Their world, or at least as far as it related to one another, was unraveling and The Lady merely looked indifferent. If he knew her at all, which he probably did at least in some aspects, he could safely assume that was an act. For all the airs she liked to put on, Egris was far more sensitive than she liked to portray. Under that chilled exterior, her smoldering anger seemed mingled with grief. Endings were difficult, even if it was best for all involved. It was time to move on.
She considered it a small victory that he had been the one to conclude their epilogue.
He chose the moment where her hand was warm on his cheek to squabble over semantics. Instead of inciting her temper, she merely winked in response. "Toy implies a plaything," she argued, as affectionately as if it were the sweetest of nothings. "No argument here," scoffed in reply to his insistence that words mattered.
He met her gaze until it was vaguely uncomfortable. Enough that she left him to gulp down half of her wine in effort to move this interaction along. She patted her jacket and pulled free their contract, sealed with her signet and their signatures in ink, to lay it upon the table among the uneaten meal. Eyes roamed across its surface. It had been meant as their first and last together; it grew cold instead. In this moment, it was clear they had failed one another time and again. And with such good intentions.
Long strides and clipped footfalls led her towards the fire in the hearth and she tossed the letter into the flames.
Her eyes remained upon the burning seal, wax melting into a puddle, as he spoke nonsense at her back. The flames crackling were its funeral dirge.