The capital stood vast and restless beneath a pale afternoon sky. Only two days remained before the grand celebration.
Lethia had dryly told Serena and Elowen that they possessed two full days to wander freely for after the festivities, she doubted any of them would remain in the mood for leisurely strolls. Whether it was a jest or quiet foresight, neither could tell.
For two days, Serena and Elowen explored the capital. They walked along wide stone avenues where nobles passed in gilded carriages, wheels echoing against the cobbles. Merchants called from elegant arcades, displaying silks, perfumes, and imported curiosities. Gentlemen gathered in exclusive clubs speaking of politics, while ladies visited dressmakers and private salons where music flowed beneath crystal chandeliers. The capital was not merely grand it was sharp, watchful. And merciless.
Lethia did not join them. She had never cared for crowds, and the capital was cruel to those burdened with a past like hers. Too many eyes. Too many shadows. Thus, she remained within the Duke's residence.
That afternoon, the mansion rested in quiet stillness. In the garden, beneath the soft sunlight, Lethia reclined upon a cushioned chaise. A plate of sliced fruits rested beside her, and an open volume of history lay in her hands. She wore a simple morning gown of pale linen her posture was unusually relaxed a rare sight for someone usually composed of iron restraint.
The iron gates opened with a faint groan of metal. A young man entered.
Golden hair caught the sunlight, and amber eyes scanned the grounds.
He wore a dark, fitted leather vest over a crisp white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal forearms corded with the lean muscle of a swordsman. The top buttons of his shirt were left undone, hinting at a collarbone carved from marble. His trousers were of fine dark wool, tucked into polished knee-high riding boots that hugged his calves. He didn't look like a pampered lord; he looked like a predator who had just stepped off a horse rugged, yet impossibly handsome.
He had come seeking Sebastian, but his steps slowed when his gaze fell upon the garden.
Upon her.
He recognized her instantly. Years ago, in the Duchy of Lorvil, he had seen a girl walking alone slight, silent, limping. He remembered her falling… rising… falling again. He had never once seen her cry, though pain had been written across her very bones.
That unyielding will… he had never forgotten. And now those hazel eyes. Dark brown hair. Different… yet unmistakable.
Lethia looked up. Seeing his attire, she assumed him to be a knight.
"Uncle Sebastian will be here shortly," she said calmly, gesturing toward a stone bench. "You may wait."
Serik understood. She did not recognize him. Without correcting her, he sat.
"It is my first time in the capital," she said, closing her book halfway. "I thought it wiser to learn its history than to remain ignorant." Then, casually "Tell me, what does the second son of the Duke of Valdor do?"
Serik blinked, then replied evenly, "I… do not know much about the second son either."
"I see," Lethia said. "Then perhaps you are not familiar with the capital's high society."
Lethia was serious. She knew every influential figure, yet the second son of Duke Sidereon remained a ghost in the records. That silence made him dangerous. For the Duchy of Valdor was tied to her fate Ophelia Calvane, her stepmother, was the Duke's younger sister. A shadow tied by blood.
Serik frowned inwardly.
Why is she only asking about me?
He had always been the black sheep, indifferent to the influence of Empress Isabella. He wished only for the battlefield to be like Duke Julius Lorvil.
Lost in thought, he suddenly noticed Lethia had fallen asleep.
The book rested loosely in her lap, sunlight spilling over her like molten gold. Serik froze, then immediately looked away.
A lady, asleep in the open air, was a vulnerable sight. He signaled a passing maid and instructed her to bring a shawl for her mistress.
Without another word, Serik departed. Yet somewhere, deep within, a memory long buried had stirred once more.