Chapters 4-5

preparations for the ball. Rune appears with news from his father.

Chapter 4:

In that small corner shop designs constructed from vengeful silk and rhinestone beading were sketched, pinned and draped. Rys made sure I would turn every head when I walked into the room. After several lengthy needed hours or laughing and luxury, I paid her and scheduled my pick up two days later.

“ Ta ta for now my tart,” she swooned, “ I'll be here waiting for you when you come to claim your prize to adjust any last minute details if necessary.”

“ You have my full trust. You always exceed my expectations,” I replied with high praise and slipped out into the alley.

The sun was still high in the sky, its yellow haze a beacon for my steps in the shadowed backstreets. Walking back towards the square, the unfamiliar strains of music and the mingling scents of roasted nuts and sawdust tugged at my senses. A wave of excitement rushed through me.

I’d forgotten all about the circus wagons!
I would do Ewoynn proud. Perhaps a stuffed cloth rabbit or a paper fan.

I followed the smell of sugared pecans till the cobblestones disappeared and my slippers padded on a mossy green floor below. Striped red tents billowed in the breeze, their peaks reaching for the sky like a crooked finger pointing to the heavens. I walked slowly, eyes wide with wonder. Laughter drifted on the wind, mingling with distant notes of calliope and somewhere nearby, the fluttering of doves wings. Performers in blues, reds and bright yellows darted by with smudged makeup and alluring expressions. They carried hoops, ropes and crates that hissed and rattled with unseen mysterious within. Every step I took felt more like entering a whimsical madcap dream- made up of smoke, sequin and a whisper of magic.

A magic show had started and folks were gathering round to watch a strange man in a pinstripe suit make a canarie disappear from a small metal bird cage. The crowd oohed and ahhed at the illusion, cheering and whistling for more tricks.

I scanned the stands, surveying each booth and the oddly patterned, painted performers behind them. As I turned the corner, the laughter and cheering dimmed and faded, replaced by a thick hush. The grass grew patchier here, trampled under more foot traffic and yet it appeared I was one of the few souls wandering this section. The sun had hid behind the cloud cover and the faint scent of incense clung to the air- sweet, smokey and strange.

Nestled between the rows of tents was one smaller than the rest. The entrance was draped with heavy violet curtains made from a rich velvet-seductive and buttery. Long strands of brass beads fell like a waterfall obscuring the inside view of the tent, chiming small plinking notes in the wind. As the sun retreated further into the cloud cover, an eerie heaviness settled over me. I could feel the wind behind me beckoning the folds of my dress in the direction of the strange fortress.

Curiosity tugged at my feet and before I knew it I was walking closer, a magnetic pull hastening my steps. I stopped at the entrance. An aged oak sign hung crooked from its chain with the words: The Veil Mother- Seer of Secrets eachted into the wood.

“ I knew you would find me,” croaked an old matronly voice from within.

Fear shivered down my spine at the sound. I recognized that voice, the way it crackled through the silence-like the voice I’d heard in my nightmare, only feminine and more crinkly. As if in response, pinpoint pressure surged in my finger once more.

Oh, God.
It was happening again.

My anxiety continued to climb higher, fearful of what waited for me beyond the raining vines of beads.

Every instinct inside my body told me to RUN-to run far, far away from this place. But it was happening again and I needed to know, I had to know why. I reached within myself, pulling up any courage I had and pushed through the pearls of brass.

A frail elderly woman covered in inky marbling sat upright on a plush velvety sofa- its rich color matching the drapes outside. She was horrifying. The tattoos wrapped up her crepey neck and along her jaw-coming to a pointed line at her chin. Head cocked and eyes wide, I was greeted by a toothy black smile, jagged and too wide—like something that had forgotten how to be human.

It's just an act.
She’s just a prefromer, it's her job.

“ Sit, Blueblood,” she commanded in a deep loud voice and motioned a long bony finger to the seat across from her.

The words hit me like a brick.

Blueblood.
How could she know?
How could she possibly know that?

My whole body rippled with fear, my nerves firing sparse tingles through every limb. I cautiously sat in the armchair across from the oracle. The cushions smelled of mildew and bones.

“ Viel Mother? That is what they call you?" I managed to croak out.

She cracked a high pitched simper to herself and lit the taper candles between us with a long wooden match, humming an off pitch tune. It was a sort of uncanny children's lullaby.

“ Curious things, so very curious,” she sang to herself, her head moving from side to side- each motion wobbly and strange.

“ Aren’t you supposed to read my future or tell me who my true love is?” I asked with as much resolve as I could muster.

“ Curious little Clinkling. Such useless questions,” she mumbled again and began rummaging through the layers of dusty wool she wore. The garment was thick, scratchy and likely moth eaten-felted with age.

“ Well what questions would you have me ask then?” I pressed nervously.

“ What do you wish to see, lockborn?” she replied, her hands still firmly scouring through her coat pockets.

I shook my head and looked around the dingy, smoke heavy room.

Why was I in this stupid tent asking questions from some old hag?
What did I expect?
To find all the answers magically lying before me?

“ Most do,” said the witch, “ But you are not most, nor all.”
My breath caught in my chest-frozen like a bird mid flight. Eyes wide and lips parted, I stared at the Veil Mother for she’d answered a question I never spoke. The air suddenly felt thinner and my mind wholly exposed. My hands twitched at my side, unsure whether to run, scream or deny it.

The old croon only smiled- slow and knowing.

“How did you-” My voice barely a whisper.

“ More useless questions,” was her only response as she dumped handfuls of dirty trinkets onto the table between us.

She spread out the pile picking through each item-snail shells, dried mushroom caps, bones of a small animal. My stomach knotted and threatened to spill every secret I’d ever buried.

“ Ah here it is,” she trilled, “ hiding and seeking from Old Mother Viel are we?”
She spoke to a small burnt parchment piece, covered in smudged ink.

She thrusted the small crisp towards me in her grimy paw.

“ Take-it! Take-it!” she ordered with haste, nodding her head up and down in urging rhythm.

I reached for the note, afraid she would bite my hand off and eat it for lunch. I snatched it quickly from her palm and turned in over in my hand.

“ Live in the shadows. Let them guide you,” she whispered, her breath a warm husk that smelled of death. Her pitch eyes were fixed on mine intently, as if she could see through my skull to the wall behind me.

Chilled to the bone, I shoved the burnt note into the folds of my dress- too afraid to take my eyes from the witch and read it. I needed to get out of here. She’d given me a hint, whatever it was and now it was time for me to leave before my fate turned sour.

She stood from her seat and hobbled closer towards me, sliding a long jagged knife from the rags she wore.

Shit. Shit. Shit.
I was dead.
Her next batch of meat pies.

I scrambled to get to my feet to run, flee, sprint as fast as I could away from this place. In a flash she was before me forcefully squeezing my wrist in her claws.

“LET GO OF ME!” I half yelled, half shrieked in terror.

I was pulling- yanking furiously against her grasp but I could not wrench my wrist free. She was strong, unnaturally strong.

“ Shh, Shh, Shh, Pretty,” she coaxed, turning my wrist so that my palm faced the ceiling-the tender underside exposed to her waved kris blade.“ Just a drop or two.”

A shrill shriek escaped from my mouth as she brought the dagger to my skin. I was crying, sobbing in pure terror. I felt the tip of the deathly sharp knife pierce my skin and-

BANG

The witch was flung backward, slamming into the crates stacked behind her with a thunderous crash. A piercing cry of fury tore from her throat—a sound so raw, so inhuman, it scraped against my bones. I had never heard anything like it… and I hoped I never would again.

I wasn’t sure what had just happened or how but I didn't plan on sticking around long enough for her to recover. I threw my legs into motion flying back through the strands of beads and forcing my muscles to propel me forward faster- FASTER. Everything around me was a blur of colors and winded carnival music.

Still I ran, frantically gazing over my shoulder to make sure the Veil Mother wasn’t close on my heels. After a solid ten minutes of weaving in and out of rows of booths and no sign of an angry witch behind me, I slowed my pace. Bracing my hands on my knees, I gasped for air.
Blue blood was running down my palms and pooling at my fingertips. The knife hadn’t cut to its full intent but the slice was enough to cause a royal mess.

Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.

I tore a strip of my dress off with my teeth, still gulping down shaky breaths.

Virgiosly scrubbing the blue stains, I wrapped my wrist and down my palm with grey silk-tying a small knot to secure it. I checked my surroundings again for the hundredth time. I was shaking uncontrollably from adrenaline and panic.

Where was everyone?

The crowds had almost completely dissipated and it was even darker outside than before, the clouds heavy and shadowed. I was a spec of coal in a maze of red stripes.

I need to keep moving.
Get the hell out of this place.

Finger still leaden, pulsing in warning, I hasten my pace again till I reached the town square.

Relief washed over me at the sight of civilization, folks going about their lives and tending to their errands. Everything was as it was before, as if I’d woken from a horrid vivid dream and stepped back onto reality. I took another long shaky breath.

A soft hand landed on my shoulder. I whipped around fully expecting to see a sinister wrinkled face before me but it was a pair of caring amber eyes that met mine. The widow at the flower stand.
“ Are you alright, Dear?” she said, gazing down at my wrist and taking in my state of fright.

I was drawing too much attention to myself.
I needed to get to the carriage.
And now!

“ Fine, thank you” I replied a bit breathless.

The woman threw me a concerned glance but removed her hand from my shoulder and let me go.

God, my head was pounding, throbbing.

I brought my fingers to my temples and squeezed hard to relieve the pressure pulsing from my finger, all the way up my neck and into the base of my skull. Whatever was happening inside me had been stirred up and excited.

I stuck to the sidelines of the market, attempting to walk normally but not lose any speed. No one seemed to notice me. I had plenty of practice hiding bruises and hurts that Father had given me after heated arguments, so I slipped into the same old rhythm I’d mastered over the years. I was a wealthy daughter of a Duke pursuing the market stalls and enjoying the sunshine.

Edwin was waiting with the carriage right where I’d left them. I’d never been more relived to see his familiar freckled face in all my life.
“ Ready to go home Miss Undegrove?,” he asked from his perch, holding onto the reins.

I attempted to hide my sticky, stained hand in the folds of my gown.

“ Yes Edwin, quite so.” I replied, trying to slow my breathing and steady my expression.

He started to climb down from his post so he could open my door but before his feet could meet the ground I chimed in.

“Ah- don't-don’t worry about the door, I’ve got it,” I hastily spat and climbed inside the carriage.

Edwin mumbled encouragement to the horses pulling us back to safety and thhe sound of the reigns snapped. Off we went. If he noticed anything out of the ordinary, he would never say. That was a small mercy I was extremely grateful for at this moment. The help were trained to be discrete.

I relaxed into the rhythmic rocking of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones below, allowing my tense muscles time to thaw from their frozen state. My mind could barley comprehend what had just transpired.
That crazy witch had known something.
She’d addressed me with familiarity as if she already known me.
And some force had flung her back into those crates….how was that possible?
And maybe more importantly WHAT made that possible?

Whatever it was it had given me just enough time to run and save myself from a deadly fate. I sent a thankful prayer up to whatever gods lent their ears. I’d barely scrapped out of that tent.

Just then, I remembered the paper the Veil Mother had given me. I reached for the small strip and turned it over in my palm to read it.

The ink was smudged terribly. I could barely make out the muddled mess of letters. It appeared to be some sort of name or maybe a hint...
M…O…R ….Was that a Y?
No, a V.
Morv?
What the hell was a Morv?
I tried to recall what else the mad woman had rambled about before she tried to dice me to bits.
She’d mentioned something about living in the shadows?

God. Why did everything have to be so damn confusing?
It was always some sort of riddle.

I tucked the scrap away again to decipher later. We would be arriving at the manor soon and I needed to clean up the bloody mess before anyone else saw and questioned.

Hunger gnawed at my gut. How I longed for breakfast tray now—running all that way on nothing but a scone. My mind drifted to the decadent spread the kitchens must be preparing for the upcoming nuptials. Trays of oven-roasted duck and pheasant, their skins crisp and glistening with honey butter. Poached salmon resting on beds of candied lemon and fresh thyme. Heaping piles of steaming stuffed mushrooms and glazed root vegetables—the kind of aroma that made your mouth water uncontrollably.
And that would only be a fraction of the delicacies served to eager guests. The dessert tables alone would take up half the ballroom, silver-tiered centerpieces piled high with confections. Fruit tarts and jellied puffs, dazzling in color and design. And of course, Aurelia would ensure a lavish display of intricately piped cakes in exquisite flavors: champagne raspberry, almond apricot, vanilla bean elderflower, lemon thyme and honey. The entire hall would be wrapped in sweet and savory perfume, lulling guests into a dreamy, sugar-drenched haze.
Eowyn was an culinary artist. And I hoped she had crafted a hearty lunch. I was famished.
With how elaborate the whole affair was to be, it was hard to imagine how a wedding could be more grand. I actually felt a bit of pitty for Father’s checkbook, not that he’d even blink as he signed off his name on the line.
The carriage came to a slow as we pulled into the manor drive. We had arrived home. I had alread decided that lunch would be my next course of action after I cleaned up. Edwin climbed down to assist my departure from the carriage. I was careful to place my clean hand in his as he braced my steps down onto the pebbled drive.

“ Thank you Edwin,” I said to him. The gratitude in my eyes was not only for his usual assistance but for his discretion as well.

“ It’s my pleasure, Miss Undergrove.” He smiled back at me- the expression warm and kind.

I hated to admit it but I didnt know much of the staff very well aside from their names. But Edwin had always shown kindness to me. He had never once questioned tears or marks as I’d climbed into the carriage. He’d simply offer me a sympathetic smile and hand me his linen handkerchief. He was a man of few words but sweet soul.

I was greeted by flurries of tulle and white roses, instantly swallowed by a whirlwind of motion. The manor thrummed with busy haste. Servants scurried like clockwork mice, darting from room to room carrying armfuls of linens, tulle and sprigs of white roses. The lemony scent of beeswax polish greeted my nose as I spotted a mushroom-brown haired maid on her hands and knees scrubbing furiously at the floor. It appeared Aurelia’s decree of perfection had been proclaimed and no one wished to lay down their necks on the guillotine of her disapproval.

Everyone was so hostage and focused on their tasks, I passed unnoticed by most as I made my way through the chaos to reach the kitchens. I washed up in the small mud room that abbuted the kitchen. Unraveling the sticky blood-dried silk felt like peeling a hardened wax seal from an age letter without ripping the delicate parchment. The process was slow and stubborn. The cool water felt glorious on my hot skin as scrubbed with my finger tips in small circular motions. Once the mess of navy had been gently washed free, I examined the jagged cut beneath. It appeared significantly less intimidating without the colorful runs of blood surrounding it.

The witch had said just a drop or two…
Why would she want my blood?

The growling of my stomach jarred me from my thoughts and increased my motivation to finish the binding. With the wound cleaned and bound, I walked to the kitchen to hunt down some lunch.
Eowyn was a hot mess of powdered sugar and flour-dusted handprints. Her familiar, sweet face was flushed with exertion. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her move—every motion a seamless step in the dance of her craft. Her eyes lit with quiet satisfaction as she finished piping delicate flower petals and dusting her confections with golden sugar. Her beauty translated itself onto her baked and frosted canvases.
I watched with quiet admiration. Eowyn commanded the room—not through scheming or force, but through skill and quiet grace. She had earned her respect. It was a powerful presence, even though she was just one cook in a grand house.
In that moment, I let myself hope that the wounded parts of my own heart might heal instead of rot. I yearned to emulate her—to be followed and seen, not out of fear or obligation, but out of love and earned reverence. Eowyn was a creature both strong-willed and strong-hearted.
She paused in her well-worn, practiced rhythm when she saw me. A smile—soft and full of summer walks, late-night talks over honeyed rolls, and warm embraces—bloomed effortlessly on her lips. My heart swelled with comfort, wrapped in the quiet safety only she could bring.

“ Hello My Flower,” she greeted, as if she shared the same sweet hug of warmth I did when I beheld her.

“Hello,” I replied sweetly, my own smile contagiously catching.

“ I’d give you a hug but I’m afraid im covered from head to toe in my recipes,” she replied with a wink, “I’d hate to ruin your favorite dress.”

My smile softened with fondness. “You couldn’t ruin anything, even if you tried your hardest.”

She glanced towards the scraps of cake littering her workspace and huffed a small laugh.

“ Tell that to Cynthia. Poor thing will have quite the mess to clean this evening.”

I returned the gesture, heaviness lifting from my rib cage. “ It appears Aurelia has instated her regime once more. Will you be busy all day?” I asked hopeful for her company.

Her expression relaxed into silent affection. “My child, I could never be too busy for time with you,” she spoke with utmost sincerity.

A loud grumble from my stomach interrupted our conversation. Eowyn’s face shifted to a motherly scowl.

“ Im assuming you didn’t eat your breakfast then. How many time have I told you? If you’re to go about conquering the world and scheming your sisters, you should atleast have a full stomach first!”

I chuckled softly at her words I’d heard for years. “ Yes, Yes I know,” I replied, “I did eat a blueberry scone in town though!”

“ Not only did you scorn your breakfast tray, you also cheated my baking with some cheap market pastry,” she scolded playfully. “ Come! I have fresh roast and potatoes from the ovens. Man cannot live on bread alone!”

I williginly obeyed and followed behind her. Plopping down on the familiar wooden stool by the hearth I waited eagerly to subside my hunger with the juicy tender roast. She shoved a bowl of steaming beef stew into my hands.

“ Eat! Now!” she ordered.

I oblidged with no retaliation. I was too busy shoving spoonfuls of seasoned potatoes and thick savory broth into my mouth for any backtalk.
After cleaning my bowl completely, I offered her a silly thankful smile and wiped my mouth. Her gaze drifted to my wrist and flickered with worry.

“ It wasn’t him,” I said, reading her thoughts.

It didn't matter how many times it happened, she always wore that same expression each time. Eowyn had been the only one to clean off splits and tend to bruises the Duke had given me time and time again. I let her. She never once told me to mind my mouth or my manners when it came to him. Never once contributed the blame for the injuries to my verbal retaliation as Aurelia and Sonnet did. She understood that my words were powerful and within my control. To take them away would leave me with nothing.

“ How a man can find it within himself to use his strength to crush something so delicate and beautiful, I will never come to understand. How does he sleep at night, knowing the scars he leaves?” she said angrily under her breath.

“ He sleeps on the finest goose feather pillows in Innswood,” I joked, still chewing my last bite of stew. She did not find my gest amusing, her expression still heated and protective.

“ It wasn’t him, Eowyn,” I said again, reassuring her worried heart.

It wasn’t like the reality of what really happened was any better. What was I supposed to tell her anyways?

Don't worry it wasn’t my abusive Father! It was only a mad capped raving witch who sliced me with her dagger and tried to take my blood!

God! How was I going to explain this one?

I hated the thought of lying to her. I had never allowed myself to do it before. Eowyn was pure of heart—steadfast and honest—and she had always been true to me. To lie to her now would feel like a betrayal of the quiet trust we’d built, and the unspoken understanding that had always existed between us.

“ Tell me what happened,” she prompted softly.

I couldn’t tell her everything, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie, either. As much as my heart longed for just one other soul to share the weight of my confusion and secrets, revealing the truth to anyone—Eowyn included—would not be wise.

“ I- It wasn’t supposed to happen,” I began, “ I got the cut from a prop, a knife they had on display in one of the carnival tents to scare participants. I hadn’t realized how sharp it was. It was foolish really.”

She mulled over my response. Her expression suddenly dipped into deeper despair- her eyes lined with silver. When she spoke her voice was cracked and wobbly.

“ Fluer, I know how hard it can be at times with your sisters and father. If I haven’t been attentive as of late it's been purely mindless. It’s been so busy lately with all the events and…” she was struggling to find the words, tripping over her sentences. “If you- If you- I wouldn’t ever forgive myself.”

Realizing what she meant I whipped my head to meet her saddened eyes.
“ What! No! I would never harm myself! I told you, it was a foolish accident.”

Relief washed over her face but she still looked warry. I stood immediately and embraced her. Flour or not I didn't care. I needed the touch and so did she. Her plump arms wrapped tightly around me and squeezed.

I spoke into her shoulder, my voice muffled and soft.

“ You are more than enough. And whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

Her body rumbled against me as she chuckled and wiped her running nose. She released me and cupped my cheek in my palm.

“ Did you get enough to eat?” she said through a sniffle.

“ My heart and stomach are very full. All thanks to you.”

Chapter Five:

The rest of my evening I spent scouring the library from top to bottom for something to silence the millions of questions whirling around in my mind. I checked every section I thought might have some relevance: books on locks, human anatomy, The Art of Circus Makeup. I searched every square inch, including a wide range of fairy tales. After all, there wasn’t much scientific explanation for a witch.

Still I came up with nothing useful. I decided to settle for a wethered copy of The Twelve Dancing Princesses and retreat to my rooms for a peaceful evening of reading and a steaming cup of earl grey.
Books were a way to escape the luxury bars I lived in. When I cracked it open and turned over each buttery page, the world around me would melt away. Their air would smell different, filled with adventure, mystery and endless possibilities. I could hear the rustle of leaves from an enchanted forest, the clink of swords in forgotten kingdoms and the whispers of distant ocean waves crashing onto shore. The stories were not just an escape; they were a refuge, a place where time and trouble couldn’t touch me.

I needed to get lost tonight. Away from reality.

As I made my way back to my rooms, I found Aurelia in a flustered state waiting by my door. She was fidgeting nervously with the ribbons of her gown and glancing around the hall frantically. When she saw me her eyes locked onto mine and she briskly glided in my direction, meeting me halfway. It appeared my luck in avoiding her today had run out. I suppose a peaceful evening had been wishful thinking.

“ What were you doing in town today? Lady Arabell Darnley saw you snooping around Pearl Harbor and was competent enough to report back. What are you up to Fluer?” she blurted out, cheeks flushed with pink.

This was an odd state to see Aurelia in. Even when she was vindictive she was always poised. She looked panicked, like the wheels of the emotional wagon she was riding were coming loose. I wondered at what had been momentous enough to get her this out of sorts. It certainly hadn’t been my trip to town. No, this was stemming from something else entirely.

“ I wasn’t aware I was a prisoner to the manor. Surely I am allowed to leave my own home. Besides, it's none of your concern what I do with my own time,” I said passively and pushed past her.

“ I know that you’re up to something!” she said again with force. “ Were you meeting with James? Is that why you won’t tell me?”

I turned, half in amusement-half in surprise at the fear that threaded through my sister’s accusations. This was odd indeed.

“ I haven't spoken to James since the Spring Forward celebration, Aurelia. You know that,” I stated blankly.

“ You deceitful little wench, spinning lies as easily as you breathe. Tell me why you were in town this insistent!"

I had reached the end of the hall and now the end of my patience with this childish argument. I turned to face Aurelia, a resolve settling over my features.

“ If I wanted James Estridsen, I would easily have had him by now. Do us all a favor and loosen your corset. I'm done having this conversation,” I spat, stepping inside my rooms and slamming the door in her face.

An exasperated female groan sounded from outside the door and was followed by her aggressive clink of heels down the hall. I smiled to myself. I hadn’t even meant to aggravate her this time but it appeared I had a natural talent for it.

I flopped back onto the crushed velvet comforter, tossing my book aside. I supposed I could try to read—maybe distract myself from the chaos swirling in my head. Rolling onto my stomach, I kicked off my slippers and opened the familiar pages. This story had always been my favorite: the secretive princesses, the clever, handsome soldier, the quiet love that grew between him and the eldest. As much as I hated to admit it, I was an utterly hopeless romantic.
I usually only allowed my heart to swell with romantic anticipation when I was reading. In reality that type of thinking only got you hurt. I was walking and living proof of that.

God. Rune.

I hated myself for ever being so vulnerable with him—even if it was years ago. He never truly disappeared, always lingering in the corners of my memory, haunting the quiet moments. There was a time he’d meant everything to me—the keeper of my heart. We used to sneak away to watch the sunrise over the ocean, walking barefoot in the cool, moonlit sand. In so many ways, I had laid my soul bare before him. He knew all of it—my rambling dreams and ideas, my fierce hatred of dark chocolate, even the way the corners of my mouth twitched when I lied.

But worse, he knew the softest parts of my world. His arms had been my refuge more than once, after terrible nights with Father. There had been safety there—a kind of stillness that made me forget I was supposed to be afraid. I could still feel the places on my body his hands had brushed sweetly. Not bruised, not beaten but beheld. I could still taste the salty tear washed kisses and shared breaths.

And I hated him all the more for it. I’d been a fool to let myself be that exposed, that bare before someone else. When he betrayed my heart, I felt it in every inch of me—like pieces of my soul had been torn away, leaving me nothing but skin and bone. I never understood how someone could love so completely, so utterly, and then let it go—like it had never meant anything at all. There was a period of time after the separation where I never saw him, he’d disappeared. But then he was back wearing a casual flirtatious mask and creating a reputation for himself in town. I always saw through the act.

I knew Rune for who he truly was and maybe that's what scared him. Maybe there was safety in shallow meaningless nights with names you wouldn't remember. You could never truly be wounded if you never exposed the tender parts of your heart to someone. I supposed he chose to wound stead of be wounded.
Time and distance had healed most of the scars but there were some that would never go away. Some that would be buried with me. And now, I was going to be seeing him more often, working together to discover this mystery. And beyond that, he wasn’t leaving town for another two months.

Ugh, this was such a mess.

I slammed the book shut, unable to focus on the story. What I needed was a distraction—and maybe a long bath. With two bowls of stew still sitting heavy in my stomach, the thought of dinner made me feel sick. I peeled off my favorite gown, now torn and stained, and scrubbed my skin with frustrated urgency.

The warm, fragrant water eased the familiar ache in my chest and began to loosen the tension coiled deep within me. I dipped my head beneath the surface, letting the water flood my ears and mute both the world around me and the noise inside my mind. In that hush, I stayed as long as my lungs would allow—held by silence in a way nothing else could offer.

And yet, even submerged, eyes shut tight, I could still see him—those vivid emerald eyes and that conniving smile. Even as I held my breath- I could smell him: the lingering trace of amber and clove. I was losing my grip. Seeing Rune again—so many times, so suddenly—was dredging up feelings I had long buried, emotions I thought I'd locked away for good.

I broke the surface with an exasperated grumble.

I should have taken a cold plunge.

I pulled both of my long legs from the smooth stone tub and into the chill of the open air. After drying my hair and skin, I slipped into a ruby-wine nightgown. The satin shimmered like liquid flame in the candlelight, catching each flicker with a soft, sensual glow. Thin straps of deep plum silk rested lightly on my shoulders, matching the fine stitching along the hem. It was one of the most romantic pieces I owned—its rich reds and magentas mingling like petals in a bed of fully bloomed roses.

I nestled into the buttery fabric and breathed in the sweet aroma of orange blossom wafting off my clean skin. I sat at my writing desk, thrumming my fingers nervously.

This was a bad idea.
A stupid, stupid idea.

I swiftly grabbed a sheet of parchment and dipped my quill before I could talk myself out of it. I began furiously scribbling my feelings.

Rune,
I’ve spent the evening alone, lost in thoughts of you, like a fool. I can't seem to escape the memories of us. Questions have haunted me for years, echoing in the silence of my mind.
What happened? How did we end up here?
And most of all… why?
Why did you do it?
Here I am, with time between us, and I still can’t find the answers. I gave you everything.
You took the best parts of my heart with you, and left mine in pieces—while you gave yours to someone else.
Was it worth it?

The words became punktured inky wounds as I stabbed my quill through the letter over and over again.

“ I must be out of my mind,” I scolded myself aloud and crumpled the paper into a ball.

I tossed the foolish idea into the paper waste bin and sighed, pressing my palms to my eyes with force. I was never going to send the letter. I just hoped that maybe getting the words on paper might provide some relief. I was solely wrong. I didn't feel relieved, just incredibly stupid.

“ Well, that's true,” said a familiar smooth voice.

I jumped ten feet, tumbling and knocking over the wooden stool.

“ Jesus Grove, it’s only me,” he said, jumping off the window cill and picking up the stool.

Shit. This truly was the worst thing that could happen right now.
For so…so many reasons.

“ Well maybe if you come through the door like a normal person, I wouldn’t be so prone to heart attacks. God! It’s late Rune!” I huffed up at him from the floor.

“ Never stopped you before,” he replied winking.
He reached his hand towards me to help me to my feet. My instincts were to slap it away but tonight…just tonight I allowed it. He took my hand in his and hoisted me up. His touch was warm and inviting, the gruff callouses softly nipping at my tender skin. It felt so natural, my hand in his.

Focus. Focus.

“ Why did you come?” I said, hiding the blush in my cheeks behind my hair. I could smell the summer night clinging to him, earthy and sweet.

“ I was coming to report back on what I learned from Father-” he stopped dead mid sentence, noticing what I wore for the first time now that I was standing, or rather the lack thereof. Heat rose up his neck and he blinked slowly a few times taking in my bare legs.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “ I-he said that-” he was stuttering, stumbling over his words. His gaze flickered to the floor, then to the wall—anywhere but in front of him.

A sly smile tugged at the corner of my lips, playful and just a touch wicked.
“ Is something the matter?” I poked.

“ God, you had to wear that to bed?” he said, the pink in his cheeks blooming into a rosy red.

My grin widened further. “ Well I wasn’t expecting visitors,” I said walking past him and towards the empty hearth. “ Would you like me to put on a robe?”

His eyes trailed my every move. “ No! Ah-” he blurted too quickly.
I laughed softly underneath my breath. I was glad his attention was on me and not the paper ball I’d thrown into the trash. Those words should’ve never left my mind and would certainly never be seen by his eyes.

“ You said you had news?” I prompted.

He stalked closer ignoring my question, gaze still heavily heated and pinned on me. Now it was my turn to be nervous, as he closed the distance between us. I could feel the heat radiating off of both of us, the air between us becoming a blazing oven. I tucked my wrist behind my back so he wouldn’t see.

His face hovered near mine, gaze cutting through all the layers and masks I wore. I found myself lost in those eyes, willingly wandering through a dense, mossy forest. My breath caught in my chest as he moved even closer, close enough that his words could almost be a whisper against my skin. Every inch of me ached to lean into him, to feel the warmth of his broad chest against mine, to be drawn into that familiar, heady haze once more.

He brought his lips close to my ear, faintly brushing the soft skin. My breathing turned raspy.
“ That's not fair,” he half whispered, half pleaded.

The words sent a fluttering chill down my spine and stoked the embers in my lower belly.

Oh god. This was bad.
Very, very bad.

This had not been the night for him to drop in. I was too vulnerable, my usual walls of defense eroded from all the heartache and wondering. It would be all too easy for me to slip into that natural rhythm of longing for him. At that moment, I was grateful for the hurt. It lurched my heart from doing anything insanely stupid that I would regret the following day.

I sidestep out of his domineering stance. Cold air filled the empty spaces that had blazed moments ago and cooled my skin. I steadied my breaths and attempted to regain my composure.

“ Don't look at me like that,” I said quietly.

“ What do you mea-” he started.

“ Like you still want me. Don’t,” I said again, my back still turned towards him.

“ Fluer, I…” There was pain in his voice.

I lifted a hand in the air to silence him. He obeyed, not uttering another word. The sound of my name rolling off his tongue was excruciating. Not Groves, not Pet, not Dearest…Fluer. A painful cord rippled through my chest. I hadn’t heard the sweet way it sounded coming out of his mouth in a very long time.

"Just tell me what he said," I demanded, turning to face him. Agony was written across his handsome features, etched deep into the tension of his jaw. In those evergreen eyes, I saw the weight of unspoken words—things he longed to share, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to say.

When he spoke, his voice was cracked and husked. “ He never got a name, only sold him a pair of white gloves. A few folks in town claimed they saw a tall, lengthy fellow in a black suit, like you described. But nobody knows who he is. He’s definitely not from around here. My guess is he’s from overseas.”

Well that was a waste of time.

“ He didn’t know anything about him? Not an address or someone who might know where he’s staying?” I asked, eager for any small glean of information.

“No” he went on “The only thing he mentioned was the ring he wore on his left hand. He’d thought it odd. A large one, made of tungsten. He said it had an eclipsed moon etched in its center. I don't know. Maybe it’s some sort of familial crest?”

I turned the information over in my mind. If the symbol truly belonged to a family, it might reveal something vital about his identity—perhaps even where he came from. Tracing his lineage could finally explain what business he had with Father and maybe a chance to see him again. I paced across the floor, fingers tapping thoughtfully against my jaw.

“That’s entirely possible,” I murmured, keeping my gaze on my feet, my steps steady. I couldn’t bring myself to meet Rune’s eyes again. “I wonder if there’s deeper meaning in the design? That crest isn’t common among the greater houses.”

I could still feel his gaze lingering on me.

“What’s the fascination with this guy, anyway?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.
But the jealousy laced through his tone was impossible to miss.

God. That's what he thought this was about?

I wondered if that was the real reason he was so eager to help—not out of goodwill, but to keep an eye on me, and on whoever this stranger was. I didn’t know what to say and I definitely couldn’t tell him what had been happening. I could lie, of course. After everything he’d done, I owed him nothing. But the torment woven across his face made me hesitate, searching for some softer version of the truth.

“ I told you before,” I began. “ There was something different about him…”

I recalled his strange and handsome face to memory, those ghostly eyes and sensual smile. The way my whole body had responded when I was in his presence, sending my finger off with an intense buzz.

“ I think he’s part of some under the table dealing with the Duke. I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. Perhaps gain some blackmail to dangle over him.”

Rune raked over my expressions intently with his scrutinizing emerald eyes, analysing my body language.

“ You know, I know when you're lying to me,” he said, eyebrows raised and arms now crossed across his tanned chest.

Damn him for knowing me so well!

I drew in a deep breath, my patience fraying.

“ There are things I can’t tell you. Things I don't even have answers to yet myself,” I said, frustratedly shaking my head. I was stuck. I couldn't tell him yet...I couldn't’ trust him.

“ I understand perfectly.” he replied, his voice defensive and hurt.

“ Rune! Trust me when I tell you, you don't. This is way bigger than what you think is happening here,” I stated earnestly trying to help him understand without revealing too much.

He ran both palms impatiently through his messy hair, leaning his head back and sighing loudly.

“ God Fluer, you know. You're driving me mad! I don't know what to think here.” he exclaimed, shaking his head- eyes darting around the room.

I still needed his help. I didn’t want to face this alone. If things got worse—if I uncovered something about myself that shattered everything—I wasn’t sure I could bear it. Not by myself.

I strode over to him, my bare feet padding softly on the carpet. Taking his hands in mine, I lifted his chin so that he could meet my gaze. There was so much confusion there, so many questions. I knew how that felt.

I spoke quietly, barely above whisper.
“ I need your help. And I need you to trust me.”

He took his time staring into my eyes like a man haunted by a dream just out of reach—his stare deep, quiet, and filled with ache. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just drank me in with the longing of someone who already knew he could never truly hold what he wanted most.

“ Okay then.”



Rune left that night the same way he came, only more wounded than cocky. Involving him was proving to be more tricky than I had anticipated and not in the ways I thought it would be either. But in light of things, I did know another puzzle piece to this mystery: the crest. I spent the remainder of the late evening sketching out symbols that might resemble the engraving on the stranger’s ring. It had to have some sort of significance.

I placed the paper drawings in my coin purse. I would pay a visit to a dear friend of mine tomorrow, one that had a much larger library and knowledge of great families. A small bonus would be Aurelia’s reaction when she’d heard I called upon James. And I had the feeling he would be more than eager to assist me.