Sarah’s POV
Later that night, I went to my father’s library, where I could often find him reading before dinner, to talk to him about the day.
He sat before the hearth, fire blazing bright. Golden light flickered off the spines of the many books reaching to the arched ceiling. The room was painted in rich crimson and gold.
He sat in a velvet high-backed chair.
He held a glass of brown liquor and ice. His gray gaze peered into the firelight, lost within the dancing flames. His loose hair framed his face. The weight of the world seemed to press down on him in exhaustion.
He didn’t look up as I came in. I sat across from him.
“Good evening.” His head came up and rested on the back of the chair. He took a drink from his glass. The ice clattered, glass now empty.
“I am sorry about to
