“Jean, we’re leaving.” Claire’s voice insipidly came from the carriage, carrying an indescribable emotion.
Jean coldly sheathed his sword. Without even a glance at Lashia’s limp body on the ground, he sat in place of the coachman, and whipped the horses to leave.
The carriage traveled slowly.
“You’re not afraid of Grandfather blaming you?” Claire’s low voice traveled out of the carriage to Jean’s ear. Her words didn’t sound even the slightest bit concerned.