The marble echoes beneath my boots as Aldric drags me through the corridors, his hand iron around my wrist. The torches on the walls sputter faintly, light and shadow weaving like restless ghosts. We move fast, too fast for breath or questions, slipping behind stone pillars whenever footsteps sound ahead.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, pulling at his grip. “Your guards will see us—someone will see us—”
“Quiet,” he mutters, not slowing. His jaw is tight, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.
We dart through another passage, one I’ve never entered. I stumble once, catching myself on the wall. The air smells of dust and forgotten time.
“Where are you taking me?” I whisper, frustration biting through the fear. “Why make me the head of the seamstresses if you plan to hide me in the dark right after?”
He doesn’t answer. The silence between us stretches, sharp and painful.
Finally, he shoves open a narrow wooden door at the end of the corridor and pulls me inside. The room is small, filled with broken chests and forgotten baskets, cobwebs hanging like lace from the ceiling. He closes the door behind us, shutting out the palace and all its noise.
For a moment, there’s nothing but our ragged breathing. Then Aldric strikes a match. The tiny flame flares to life, lighting his face in flickers—his cheekbones, his eyes, the tension drawn tight in his jaw.
“What in the world is going on?!” I demand, my voice trembling between anger and disbelief. “Heavens, I don’t understand you.”
“Quiet,” he snaps, though not cruelly—more like he’s trying to control himself. “You’re talking to the prince.”
“Prince or not,” I take a step closer, glaring right into his eyes, “you owe me an explanation, and I won’t look at your status when I’m asking for it.”
The words hang between us. The flame wavers.
He stares back, and something in his gaze softens—not kindness, not pity, but recognition. “I granted you the position because you deserve it,” he says finally, his voice steady but low. “You’re the best seamstress in the palace. In the kingdom, even. I won’t have you question that.”
“That’s not what I asked,” I whisper. “Why do you care?”
He doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at me, that same unreadable expression burning through the dim. The silence turns into something else—something dangerous, alive.
I try to step back, but he moves first. In one breath, his mouth finds mine.
It isn’t careful this time. It’s desperate—years of restraint breaking like glass. The match flickers wildly, light dancing across our faces, the small room alive with breath and fire. His hand finds my waist, the other cupping my cheek, and I forget for one impossible moment who either of us are.
I shouldn’t answer him but I do anyway. The kiss deepens, heat crawling through me, stealing the air from my lungs. His fingers trail down my spine, slow and reverent, and something in me breaks open—need, memory, longing tangled into one.
Then, reality crashes in like cold water.
I pull away abruptly, my chest heaving. “No,” I breathe. “We can’t—”
He stops, just as shaken, his lips parting as if to speak but no words come.
“It’s…” I whisper, staring at the dying matchlight, “a mistake.”
He exhales, the sound rough. “Twice already.”
The words cut deeper than any confession could.
We stand there in the quiet, neither of us daring to move. I can feel my heartbeat against my ribs, wild and uneven. Something unspoken fills the space between us—something neither of us wants to name.
At last, I step back. My voice trembles but holds. “I’ll go back to work.”
He doesn’t stop me this time. I turn, open the door, and slip into the corridor before he can say anything else. My steps echo down the hall as I half-run through the dark. The air feels colder now, the silence heavier.
When I reach my dormitory, my hands are still shaking.
Ysabet is there, hunched over the small table, grinding herbs into powder. The smell is bitter, almost burning. She doesn’t look up. “Whatever it is, Lara, it can wait until morning. I’m busy.”
“I need to talk to you,” I blurt.
“Morning,” she repeats, pouring the mixture into a glass vial.
I take a deep breath. “Prince Aldric kissed me. Twice.”
Her hand stops mid-motion. For a heartbeat, she’s frozen like a statue. Then, slowly, she looks up, one brow lifting. “All right,” she says evenly. “Perhaps it can’t wait until morning.”
I drop onto the chair opposite her, the words spilling before I can stop them—everything: the corridor, the dark room, the fire, the kiss. My voice trembles, but I can’t seem to stop talking.
Ysabet listens quietly, her expression unreadable. When I finally fall silent, she leans back, sighing deeply.
“I warned you, child,” she says softly. “Your place here is fragile. The prince may favor you, but that favor burns fast in palaces like this. You have one purpose, and it isn’t him.”
“I know,” I whisper, staring down at my hands. “But I—”
She raises a hand. “No. What you need to do is remember why you came here. You came to work for Mira’s treatment, not to lose yourself in something that can’t exist.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing the knot in my throat. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you forget it every time he looks at you,” she replies, not unkindly. “You’re human. But you’re also a mother. Keep your head down, Lara. Work. Heal your child.”
I nod, unable to argue.
Ysabet studies me for a moment longer, then softens. “There’s an autumn festival in two days. Take Mira to see it. It will help her breathe easier. And you… you need the air too.”
I blink. “Mira’s too weak—”
“Then wrap her warm and carry her,” Ysabet says simply. “The festival isn’t far. Let her see something brighter than these walls.”
I hesitate, then sigh. “I’ll think about it.”
“Do more than think,” she murmurs, rising. “Do something before the palace devours what’s left of you.”
When she leaves, the room falls quiet again. I move to the bed and sit beside Mira. Her tiny hand rests open on the blanket, her curls damp against her forehead. I stroke her hair gently, brushing the heat away.
Her lips move, barely forming a sound. “Dad…”
I freeze. The word pierces straight through me—soft, slurred, but unmistakable. I feel the sting behind my eyes, but no tears come.
“Sleep, my love,” I whisper, though my own voice shakes. “We’ll find him.”
But the truth echoes back in the stillness: time is slipping away, and I am running out of ways to keep my promise.