"The one that says you’d rather be out there in the woods than in a place with a bed and roof."
Liora gave a small smile. "He didn’t even consider taking me along."
Beatrice huffed. "Oh, don’t be foolish. Of course he considered it. But men like him? They don’t risk what they care about when they can help it."
Liora blinked. "He doesn’t care about me."
"No? Not even a little?" Beatrice tilted her head knowingly. "He listens when you speak. That’s more than most ever got from Lucien Blackthorne."
Liora wrapped her hands tighter around the cup. "It’s not about that. I want to be useful."
"You’ve already proven that. More than once. Let him meet you in the middle, girl. Let him come to see that your strength isn’t just in your fists."
Liora didn’t answer, but Beatrice’s words followed her long after the woman left her side.
Lucien rode hard beneath the forest canopy, the sky growing darker by the second. They moved without torches, using the dim moonlight and memory of the terrain. When the flicker of the mercenaries’ fire came into view, Lucien raised his hand to halt the line.
He dismounted, signaling two men to flank the left and another three to cover the right.
He moved silently, a shadow among shadows, until he stood just beyond the clearing. The men were there—two asleep, one pacing, and one crouched, scribbling something onto parchment.
That was the messenger.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed as he caught the seal stamped into the wax. Not Petra’s. Not Alden’s.
He stepped forward deliberately, breaking the edge of the silence.
The man at the fire looked up and went pale.
Lucien’s voice was quiet, lethal.
"Deliver it to me, instead."
But he didn’t make it three steps.
Liora was in the garden when he returned. She’d sat too long in the quiet of her room and wandered outside, where moonlight spilled across the stone paths like silver threads.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him.
Lucien approached, his coat dusted with leaves and dried mud, his expression unreadable in the dark.
She stood, brushing her skirts as he stopped before her.
"It’s handled?" she asked.
He nodded. Then, after a beat, he held something out to her.
A letter. The seal is already broken.
She took it carefully.
"You should read it," he said.
Lucien’s gaze held hers, unwavering. "Because it was addressed to you."
Liora stared at the letter, her fingers tightening slightly around the parchment. The broken wax seal still held the faint imprint of something she couldn’t quite place—neither royal nor common, but old. Familiar in a way that made her stomach twist.
She looked up at Lucien. "Did you read it?"
"I skimmed it," he said, his voice low. "Didn’t seem right to read it fully without you."
That caught her off guard. For a man so guarded, so cold when they’d first met, he’d begun offering her these quiet things: consideration, space, and a growing trust. She didn’t know what to do with them yet. But they were there. Like the way he stood just close enough that she felt his presence, not looming, not demanding.
She unfolded the letter slowly.
The handwriting was elegant and precise. And it was signed—by a name she hadn’t seen in years.
Her hand trembled slightly.
The time has come. You must understand that what happened to your parents was not chance nor misfortune but by design. Petra’s silence has lasted long enough. The woman who walks freely in your uncle’s home wears your mother’s necklace. She was the hand that reached into your family’s throat and cut out its voice.
Come to where it began. Where the fire was first lit. You’ll find what you’re looking for beneath the old elm, in the ruins of Eldhollow.
We do not wait forever.
Liora stared at the letter. Her lips parted, but no words came at first.
Lucien watched her quietly. "Who’s R?"
"I... I’m not sure." Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "But they know. They know what happened. They know about the necklace and Eldhollow. That was where we used to go in the summers, my parents and I... before the fire."
Lucien’s eyes darkened slightly. "Then it’s a trap."
"Maybe," she said. "But what if it’s not?"
He said nothing for a moment. The wind stirred the trees gently around them. Then he said, "If you go, I go with you."
She looked at him, truly looked—past the stern jaw, the tired lines of a man carrying more than he let on. There was something unspoken in his words, something that curled between them like smoke from a candle snuffed too soon.
"You don’t have to do that," she said.
"I know." A pause. "But I will."
Their eyes met. For a second too long.
Liora looked away first. "I won’t go rushing in. I need to think. Plan."
He gave a faint nod. "Good."
But neither of them moved. Neither of them turned away.
For the first time, the silence between them didn’t feel like a wall, it felt like something waiting to bloom.
Liora folded the letter and tucked it into her sleeve.
"We should get some rest," she said.
Lucien didn’t stop her as she turned to go. But after a few steps, she paused.
"Thank you. For coming back."
He gave a quiet nod. "You’re not someone I’d leave behind."
And then, just like that, she disappeared into the quiet halls, leaving behind only the echo of something unspoken and the letter that burned like a warning in her mind.
Lucien lingered in the hallway long after Liora disappeared into the shadows. The weight of her final words clung to him, heavier than any armor he had ever worn. "You’re not someone I’d leave behind," he murmured.
He wasn’t sure when she’d become someone he wouldn’t. But she had.