Her mind raced and then the memory struck her like a spark. Caelith's best friend.
The one who had confessed his feelings in the second chapter. The one Caelith had gently rejected. The one who was supposed to be avoiding her out of embarrassment and hurt and the one she was obviously supposed to not talk with.
Not wanting to sound strange or worse, suspicious, she forced a small, casual smile.
"Oh—!" she said quickly. "I did not see you there. What a surprise to encounter you here. How are you doing."
Her tone sounded stiff to her ears, but he didn't seem to notice.
"I am well," he said slowly, studying her. "Though… I had thought, after what transpired between us, you would no longer wish to speak with me."
"No, no," she said at once, shaking her head. "That would never be the case." She met his gaze and softened her voice.
"You are my dearest friend," she said sincerely. "And I would never act in a manner that might drive a wedge between us." The relief on his face was immediate.
"I am glad," he said quietly. "Truly."
Thalia nodded but her attention drifted almost instantly back to her problem.
"Pray tell," she said, hesitating only a moment, "where might I find a… reputable clothier?"
He blinked.
"…Do you not know?" he asked, puzzled. "You are more familiar with this part of town than me remember, I'm not from here."
Her throat went dry. "Ah—" she started, then stopped, her mind screamed. She was totally speechless, she felt like burying herself deeply in the ground.
_________
The carriage slowed before a row of fashionable establishments, its polished door opening with practiced ease.
The stepsister descended first, adjusting her gloves, emerald eyes flicking sideways toward her mother with thinly veiled curiosity.
"Mother," she asked as they began walking, her tone light but probing, "why did you give her so much coin?"
The woman did not pause. "That," she replied coolly, "is where her journey ends."
The girl frowned. "End?"
"I have already sent men to follow her," the woman continued, as if discussing the weather. "She will not notice they are watching."
The stepsister slowed, eyes widening not with fear, but fascination.
"You mean to have her killed?" The woman laughed softly, sharp and humorless.
"No, foolish girl." She turned toward the shop entrance, lowering her voice just enough. "I sold her to the slave market."
The stepsister's lips slowly curled into a smile, slow, pleased, venomous.
"I hate her, and even seeing her makes me think about her wretched mother." The woman said with utter disgust in her voice.
"I see," the stepsister murmured. "How… thoughtful of you." They disappeared into the shop.
________
Caelith walked beside him, her earlier excitement dulled by a strange weight pressing against her chest.
"I am a bit stressed today, I just wanted someone to give me a ride, which was the reason why I didn't say who I was and thought you might be a stranger who might help me, if I said I was not from here." She explained.
He glanced at her, concern softening his sharp features.
"You should have just asked for help, not acting like you did not know where it was?" he said gently. "Come. I shall take you to my carriage."
She hesitated, then nodded. "That would be....appreciated." The carriage ride felt unreal.
Velvet cushions. Gold trim. She sat with careful posture, absorbing every detail like a historian trapped in a dream. Silence followed.
"Earlier," he said at last cutting through the awkward silence, "you sought a tailor. May I inquire why?"
"I require a gown for....the royal ball," she replied.
"Would you mind if I purchase it for you?"
She shook her head politely. "I would mind. But thank you." A flicker of surprise crossed his face, then amusement.
That was when something clicked. A Duke, her pulse jumped. 'He's a Duke. I remember now, her memories were returning but why don't I remember anything about him.' She thought.
He reached out then, taking her hands. The contact sent a sharp spark through her body.
She inhaled softly, startled, eyes lifting to meet his, dark hair framing a handsome face, blue eyes steady, sincere.
"I regret," he said quietly, "if my confession caused you discomfort." She swallowed.
"Do not dwell upon it," she said. "We may remain best of friends." Relief softened his smile. The carriage wheels halted.
"I won't give up on you," he said as she stepped down.
She smiled awkwardly. "We'll see tomorrow." The carriage departed.
And with it, something warm left her chest—replaced by an uneasy hollow. She turned toward the tailor's shop. And then she stopped.
The street was lively, yet her attention snagged on a narrow alley between buildings, it was dark and quiet. Her steps slowed.
A cloaked figure slumped against the stone wall. Then he moved. Just barely. Her breath caught. His grey hair hidden beneath his hood.
A man young and collapsed against the wall, His cloak was torn, stained deep crimson, the fabric soaked through as if he'd been bleeding for some time.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Is that someone...." She rushed to where he was before she could think better of it.
"Sir?" she whispered urgently, kneeling beside him. "Can you hear me?"
His lashes fluttered. His eyes shone Red. Seeing that kind of eyes she knew what he was, a vampire. Her blood ran cold. 'Should I help him? What if he sucks me dry? This was somehow similar to how Caelith saw the male lead in the story, the only difference was she took him to her room.
"Why are you helping me, you obvioussly know who I am, yet you still choose to help me? Are you not afraid?" He said seeing her crouch towards him, his voice was cold, devoid of warmth.
"You're injured," she said quickly, hands hovering uncertainly. "You're bleeding badly—what happened? Who did this to you?"
His lips curved faintly, not a smile, but something dangerous and unreadable.
Caelith froze. Her heart slammed violently against her ribs, her mind blanking as if someone had wiped it clean. She stared at him, at the blood darkening his clothes, at the way his body trembled faintly against the cold stone.
"I—" Her voice cracked. "I should have taken you to my house but.....i...don't… I don't know my way back."
The confession spilled out uselessly, stupidly, and she hated herself for it even as she said it. "I know that sounds ridiculous," she rushed on, panic thick in her chest. "But I can't just leave you. I'll...I'll help you somehow."
He watched her through half-lowered lashes, breathing uneven. She swallowed and gestured hesitantly. "May I...unbutton your sleeve? I need to see how badly you are wounded."