The Loyal Spartan
A week later, that theory was shattered.
Lord Poseidon, Zeno, came to visit Lady Ismene. He was a handsome, imposing man, his presence filling the room with the scent of the sea. He was polite, his smile warm, but his eyes held a weary, distant sadness. As he spoke with Ismene, I happened to glance at Mitha, who stood by the door.
She was utterly still, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor, deliberately, pointedly avoiding looking at him. And when Zeno’s gaze swept the room, it too seemed to stutter and skip over her, as if she were a void he refused to acknowledge.
Bab Populer