Elena could not believe it, even though it had happened moments before. She was holding her cheeks, the sting of her father's lashing still there. It burned her, searing her of a shame she never knew she had.
"Father." The word felt strange, almost alien, on her tongue. She had uttered these words all her life, but at this moment, they felt out of place. The figure before her was not her father but the Marquess Yandar Rivia.
The Marquess was not a very tall man. He was a head taller than Elena, yet he seemed to tower over her with those burning grey eyes. He was old and could pass as her brother, certainly not her father. But there was agelessness to him. A solemness that predestined greatness.
"Marquess," she corrected herself as fast as the word came. "Nox was unconscious."