Weston scoffed, pushing off the mantelpiece and walking over to his friend. He placed a heavy, comforting hand on Rowan's shoulder. "There are no apologies between us," he said, his voice firm. "She is your sister. She was my guest. The party was dreadful anyway. All that matters is that she is well. Do not say another word about it."
Rowan nodded, his throat tight. He turned, then, to the other man in the room. The man who had been so silent, he was almost a shadow.
"Carcel..."
The shadow moved. Carcel lifted his head, turning in the deep chair to look at him.
Rowan was, for a moment, genuinely shocked. He, Rowan, felt exhausted. But Carcel... Carcel looked destroyed.
