Galan reread the same paragraph over and over, not digesting a single word of it. He was distracted. It was sundown and Ulrian was expecting him over in the main house. Some sort of high society gathering that he wasn’t invited to and yet the noble insisted. Galan entertained the idea of attending, even dressing in the handsome finery Ulrian selected and had tailored for him. He couldn’t see himself, but the fabric felt lavish and the green color of it was decadent—an expensive ensemble sorely wasted on him. Whatever fire that had kindle within him to outfit himself soon guttered out, and he picked up a book and reclined onto his bed, intent on reading but instead falling into a strange stupor of merely staring at the text and thinking many thoughts.
The door to his room opened and Ulrian revealed themself—clearly furious at having been stood up.
“That book must be so incredibly captivating my dear Galan,” they said, a bite in every word as they closed the door behind them. “You’re dressed and yet…”
Galan forfeited the book and sat up, offering a drowsy smile. “I appreciate you wanting me to go, but I don’t belong there. I think you on my arm would draw unwanted attention.”