Maeve
The castle was buzzing with activity. Dinner had been served buffet style, and everyone was congregating in the formal dining hall where the ball had taken place.
But I found myself in the library, which was quiet and empty, save for my dad.
He was standing in front of one of the windows, a dram of scotch in his hand. He looked meditative, but his brow was furrowed.
“Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me. “You wanted to talk to me?”
He turned from the window, nodding, and motioned for me to sit. I felt a sudden wave of unease, wondering if I was in trouble for something.
“I just wanted… I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Maeve–”
“For what? What could you possibly be sorry for?” I was dumbfounded, but I could tell something was troubling him greatly.
He sat down on one of the couches in front of the hearth and sighed, bringing the scotch to his lips before thinking better of it. He lowered his glass as I sat on the opposite couch.