Leonard turned around as though nothing had happened. He bent over and carefully tended to her wound, his movements precise and controlled.
When he finished, he lifted his gaze, expecting to meet hers—but Dydra's attention had wandered elsewhere.
Her eyes were fixed on the bottle of wine.
Her mind churned with unfamiliar, unsettling thoughts. Why did she want to take it? She had never stolen before—never even entertained the idea. Yet now, the thought didn't just linger… it tempted her. It welcomed her. Urged her.
What if it had been someone else and not the nobleman before her? She was certain her head would have been severed from her body without hesitation.
Leonard rose to his feet, taking the bottle with him. Without a word, he poured the wine into a glass and extended it toward her.
"Oh, my lord, I dare not take it," she said quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks as she shook her head.
"Little fox, it wasn't a request," he replied calmly, pressing the glass into her hand.
