After a long while, when his breathing was under control again, Luka let go of the bed post, shuffling forward a few steps until his walking stick was at hand. Leaning on the support, he shuffled over to the wash basin, and splashed cold water on his face, wiping away the sweat that had sprung up on his brow.
It took him nearly half an hour to dress himself, even though he stayed in a simple silk shirt and wore no morning coat. The first time his valet had tried to dress him, the man had drawn back at the first sight of Luka’s foot, and he’d ordered the man out of his room in a blind rage. He had no need of pity.
He was still Prince Luka Kamenev, dammit.
After a long, slow shuffle to the dining room, Luka nearly collapsed into his chair, sweat dampening his brow again. He wiped it away impatiently, eyeing the breakfast before him.
He was just sipping his morning coffee when the butler arrived at his elbow.
“Your Highness, would you like to look at your correspondence here, or in your study?”
Luka sighed irritably. “I already told you, man, burn them all, I don’t care who they’re from—”
“There is another letter from Princess Ludmilla, Your Highness.”
Luka stopped, his heart squeezing with guilt. His younger sister had just gotten engaged, and he wished he could’ve been there to look over her new fiance himself, to determine that his sister, with her kind heart and her sweet nature, would be in good hands.
But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to court.
Just imagining himself limping into the throne room or the ballroom, dragging his useless foot behind him as all the noblesstaredand whispered behind their hands…
It made cold sweat run down his face. He could never go back there, with his broken mind and his shattered body. Never go back to the halls he had once stalked down proudly, secure in his position in the spotlight.
“Leave it in the study,” Luka said, his voice more gentle this time. “I shall write to her presently.”
The butler hesitated, and Luka frowned. “Out with it, man.”
“There is also a letter from Lady von Rakhmonov, sir.”
Luka paused. Maya had written to him?
He extended his hand, pretending a careless indifference. “Well, hand it over, then.”
The butler handed the letter to him on a silver tray, and Luka tried not to snatch it up. He nodded dismissively at the butler, who bowed and retreated.
Luka—
I’m inviting myself over to the Kamenev estates for a little while. I need to escape my father.
See you soon,
Maya
It was strange, Maya had written as if she still had the freedom to invite herself over to his estate, sure that he would agree without question.
As if the distance between them was nothing.
As if they were still best friends.
As if the past three years hadn’t happened.
A sudden throb in his foot nearly made Luka wince, and he glanced quickly at the cleaning ladies and the butler, who were bustling about the room at their tasks. No one was paying him any mind, nevertheless, Luka felt their scrutiny on him, watching and waiting for him to slip up, to stumble. Another reminder that the events of the battlefield had not been shaken off as easily as he’d hoped.
Luka frowned. He had to tell Maya not to come. He wasn’t in the mood to see her. To seeanyone.
But to write to her, he had to walk all the way to this study. The thought of dragging his useless foot all the way there made his hands clammy.
It was insupportable that he needed paper to bebrought tohim. He’d write to Maya later, when he had gathered his strength for the walk to the other side of the house.
