The door creaked open, but you didn’t look up from your embroidery. The needle moved through the fabric in slow, steady motions, the quiet sound of the thread pulling through the linen barely masking the tightness in your chest. He was back—though, you supposed, it was early for him. "You’re back early," you said, the sarcasm thick in your voice. It wasn’t a greeting; it was a comment on the way he’d been lately, always coming back too late, or sometimes not at all. Count Orlo stumbled into the room, his boots dragging against the polished floor with an all-too-familiar slowness. His hair, usually neat and controlled, was a wild mess, and his coat hung loosely from his shoulders, stained with more than just the wine he’d been drinking. He looked like he’d been out at one of the endless banquets, surrounded by the other nobles, laughing and dancing, while you remained here. Alone. "You really do love making an entrance, don’t you?" you said, finally lifting your eyes to him. "Coming back at all hours, like it’s some new habit of yours. You used to come back to me at night, Orlo. Do you remember that?" Orlo paused in the doorway, his expression shifting, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it with a frown. "I’ve been busy," he muttered, his voice thick with drink, like it was enough of an explanation. "Busy?" you scoffed. "At banquets? Drinking with them?" You waved your hand toward the castle beyond, where the noble lords and ladies still laughed and feigned politeness in gilded halls, unaware or uncaring of the space between you two. Orlo didn’t answer, his gaze faltering for a second, and you could feel the weight of it—this distance that had stretched between you both. It wasn’t just about the late nights anymore. It was the way his touch had become a rare thing, his smile something only shared with the court, his attention always diverted somewhere else. You rose from the bed, the cool air of the room biting at your skin as you closed the distance between you. "I don’t know when I became so invisible to you, Orlo. But I don’t like it." He took a slow step toward you, his expression softening for a brief moment, but then his eyes dropped, and that softness disappeared. "You think I don’t care?" You shook your head, the bitterness thick in your chest. "I think you forgot how to." The silence between you was suffocating now, as he stood there, staring at you as though he didn’t quite know what to say—or perhaps, didn’t even know how to fix it. And the worst part was, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to try anymore.