The ride to the holding grounds had been silent.

Not the peaceful kind of silence.

The suffocating kind.

The kind that sat in the chest and made breathing feel heavier.

Rosaline sat inside the cramped prison carriage with her wrists bound in cold iron, the chain linking her hands to the others clinking softly each time the carriage jolted over uneven ground. Around her, the servants from Xandros’ mansion sat in terrified stillness...maids with tear-streaked faces, footmen trying and failing to look brave, even the elderly cook whispering prayers beneath her breath.

No one spoke directly to her.

But Rosaline could feel their eyes.

Their fear.

And beneath that fear....

their expectation.

She was their duchess.

She was supposed to know what to do.

Yet she knew nothing.

Her own heart was pounding so violently she could feel it in her throat.

Still, when the carriage finally lurched to a halt and the soldiers yanked the doors open, Rosaline was the first to step down.

The night air struck her face sharply.

Before them stood a grim stone structure...low and ugly, built not to inspire awe, but dread. It looked like something buried in the earth and forgotten by sunlight.

"Move," one soldier barked.

The servants stumbled forward.

Rosaline followed.

Her dress...once elegant...dragged through dirt and rainwater as they were marched through the open iron gates.

Inside, the holding chamber was worse.

The smell hit first.

Wet earth.

Rust.

Mold.

The floor was not stone, as Rosaline expected.

It was mud.

Dark, wet mud.

It coated the floor in uneven patches, soaking into the hems of their clothing the moment they stepped in.

One of the maids gave a horrified cry.

Another began sobbing openly.

The butler, who had kept a stiff spine through the entire ordeal, finally lowered himself onto the muddy ground with a defeated expression, his old hands trembling.

Rosaline looked around slowly.

Everyone was falling apart.

And suddenly...

she could not afford to.

Straightening her shoulders, she stepped forward.

"Everyone," she said softly.

No one looked up.

She took a breath and raised her voice.

"Everyone."

This time they turned.

Their tearful eyes found her.

Rosaline swallowed her own fear and forced calm into her face.

"I know this is frightening."

Her voice shook at first, but steadied.

"I know none of us understand what is happening."

A maid sniffled loudly.

Rosaline crouched so she was closer to them....not above them.

"But listen to me."

Her pale eyes moved from face to face.

"This is a misunderstanding."

She needed to believe that.

"The Duke will come."

Her voice strengthened.

"He will clear his name."

She looked toward the butler.

"And when he does..."

Then to the maids.

"He will come for us."

A silence followed.

Not hopeless this time.

Hopeful.

Fragile, but present.

The elderly cook wiped her eyes.

"You really believe that, Your Grace?"

Rosaline smiled.

It was small.

But genuine.

"Yes."

She did.

Or at least she needed them to think she did.

"The Duke is many things," she murmured, lowering herself to sit among them in the mud without hesitation.

"But a man who abandons his people..."

Her lips curved faintly.

"He is not that."

The butler watched her carefully.

Something softened in his face.

She had not recoiled from the mud.

Had not demanded better treatment.

Had not cried.

Instead, she sat beside them.

Like one of them.

And for the first time since the arrest...

the servants’ breathing calmed.

One by one, they sat.

Some leaned against the damp walls.

Others curled into themselves for warmth.

Rosaline sat with her knees drawn close, her hands resting atop them, staring upward at the tiny barred window high above.

The moon was not visible yet.

Only darkness.

She did not know how much time passed.

Minutes.

Hours.

The prison swallowed time.

People drifted into uneasy silence.

Some slept.

Some prayed.

Rosaline did neither.

Her mind wandered.

To Xandros.

Was he safe?

Was he hurt?

Was he angry?

Would he really come?

Her fingers tightened in her lap.

Of course he would.

Wouldn’t he?

The sound of boots interrupted her thoughts.

Heavy.

Approaching.

Everyone jolted upright.

The servants pressed closer together.

Rosaline stood.

A key turned in the lock.

The iron gate groaned open.

A soldier stepped inside.

"You."

His finger pointed directly at Rosaline.

"Come out."

The room tensed instantly.

The cook gasped.

One maid began crying again.

The butler stood quickly despite his age.

"Where are you taking her?"

The soldier ignored him.

Rosaline lifted a hand.

"It’s alright."

She looked back at them.

Her smile was gentler this time.

"I’ll return."

Then she stepped out.

The gate shut behind her with a violent clang.

A corridor stretched ahead.

At the far end stood a familiar figure.

Cassian.

His posture was rigid.

His expression unreadable.

Rosaline slowed.

"You."

Her voice carried accusation.

"You were there."

Cassian didn’t answer.

He simply turned.

"Follow me."

Her jaw tightened.

Still...

she obeyed.

Their footsteps echoed through the narrow stone halls.

Rosaline’s muddy skirts dragged behind her.

Her hair had begun to dry in uneven strands around her face.

She looked nothing like a duchess now.

Yet somehow...

she walked like one.

They stopped before a wooden door.

Cassian pushed it open.

Rosaline stepped inside...

and froze.

Xandros.

He stood in the center of the room.

Still dressed in black.

Still infuriatingly composed.

But the moment his eyes landed on her...

that composure fractured.

His gaze dropped immediately.

To her dress.

Mud-stained.

To her hands.

Raw from the chains.

To her face.

Exhausted.

Something dark flashed in his eyes.

Before Rosaline could speak...

movement exploded.

Xandros crossed the room in a blur.

His fist landed squarely in Cassian’s jaw.

The crack echoed.

Cassian staggered backward violently, slamming into the wall.

Rosaline gasped.

"Xandros!"

Cassian straightened slowly, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

His eyes burned.

"This is not over."

His voice was cold.

A promise.

Not a threat.

Xandros stepped forward again.

"And if you ever touch what is mine again..."

His voice was deadly quiet.

"it will not end with one punch."

Rosaline’s breath caught.

What is mine.

Cassian laughed bitterly.

Then turned.

And left.

The door slammed.

Silence.

Rosaline stared at Xandros.

He turned toward her.

And all the fury vanished.

His eyes softened.

Just slightly.

"You’re filthy."

Rosaline blinked.

"What?"

Before she could react...

he bent down.

One arm slid beneath her knees.

The other around her waist.

And lifted her.

She gasped, clutching his shoulders instinctively.

"Xandros!"

"You’re covered in mud."

"That doesn’t mean..."

"You are not walking back."

His tone ended the discussion.

Rosaline huffed.

But she didn’t fight him.

Because in truth....her body was too tired to.

She rested reluctantly against his chest as he carried her through the corridor.

Outside, the cold night air greeted them again.

The prison yard was empty now.

The carriage waited.

Before approaching it, Xandros stopped.

Then turned his head toward the guards.

"Every servant from my mansion is to be returned home safely."

His voice carried across the yard like a blade.

"If even one is harmed..."

He did not finish.

He didn’t need to.

The guards bowed instantly.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Satisfied, Xandros turned again.

But Rosaline touched his shoulder lightly.

"Put me down."

He looked at her.

"Why?"

"Please."

Something in her tone made him obey.

He lowered her carefully.

The moment her feet touched the earth...

she looked up.

And smiled.

The moon had risen.

Full.

Massive.

Silver.

It flooded the night with light.

Rosaline’s eyes widened.

Her entire face changed.

All exhaustion vanished.

All fear disappeared.

"It’s midnight."

Her voice came out like a child’s whisper.

She turned to him.

Her cheeks glowed beneath moonlight.

"Today is my birthday."

Xandros stared.

She laughed softly.

"I’m eighteen now."

There was no bitterness in her voice.

No mention of prison.

No mention of mud.

No complaint.

Just joy.

Pure joy.

"I’m finally an adult."

Her smile widened.

And in that instant...

Xandros felt something unfamiliar in his chest.

Wonder.

How could she still smile?

After all this?

How could someone so bruised still glow?

He was still staring....when her smile vanished.

Instantly.

Rosaline’s body went rigid.

Her hand flew to her chest.

Her face twisted.

And then....

she screamed and it pierced through the night.

***************

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