Verona was standing in a small, private chapel on the outskirts of the Vernhardt estate. The rain was pouring hard outside, as if it was crying together with her.
In the center of the room sat a wooden coffin. It was plain, far too simple for a daughter of a Duke, but that was because her death had been an "inconvenience" to the family's summer schedule.
Verona knelt by the side of the box, her fingers gripping the rough wood until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were dry, not because she wasn't grieving, but because she had already cried until her throat was raw.
Inside lay Liera.
There had been no warning. Liera had been sent on a minor errand to Phios to heal the people there. It was a route that was supposed to be safe, but a weird bandit attack had descended upon the carriage. By the time the guards arrived, the "golden" daughter was already gone.
"I'm sorry," Verona whispered, her voice cracking in the silence of the chapel. "It should have been me."
