The night fell with an eerie quietness. There was still no sign of Neera, the whole castle spoke in hushed tones as they wondered what had happened to her. They all avoided the king's chambers, the air even seemed too afraid to move around Zavian. The crickets, as if sensing something was amiss, refused to croak or chirp too loudly.
Zavian sat at his table, his eyes trained on nothing in particular. He had asked to be alone, not like anyone dared to come around him anyway.
There was a pain tugging in the all too familiar place of his heart from five hundred years ago, like a wound being cut open.
He wished he didn't care so much about her, he wished he had listened to Freya and sent her away when he had felt nothing for her; he wished she had not appeared before him at all because at that moment, the thought that he had lost her in almost the same manner he lost Lilah tore him in two.
