To Karl's surprise, though perhaps he should have expected it, Charlotte silently followed as well. She still wore the dark hunting attire that allowed for easy movement, her short golden hair combed perfectly neat. Her face held no expression, calm to the point of indifference; only the tightly pressed line of her lips betrayed a trace of tension.
Karl tried to find the slightest ripple of emotion in her eyes—even reproach or anger—but there was nothing. They were a cold, deep sea that refused all communication.
He wanted to say something to her—"Are you all right?" or "Klein..." But before her ice-sealed profile, every word seemed pale and powerless, choking in his throat. Charlotte did not even glance at him. She merely looked ahead and walked steadily beside her father.
They passed through the castle's familiar yet unfamiliar, lavish corridors and finally arrived at Earl Rochefort's study. The air inside was steeped in the mingled scent of leather, cigars, and old paper. Yet the atmosphere in the study today was heavier than ever before, more... personal.
Karl's gaze was first drawn to the person seated on the sofa.
She was a woman of noble bearing, her features somewhat resembling Charlotte's, though her expression was cold. Though he had never formally met her, the golden hair identical to Charlotte's save for being slightly darker, along with the similar contours of her brows and eyes, immediately revealed her identity to Karl.
Charlotte's mother.
What made Karl's heart race even more was the tiny infant curled peacefully in the lady's arms, wrapped in a soft white swaddle.
The baby seemed to have just awakened. His little face was rosy, and he was now staring with curious eyes, waving his tiny fists aimlessly and babbling.
No introduction was needed. That was his son, Klein.