"You think kneeling will make me forgive you?" she said, finally.
He flinched.
But when he dared to glance up, she was already walking away, closing the door behind her.