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
