At the doorway stood a man clad in dark robes, travel-worn and weary.

Dust clung to him, as though he had ridden through night and wind without pause. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale to the point of alarm. A faint shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, and his hair, usually composed, lay in slight disarray—clear signs of days and nights without rest.

And yet, those eyes of his still burned bright. So bright that they stirred the heart.

Rhaegar.

Caelith froze.

So did everyone else within the room.

After a few suspended breaths, someone stirred first—then another—and soon the young embroiderers hastily gathered themselves.

"Let us go, let us go—I suddenly remembered I have something to attend to..."

"So do I, so do I..."

"Miss Emberlyn, we shall take our leave first..."

In the blink of an eye, the room was empty. The door closed softly behind them.

Silence descended.

Caelith stepped forward—and embraced him so tightly, as if scared that he might disappear otherwise.

He buried his face against the hollow of her neck, motionless.

She could feel it—his body trembling, ever so faintly.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

He did not answer. He only held her more tightly.

After a long while, he spoke at last, his voice hoarse, worn thin as if scraped raw by the weight of all he had borne.

"His Majesty has agreed."

She drew back slightly, startled.

"Agreed... to what?"

"To the matter of the betrothal," he said. "Henceforth, my marriage shall be of my own choosing. I need not wed Isabella."

She lifted her gaze to him, her hands rising to cup his face. "And what else?"

He looked at her, faintly puzzled. "What else is there of equal importance?"

"You carry something in your heart," she said quietly. "I can see it."

He fell silent. Then, after a few moments, he spoke—briefly, plainly—relating what had transpired.

"...Those girls may never see justice done."

When he finished, his gaze lowered as if he was embarrassed by his own helplessness.

Caelith looked at him, her heart aching.

"For those who have already perished," she said gently, "this... may already be enough."

He stilled.

She met his eyes, her voice calm yet resolute, each word weighed with quiet understanding.

"If the Empress were truly brought down—stripped of her rank—would the powers at court let such an opportunity pass? The noble families would contend openly and in secret for the position. How many more innocents would be drawn into the struggle... how many more lives would be lost?"

He did not speak.

"For those girls who are gone, even if the truth were laid bare, it would not restore their lives. And their families—if the truth were known, and those loyal to the Empress sought vengeance... who would protect them?"

She paused, her voice softening. "Rhaegar... this world is not made of black and white alone."

She held his gaze. "What matters... is that one keeps faith with one’s own heart."

She reached out and took his hand, her fingers warm and steady against his.

"What you have done for them—if their spirits yet linger beyond the veil, they will be grateful. Now that His Majesty knows the truth, the Empress will surely face consequences. Those who have died... will not have perished in vain."

Rhaegar looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, something unfamiliar stirred in his gaze.

"Caelith... you seem different today. As though you possess a strength I had not seen before. After hearing you speak, it feels as though the weight upon my heart has suddenly lifted."

He drew her into his arms. "Caelith."

"Yes?"

"How is it that you understand everything so well?"

She smiled softly. "I do not. I only... cannot bear to see you suffer."

He, too, smiled. And then, all at once, the exhaustion overtook him. A weariness deep and unrelenting, as though it had been held at bay for far too long.

She felt his body slowly relax, his breath evening out, steady and quiet.

"Rhaegar?"

"...Mm?"

"How many days has it been since you last slept?"

He did not answer.

She sighed softly. "There is a couch over there—go and rest awhile."

"Stay like this," he murmured, his voice low and heavy with fatigue. "Let me hold you a little longer."

Sunlight streamed through the window, settling gently upon them both.

The room was hushed.

Only the sound of his breathing remained—slow, deep, and growing ever more peaceful.

Then, a knock sounded at the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Light, yet distinct.

Rhaegar’s brow furrowed slightly, though he did not open his eyes.

Again—

Knock, knock, knock.

This time, a touch firmer.

"Lady Emberlyn?" came a voice from beyond the door—Lucas’, warm and familiar. "Are you within?"

Rhaegar’s eyes snapped open. The haze of sleep vanished in an instant.

He straightened his robes and stepped forward, pulling the door open just enough.

Lucas stood outside, his expression as gentle as ever, a courteous smile upon his lips.

"Lady Emberlyn, I wished to consult you regarding next month’s embroidery designs—"

But the moment his eyes fell upon Rhaegar, the smile faltered, stiffening ever so slightly.

"Lord Thorne... when did you arrive? You should have sent word—I would have had tea prepared."

"Just now," Rhaegar replied evenly.

"Then all the better," Lucas said, recovering himself. "I have recently acquired a fine new tea. Would His Grace care to honor me with a cup?"

Rhaegar regarded him, his gaze steady, unreadable.

Then, slowly, he spoke, "Lord Ostenton... the accounts of Ostenton Brocade these past years—are they in proper order?"

Lucas froze, just for a moment. "Your Grace... what do you mean by this?"

"Nothing of consequence," Rhaegar replied dryly. "Merely a reminder, Lord Ostenton—when conducting business, one ought to remain above reproach. Some matters may be concealed for a while... but never for a lifetime."

A subtle change passed over Lucas’ expression.

Rhaegar did not look at him again. Instead, he turned toward Caelith. "Come with me."

She inclined her head.

Then, turning to Lucas, she said gently, "Lord Ostenton, I shall take my leave for today. The embroidery I have yet to finish—I will make it up tomorrow."

Lucas looked at her, his gaze layered with unspoken thoughts. "...Very well. Attend to your affairs."