A faint, almost sad smile touched the corners of her lips. Her fingers lifted, suddenly moving to gently trace the lines of his brow, his eyes.
His eyelashes fluttered slightly at her touch, but he stayed perfectly still. The hand that had been gripping her wrist slowly, slowly relaxed its hold.
Her fingers glided so softly from his brow, down to his eyes, then slid gently over the bridge of his nose, finally coming to rest on his lips.
His lips were seriously attractive, thin and just a little cold, with a hint of sensuality that used to tug so easily at her heartstrings whenever he smiled.
"You say you're afraid of repeating your father's mistakes, of losing control over your own fate," she began, her voice soft as a soothing violin melody.
It held no resentment, no anger, just a calmness that felt like it had survived a thousand storms. "Can I also interpret that as you being afraid I might betray you, just like your mother betrayed your father?"
