The next morning, when Navaill came to get Lyria from her room, he also avoided her eye at first. He looked rather pointedly at the floor as she swept into his usual low bow and said, “Lady Lyria, I’ve come to collect you for the contest.”
Lyria had been waiting for him to come fetch her for some time, as he had sent breakfast up via another Omega, and she was already dressed for the contest.
“Navaill,” she said kindly. “Come, sit,” she patted the sofa next to her. Navaill hesitated slightly, then crossed the room, still not quite looking directly at Lyria. He sank down into the chair beside her.
“So,” she said. She wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed, but she also didn’t want him to feel embarrassed or ashamed. “You know, Daphne is--” at the sound of Daphne’s name, Navaill sputtered se
