As the morning passed, the silence became worse, and no matter how firmly he told himself it was the right outcome, it only felt the opposite.
The stables felt wrong before he even stepped fully inside them. It was not disorder in the obvious sense, not neglect or carelessness that could be immediately rectified, but the rhythm was off.
The usual confidence that the staff possessed had been replaced by hesitation, as though everyone working there was unconsciously waiting for someone to confirm what they already knew how to do. Dorian noticed it within moments of entering.
A stablehand moved past him, leading a horse that should have already been groomed, the tack slightly askew in a way Annewould have corrected without hesitation. Another pair argued quietly near the feed store, their disagreement unresolved rather than efficiently settled.
“Where is the morning schedule?” Dorian asked.
A young stablehand straightened immediately, though his answer came with uncertainty. “We are sticking to yesterday’s rotation, Your Grace.”
Dorian frowned slightly. “Why would you do that?”
“It was not updated,” the man said, then hesitated. “Her Grace usually adjusts it herself if there are changes. We thought… We assumed it would stay the same.”
The words landed with more weight than they should have.
Dorian walked further inside, scanning the space more carefully. It was not incompetence, not as far as he was concerned, but the absence of refinement in decision-making, the small adjustments Anne had made without ever announcing them.
He had not noticed how often she intervened in things that others considered finished, how she corrected problems before they became visible, and how, thanks to her, everything felt settled without effort on his part.
A second stablehand approached cautiously.
“The feed ratios are also slightly inconsistent,” he said. “We were not sure if Her Grace had made changes before she left.”
“She did not leave instructions?” Dorian asked.
“No, Your Grace. Only the usual notes. She usually explains things in person when she adjusts them.”
Dorian turned away, moving deeper into the stables, where Tempest was being tended to. Even there, the difference was visible. The horse was being cared for correctly, but without the quiet assurance that usually surrounded Anne, he was clearly unhappy. The subtle confidence that had once made every movement around the animal certain was gone, replaced by careful guessing and repeated checking.
“It is quieter without her,” one of the senior stablehands spoke reluctantly as Dorian passed.
He stopped. “Quieter?” he repeated.
The stablehand nodded once. “She always knew what needed to be done before we asked. Now we ask each other instead, and since nobody knows what is best like she did, we are all guessing, so there is no real need to communicate at all.”
Dorian did not say anything further because the truth was already visible everywhere he looked. Nothing was collapsing, but nothing was quite working either.
Not for the first time, he was forced to understand that Anne had not only belonged in his life, but she had also been holding parts of it together in ways he had never bothered to see.
He did not expect Tristan to arrive angry. He expected judgment, certainly. Confusion, perhaps, or distance, but not fury.
Tristan found him in the study, not bothering with a greeting, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary.
“You let her leave,” he accused.
Dorian did not look up from the desk. “She chose to.”
Tristan gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “That is what you are calling it.”
Dorian set the paper down carefully, as though sudden movement might undo his already fragile composure. “I did not force her.”
“You did not stop her either, which makes you just as culpable.”
Dorian’s voice stayed even. “She was hurt. I let her do what she thought was best for her while making my own preference known. What more could I have done?”
“She was in love,” Tristan snapped. “And you treated it like something you had to protect her from instead of something you were allowed to have.”
