Isabella lowered her gaze to the food box in her hands; the cloth, still stained with blood, lay draped across its lid.

Without a word, she lifted the cloth away and cast it upon the cold ground.

The smile upon her face faded, little by little, until not a trace remained. In its stead was a sharp scowl of malice, and for a brief moment, she could taste the blood on her tongue as well.

***

By the time Rhaegar arrived at Ostenton Embroidery House, dusk had all but surrendered to night.

The doors of the workshop stood slightly ajar, and from within spilled a dim, amber glow of lamplight.

He dismounted in silence and pushed the door open.

The courtyard lay hushed and empty. The embroiderers had long since departed, leaving behind only rows of delicate patterns hung upon bamboo poles, swaying gently in the evening breeze like whispered secrets of silk and thread.

He crossed the courtyard and moved inward.

Then—he heard it. A sudden ripple of laughter. Soft, light, melodic... and so unmistakably hers.

Following the sound, he came to a halt at the turn of the corridor, lingering in the shadow.

There in the courtyard, beside the drying racks, stood Caelith, a piece of embroidery held lightly in her hands. She tilted her head as she spoke to the man beside her.

Once again, it was Lucas Ostenton.

He too held a sample, and the two of them gestured toward it as though discussing its finer points. At something he said, Caelith paused, then laughed—a clear, unguarded sound.

From the darkness, Rhaegar watched, remaining completely still. His hand slowly tightened at his side.

Lucas spoke again. Caelith nodded, then turned toward the embroidery room.

When Rhaegar entered, she stood with her back to the door, arranging skeins of thread upon the rack.

Hearing footsteps, she assumed it was Lucas and did not turn, remaining focused on her work.

"Lord Lucas, is there any of that blue thread left? I should like two more spools."

No reply came.

She hesitated for a second—then turned.

Rhaegar stood in the doorway, his burning gaze fixed upon her.

The lamplight within the room cast a muted gold across his face, illuminating the dark depths of his eyes with unsettling clarity. He stood utterly still, as though he had been watching her for a very long time.

The thread in her hand nearly slipped to the floor.

"How... how did you get here?" her voice trembled slightly––more in surprise rather than fear.

The man did not answer.

Instead, he stepped forward—slowly, quietly—until he stood right before her.

He looked down at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her uneasy. She retreated a step until the edge of the table pressed against her back.

He leaned down, his lips nearly brushing hers.

Caelith raised her hand and pressed it against his chest, pushing him away.

"Don’t—this is the workshop. If someone were to come in—"

"I missed you."

As he spoke, his arm had already slipped around her waist, securing her closer to his body.

At that very moment, footsteps sounded from outside.

"Lady Emberlyn? Are you inside?" It was Lucas’ voice.

Caelith stiffened instantly, her eyes widening as she glared at Rhaegar. More than anything, she was afraid of another scandal, especially in her place of labor.

Rhaegar looked down at her tense expression, and the corner of his lips curved faintly.

He leaned close to her ear, his voice lowered to a whisper meant for her alone.

"You’re too afraid of everything."

She nodded frantically.

A soft laugh escaped him—one that stirred both irritation and unease.

"Call me something sweet," he murmured, "and I shall hide."

Caelith clenched her teeth, her mind spiraling.

The footsteps outside drew nearer.

"...Rhaegar."

"Yes?"

"My... dear." Her voice was no louder than the hum of a bee.

At once, his eyes lit with strange satisfaction.

He bent down and brushed a fleeting kiss against her lips—then, swift as a shadow, slipped behind the row of shelves nearby.

The door opened.

Lucas stood at the threshold, holding two spools of blue thread.

"Lady Emberlyn, I’ve brought the thread you requested."

Caelith drew a steadying breath, forcing calm into her voice despite the loud drumming of her heartbeat.

"Thank you, my lord."

He entered and placed the thread upon the table, his gaze sweeping lightly across the room, as though searching for something unseen.

"I thought I heard voices just now? Was there someone else in here?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "No... I was merely speaking to myself. Counting... aloud."

He glanced at her, a faint smile touching his lips. "Is that a habit of yours, Lady Emberlyn?"

"...At times."

He nodded and did not press further.

Turning to leave, he paused once more at the doorway. "It grows late. You should return soon. Shall I have someone escort you?"

"There is no need. I can return on my own. Thank you."

He inclined his head and departed, closing the door behind him. His footsteps gradually faded into the distance.

Only then did Caelith release a long breath, her legs nearly giving way beneath her.

From behind the shelves, Rhaegar emerged once more and came to stand before her.

He looked at her—at the lingering fear upon her face—and something in his gaze darkened.

"Are you so afraid of being seen with me?"

She shot him a sharp glare. "What do you think?"

He reached out and drew her into his arms.

"Do not be afraid," he murmured, his voice low above her head. "Soon... there will be no need to hide."

She froze slightly. "What do you mean?"

He gave no answer. He simply held her—for a long, silent while.

By the time they left the embroidery house, night had fully descended.

Rhaegar escorted Caelith back to the old residence. Along the way, barely a few words passed between them.

At the gate, she stepped down from the carriage and turned back to look at him.

"What is the matter with you today? Has something happened?"