Landris cupped Lisandra’s head in his hands, so close to her. He traced her cheekbone with his thumbs, his eyes piercing into hers.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said, before capturing her lips with his own. Panic rose in Lisandra’s chest, yet she stood there frozen, caught between fear and obedience. The kiss was chaste, and not before long, Landris pulled away.

“Father, we shouldn’t…” Lisandra began, putting a hand up on his chest to stop him. But Landris was back again, kissing her once more, hungrier this time. His hands traveled downwards onto her neck, gripping her until she struggled breathing.

“Father—” Lisandra croaked when the pain became too much to bear silently.

Landris finally released her, from both her lips and her neck. Shame burned on Lisandra’s cheeks, the tears welling up in her eyes. She searched his face for an explanation, an apology, a speech of comfort—anything, but was instead met with silence. The silence was more suffocating than the choking from mere moments before.

A millenia seemed to pass before he spoke, devoid of any emotion. “Feylera and Ithlarin will be home soon,” he said flatly, and then he was gone, leaving Lisandra alone in her tears.