"Lanse, what are you—" Jiang Xinli was slightly taken aback, watching Lanse suddenly kneel on one knee before her.
The young noble was tall and well-built, so even kneeling on one knee, his gaze was nearly level with hers.
"Miss Xinli." Lanse gently took her hand. Within his clear, deep, glacier-blue eyes, a cold, thin mist swirled, just like his tormented heart.
He bent forward slightly, lowering his head to rest it on her lap.
He didn't speak, just slowly closed his eyes.
His long, glacier-blue hair cascaded like a waterfall over Jiang Xinli's pale purple skirt, the strands spilling and piling onto the ornate, hand-woven rug.
"Lanse, you—"
Jiang Xinli tried to pull her hand back, but he held it tightly.
After a long moment, he spoke faintly, "So, you really intended to stay and accompany him tonight?"
There was a sour edge to the young noble's clear, smooth voice.
Jiang Xinli found his jealousy a bit baffling.
