The sun had begun its descent when Isolde's carriage arrived at the Mirecourt estate.
This time she had not summoned him.
This time she had not come with council intent.
The escort was minimal. No formal announcement. No parade of banners.
Marcus remained behind at her instruction.
This conversation did not belong to steel.
It belonged to something quieter.
The estate gates opened at once, as though he had been waiting.
Perhaps he had.
Raphael descended the steps before a steward could announce him.
He wore no ceremonial attire. No courtly embellishment. Just a dark waistcoat, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, as though he had been reviewing accounts when word arrived.
There was no surprise in his expression when he saw her.
Only warmth.
"Your Highness," he said softly.
She stepped from the carriage.
The evening light touched her hair, casting it in amber hues.
"I did not wish to send word," she said.
His lips curved faintly. "I am grateful."
No bow this time.
