Meisha stirred awake, the morning light spilling softly across the room. For the first time in what felt like ages, her body was rested, her mind clear. The heaviness that had clung to her nights was gone, replaced by the quiet comfort of a good night's sleep.
She stretched slightly, savoring the unfamiliar ease, before her eyes caught sight of Kaydence. He was already awake, seated on the cot, his movements careful as he rebandaged his wound.
The sight jolted her into alertness. "Kaydence!" she exclaimed, rushing out of bed. Her bare feet padded quickly across the floor as she came to his side, her eyes narrowing with concern.
She leaned closer, her voice urgent. "What are you doing? Let me see."
Kaydence glanced at her, his expression calm despite her worry. His hands continued their steady work, but he did not resist her presence. Meisha hovered beside him, her gaze fixed on the wound, searching for any sign of strain or reopening.
Meisha at his side, her eyes narrowed as she saw him carefully rebandaging the wound. "Kaydence, let me check it," she insisted, reaching for the cloth in his hands.
He paused, allowing her fingers to brush against his, but his gaze remained calm. "Meisha…" His voice was steady, almost soothing. "I'm fine."
She frowned, her determination sharp. "You shouldn't be doing this alone. What if it hasn't healed properly? What if—"
Kaydence interrupted gently, his tone firm but not unkind. "It has. I promise you. I'm stronger than you think, and the wound is closing well. You don't need to worry."
Meisha's hand lingered on the bandage; her protest caught in her throat. She wanted to argue, to demand proof, but the quiet certainty in his eyes held her still.
Kaydence tied the last knot with mastered ease, then shifted the focus away from himself. "What matters now is your journey into the Nykon forest. You'll need to be ready. That's where our answers lie."
Meisha exhaled slowly, her shoulders softening though her concern remained. She nodded, letting her hand fall back to her side. "Alright… but if I see even the slightest sign of strain, I'm taking over."
Kaydence's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Fair enough."
Meisha stood after checking Kaydence's bandage, smoothing her dress as she began her morning routine—gathering her servant's attire, brushing her hair, and preparing herself for the day ahead. The estate was already stirring upstairs above her, but within her quarters, the air was still, holding only the quiet presence of Kaydence.
As he rose from the cot, his voice broke the silence. "How did you sleep?"
Meisha paused, turning toward him. Her expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I slept well," she admitted, almost in disbelief. "For the first time in years."
Kaydence's gaze lingered on her, his tone low but sincere. "I'm glad. You had me a little worried."
Her brows lifted, surprise flickering across her face. "Really? Why would that worry you?"
Kaydence stepped closer, closing the space between them. He stood in front of her, peered down into her eyes, his presence steady and unyielding. "Because there were many hard truths you discovered last night," he said quietly. "And I was worried they would weigh on you, that they would steal your rest."
Meisha's breath caught at his words, the depth of his concern settling into her chest. For a moment, she simply held his gaze, the intimacy of his honesty pressing against the walls she had built around herself.
She turned away from him, smoothing the folds of her servant's attire with precision. Her movements were brisk, almost too focused, as though the routine itself could shield her from the weight of his words. "I should finish getting ready," she said lightly, her tone carefully measured, masking the vulnerability that lingered beneath.
Kaydence watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could sense the shift—the way she tucked her emotions behind the armor of duty. His voice cut through the quiet, steady and unyielding. "Meisha… it's okay to let your guard down with me."
Her hands stilled for a moment, clutching the fabric tighter than necessary. She shook her head, her voice low but firm. "I can't."
Kaydence stepped closer, his presence filling the space between them. "Why not?" he asked, his tone gentle but insistent.
Meisha caught within her breath, her chest tightening as the truth pressed against her lips. She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his with a quiet storm. "Because my time with you is limited," she whispered. "Just like with every other person I've brought down here and cared for. They all have to leave… one way or another. And I can't afford to forget that."
The words hung in the air, fragile and heavy all at once. She turned her head and kept her gaze fixed on the window, as though the morning light might shield her from the truth she had just spoken.
Kaydence stepped closer, his presence filling the small space with quiet certainty. "Yes," he said, his voice low and steady, "it is true that those whom you have cared for all leave."
Meisha's breath tightened, her eyes still refusing to meet his.
Kaydence lifted his hand, cupping her chin with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his towering form. He guided her face upward until her eyes met his. "But they do not possess the political or physical power that I hold to help you."
The words struck something deep within her—something she had never felt before. A warmth unfurled in her chest, not the sharp, fearful heat she had known in Lord Varrick's presence, but something softer. Steady. Safe. Comforting. It startled her, this unfamiliar warmth, yet she didn't pull away.
Kaydence held her gaze, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw before he let his hand fall. His voice softened, shifting into something quieter, more intimate. "I know you've abandoned all hope of being free of this place," he said. "But at least trust me enough to allow me to assist you in whatever way that I can while I'm here."
Meisha swallowed, her heart began thudding with a mix of fear and something dangerously close to hope. His words didn't erase her reality—but they cracked something open inside her, something she had long buried beneath duty and survival.
For a moment, she stood there in silence, caught between the instinct to retreat and the pull of his sincerity. Her throat tightened, the unfamiliar safety in his presence pressing against places inside her she had long kept sealed. Her voice trembled as she forced the words out. "Please… don't fill me with false hope. Words to me are nothing but fleeting feathers in the wind."
Kaydence didn't flinch. His reply came low, steady, and impossibly grounding. "Then I'll be the stone that holds them in place until they're ready to be released."
The air between them thickened, charged with a quiet intimacy neither of them had intended to summon. Kaydence sensed it—felt the weight of it settling over them like a warm cloak—and he stepped back, giving her space, giving himself space.
"I won't keep you from your duties any longer," he said, his tone gentling but firm.
He turned away, reaching down to retrieve his tunic. The fabric rustled softly as he pulled it over his head, the movement deliberate, almost ceremonial. The moment of closeness receded, but its imprint lingered—warm, unsettling, impossible to ignore.
Meisha stood still for a heartbeat longer, her breath unsteady, her hands trembling just slightly at her sides. The morning light against her cheek, but it was his words—his promise—that echoed through her chest as she grabbed the needed items to get her through the day.
Finally, off to tend to her duties. She slipped out of her quarters, closing the door softly behind her so as not to draw attention to the hidden presence within. The moment she stepped into the estate halls, the familiar chill of stone and duty wrapped around her—but it didn't settle the way it usually did.
Her pulse was still unsteady, her mind clouded with the echo of Kaydence's words, the warmth of his hand beneath her chin, the promise in his voice. It left her shaken in a way she didn't know how to name. Not frightened. Not wary. Something gentler. Something she had no practice holding.
She walked briskly, hoping movement would clear her thoughts, but each step only stirred them more.
Snap out of it, Meisha! she scolded herself internally, cheeks warming despite the cool morning air. Focus on getting your tasks completed and get back to the Nykon Forest.
The estate bustled around her—maids carrying linens, footmen polishing silver, the distant clatter of the kitchen—but it all felt muted, as though she were moving through a haze. Her heart kept drifting back to the quiet intensity in Kaydence's eyes, the certainty in his voice when he said he would help her.
She reached the servants' area, forcing her shoulders straight, her expression neutral. She needed to look composed. She needed to be composed.
But beneath the surface, something warm and unfamiliar pulsed steadily, refusing to be ignored.
Meisha stepped into the kitchen, the familiar scent of herbs and simmering broth grounding her—if only for a moment. She barely had time to take a breath before a voice cut through the bustle.
"Ah. Meisha, just the person I was looking for."
She turned to see Sylis the head butler striding toward her, his usually composed expression strained. The staff around him moved with frantic energy, whispering, rushing, glancing nervously toward the upper floors.
"Sylis?" Meisha asked, brows knitting. "What's going on? Why does everyone seem a bit frantic?"
Sylis exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he reached her. "You probably haven't heard yet, but word of Lord Varrick's father and brother's arrival has gotten out, and now the staff is on edge because Lord Varrick is on edge."
Meisha blinked. Of course he is. The man unraveled at the slightest disruption.
Sylis continued, letting out an exhausted sigh. "I am in desperate need of your help."
Meisha nodded slowly, but her mind drifted—unbidden—back to Kaydence. His words. His touch beneath her chin. The warmth that still lingered in her chest.
"Meisha," Sylis said sharply, snapping her back to the present. "Are you hearing me?"
She straightened, cheeks warming. "Yes, I'm listening. What is it that you need from me?"
Sylis clasped his hands behind his back, slipping into his formal tone. "Your task for today and onward is to keep Lord Varrick calm during this whole process until it is over."
Meisha stared at him, incredulous. "What? Sylis, everyone here—including you—knows that man is a thorn in my side. And yet I'm tasked with babysitting duty because he can't handle a visit from his father and brother."
A few nearby servants paused, pretending not to listen but very much listening.
Sylis winced. "I know. Believe me, I know. But you're the only one he tolerates long enough to keep from exploding. If he lashes out at his father or brother, the consequences will fall on all of us."
Meisha folded her arms, frustration simmering beneath her skin. "So I'm supposed to be his emotional shield."
Sylis gave a helpless shrug. "In short… yes."
Meisha exhaled slowly, the weight of the day settling on her shoulders. But beneath it all, Kaydence's voice echoed in her mind giving her the push she needed to get through it—trust me enough to allow me to assist you while I'm here.
She wasn't alone anymore. And that changed everything.
Meisha let out an exasperated sigh, shoulders slumping. "Well… what is it exactly that you need me to do?"
Sylis's entire posture brightened with relief. "Thank you so much, Meisha!" he said, giving her a grateful bow.
She waved her hand dismissively, annoyance flickering across her face. "Yes, yes. You're welcome. Now on with the task."
Sylis straightened, slipping back into his composed but weary demeanor. "I just need you to keep him calm with your herbal medicines—enough so that he can still function."
Meisha stared at him, incredulous. "So you want me to sedate him just enough to keep him from tearing the estate apart, but not enough to knock him out entirely."
Sylis winced. "That is… a blunt way of putting it, but yes."
Meisha pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Of all the tasks… why this one?
But she knew the truth: if she didn't do it, someone else would be forced to—and they wouldn't stand a chance. Lord Varrick's temper was a storm only she had learned to navigate.
She straightened, resigned. "Fine. I'll do what I can."
Sylis exhaled in visible relief. "Thank the heavens. His father and brother will probably arrive around by midday. Until then, please—keep him steady."
Meisha exhaled through her nose, steadying herself before speaking. "Is Lord Varrick in his study?"
"Yes," Sylis replied, rubbing his temples. "He's currently in there getting documents ready for their arrival."
"Alright," Meisha said, already turning toward the shelves where the dried herbs were kept. "I'll make him an herbal tea and take it to him myself. After that, I'll have to go back to the forest to grab more herbs."
The excuse slipped out smoothly—too smoothly—and Sylis didn't question it. He only nodded, relieved to have a plan in motion.
"That's fine," he said. "Just don't be too long. You know how he gets when you don't show up right away."
Meisha rolled her eyes subtly. As if I could ever forget.
"I'll leave some herbs with the cook," she added, gathering a small pouch of calming blends. "Have them put it in his food to make sure the calm stays continuous."
Sylis let out a breath that sounded like gratitude and exhaustion woven together. "You're a blessing, Meisha. Truly."
She didn't respond to that—she simply tightened her grip on the herb pouch and turned toward the kitchen hearth, her mind already drifting back to the hidden room where Kaydence waited. His words. His presence. The warmth he stirred in her.
But she forced herself to focus.
Tasks first. Forest second. Kaydence… later.
Sylis hurried off, leaving Meisha alone in the kitchen with her pouch of herbs. The moment he disappeared around the corner, the frantic energy of the estate seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the quiet clatter of pots and the soft bubbling of a distant stew.
Meisha set out the ingredients she needed—dried chamomile blossoms, lemon balm leaves, and a small mortar for crushing the herbs. Her hands moved with familiar ease, but her mind… her mind refused to stay anchored.
Every few moments, her thoughts drifted back to Kaydence.
His voice. His certainty. The warmth in his eyes when he told her she could trust him.
She paused mid‑grind, staring down at the herbs as if they might offer answers. Will I really be able to leave this place with my father without harm befalling us? The question rose unbidden, soft and aching.
For a moment, she drifted—lost in a brief daydream of freedom, of sunlight on open fields, of her father walking beside her without fear shadowing his steps.
"Meeeiiiisha."
The voice barely registered.
She continued staring at the herbs, her mind far away.
"Meisha!"
She jolted, nearly knocking over the small tin of chamomile. "My goodness! What is it?"
The cook stood in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised so high it nearly touched his hairline. "I've been calling your name for the past minute. You looked like you were about to float off into the rafters."
Meisha pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath. "I'm fine. Just… thinking."
"Thinking?" he echoed, squinting at her. "You? During morning rush? That's dangerous."
Despite herself, Meisha let out a small huff of laughter. "I said I'm fine."
"Mm‑hmm," the cook muttered, clearly unconvinced. "Well, whatever's got your head in the clouds, bring it back down before Lord Varrick starts roaring. We don't need two disasters today."
Meisha rolled her eyes but returned to her tea, this time forcing her focus to stay on the task. Still, the warmth in her chest refused to fade.
Kaydence's presence lingered with her, even here.
Meisha poured the hot water over the chamomile and lemon balm, letting the fragrant steam rise as she stirred. The cook hovered nearby, still eyeing her with that suspicious, knowing squint.
"If anything," Meisha muttered as she secured the lid on the teapot, "he would count as the second disaster. The first would be the arrival of his father and brother."
The cook let out a low whistle. "Oho… bold words this early in the morning." He leaned his elbow on the counter, smirking. "Careful, Meisha. If anyone else heard you talking like that, they'd think you've grown fearless."
She shot him a flat look. "Fearless? Hardly. Just realistic."
"Mhm," he hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Realistic… distracted… glowing a little more than usual…" He tapped his chin dramatically. "Must be something in the air."
Meisha nearly dropped the teacup. "There is nothing in the air," she snapped—too quickly, too defensively.
The cook's grin widened. "If you say so."
"I do say so."
"Of course you do."
She glared at him, cheeks warming despite her best efforts. "Shouldn't you be chopping vegetables or yelling at someone for burning bread?"
"Already did both," he said cheerfully. "Now I'm enjoying my morning entertainment."
Meisha huffed, snatched up the tray with the teapot and cup, and turned toward the door. "I'm leaving and use just a teaspoon of these herbs" she pointed to the bag of calming herb on the counter "right there in his meals throughout the day."
"Will do! Have fun with Disaster Number Two!" he called after her.
She didn't dignify that with a response—but the faintest smile tugged at her lips as she stepped into the hallway, the warmth of Kaydence's presence still lingering somewhere deep in her chest.
Meisha balanced the tray carefully in her hands as she made her way down the east wing corridor. The estate was quieter here, the morning bustle slowly died behind her with each step. She ascended the staircase, the wooden banister cool beneath her fingertips, then turned right toward Lord Varrick's study.
Her footsteps echoed softly, but her mind was far louder. Remnants of last night's conversation began resurfacing.
"Then the next time you're summoned to Varrick's office, I want you to pay closer attention. Treat it like awareness. Notice everything—the air, the objects, the way the room feels when you enter and when you leave."
Kaydence's voice replayed in her head, steady and grounding. She could almost feel the warmth of his presence beside her, the way he spoke with such certainty—as if he believed she was capable of far more than she ever allowed herself to imagine.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"I guess his words aren't just fleeting feathers in the wind so far," she murmured quietly to herself.
The thought warmed her chest, a soft glow that carried her the rest of the way down the hall.
She reached Lord Varrick's study door and stopped. The tray felt heavier now—not from the tea, but from the weight of memory, duty, and the volatile man waiting on the other side.
Meisha inhaled deeply, steeling herself. She knew exactly how unpredictable Varrick could be, especially now with his father and brother's arrival looming over him like a storm cloud.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment and whispered a prayer in the Emberwyn tongue—an old, grounding invocation her mother once taught her. The words flowed softly, steadying her breath, anchoring her spirit.
When she opened her eyes, her expression was composed, her posture firm.
She lifted her hand and knocked on the door.
Her knuckles had barely left the wood when Lord Varrick's voice exploded from inside the study.
"Who in the hell is it!"
The boisterous roar rattled the doorframe, and Meisha had to swallow the instinctive flare of irritation rising in her chest.
"It's Meisha, Lord Varrick," she replied, forcing her tone into something neutral—polite, even. Anything to avoid provoking him further.
A beat of silence. Then, curt and clipped:
"You may enter."
Meisha exhaled through her nose, adjusted her grip on the tray, and pushed the door open with her free hand. She stepped inside, balancing the teapot and cup with routine ease.
The study greeted her with its usual oppressive atmosphere—heavy drapes drawn tight, the scent of ink and old parchment thick in the air. Papers were scattered across Varrick's desk, some crumpled, others stacked in precarious piles. The tension in the room was almost tangible, like static before a storm.
Lord Varrick stood behind his desk, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched. His eyes flicked toward her, sharp and irritated, though not at her specifically—at everything.
Meisha kept her posture composed, her steps measured as she approached. Kaydence's words whispered through her mind like a guiding hand.
Notice everything—the air, the objects, the way the room feels when you enter and when you leave.
And she did.
The air was thick. The objects were in disarray. And the room felt like a cage rattling on its hinges.
Still, she moved forward, steady and unshaken, the tray held firmly in her hands.
Meisha slipped into the study with the same quiet obedience she always displayed when summoned—chin lowered, steps measured, presence unobtrusive. She didn't speak. She didn't meet his eyes. She simply crossed the room and set the tray on the small table adjacent to his desk, keeping herself out of his immediate path.
Lord Varrick watched her the entire time.
But instead of the usual sharp remark or impatient command, his first words came out unexpectedly soft—almost strained.
"…Meisha." A pause. "I apologize for my rudeness earlier."
The admission startled her, though she didn't let it show. With her back to him, she began preparing the tea, the soft clink of porcelain filling the tense silence.
"It's alright," she said, her tone even, professional. "You have a legitimate excuse with the given situation."
She finished stirring the blend, lifted the cup, and crossed the remaining distance between them.
Varrick's eyes narrowed at the steaming cup. "What's this?" he asked, irritation flickering across his face—not at her, but at the unfamiliarity of being tended to.
Meisha gave the tea a gentle blow to cool it, then held it out to him with both hands. "It's an herbal tea to calm you," she explained. "Sylis informed me of what is going on and tasked me with the duty of keeping you relaxed during the process."
Lord Varrick stared at her for a heartbeat—his jaw tight, his pride clearly wrestling with the situation—then snatched the cup and drank it all in one gulp.
She kept her posture soft; her expression carefully arranged into something resembling concern. It was a mask she'd worn many times before, but today it felt heavier—more deliberate. She needed time in this room. She needed to observe. She needed to feel for anything that might stir her powers or react with the bracelet hidden beneath her sleeve.
"You didn't burn your mouth from the hot tea, did you?" she asked, her tone light, almost tender.
The concern was feigned, but she delivered it flawlessly.
Lord Varrick's shoulders eased, the tension in his jaw loosening as the tea settled in his system. A soothing gesture washed over him—subtle, but noticeable. "No, it didn't burn," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I feel since you cooled it down for me, that was the reason I was able to drink it."
He finished the statement with a tone that attempted to sound affectionate, almost warm.
Meisha's stomach twisted.
The idea of him trying to soften himself toward her—of her having to play along, stroke his ego, placate his fragile pride—made her skin crawl. But she didn't let a single flicker of disgust reach her face. She had learned long ago how to hide her true feelings behind a servant's calm.
And this time, the performance wasn't pointless. There was meaning behind it. Something to be gained. Something she needed to sense, to trigger, to understand.
She offered him a small, polite smile. "I'm glad I was able to help," she said smoothly. "Make sure you drink it all. I'll be back to collect the tray to make sure."
Her words were gentle, dutiful—yet beneath them lay a quiet, calculated intention.
Lord Varrick nodded, already lifting the cup again, unaware of the shift happening inside her. Unaware that she was no longer just a servant tending to his moods.
She was observing. Measuring. Waiting for the slightest spark that might awaken the power the bracelet had spent years suppressing.
Meisha lifted the empty teacup from Lord Varrick's hand with a quiet, practiced grace. As she crossed back to the tray table, she let her eyes drift—subtly, carefully—across the study. Every object, every shift in the air, every flicker of Varrick's mood… she catalogued it all, just as Kaydence had instructed.
She poured more tea, the soft stream of liquid giving her cover to keep observing.
"Besides your relatives arriving," she said lightly, as though making idle conversation, "how are you fairing?"
Lord Varrick let out a frustrated groan and sank into the chair behind his desk. He rubbed his temples with both hands, fingers digging into his scalp. "That's just it. I'm not fairing at all."
Meisha kept her expression neutral, feigning ignorance as she walked the cup back to him. "Why? Isn't this just a routine surveillance of the territory?"
She passed him the refilled teacup. This time, he accepted it with more care—placing the saucer down first, then giving the cup a cautious blow before taking a slow sip.
"No," he said, voice tight. "This visit is to discuss the missing demon general Kaydence Oren. I told you about."
He took another sip, slower this time, the tea already beginning to soften the edges of his agitation.
Meisha widened her eyes just slightly, pretending to be shocked. "He still hasn't been found yet?"
Her tone was perfectly measured—concerned, curious, but not too invested. Inside, though, she was stalling. Buying herself more time to walk the perimeter of the room. To feel for anything—any shift, any pull—that might activate the bracelet or stir her dormant power.
She drifted toward a shelf of ledgers, fingertips brushing the spines as if dusting. Nothing yet. But she kept moving.
"Now it really makes sense why you would be agitated," she added, her voice soft and sympathetic.
Lord Varrick exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. "Agitated is an understatement."
Meisha nodded, but her attention was split—half on him, half on the subtle hum beneath her skin, waiting for the slightest spark.
Something in this room would trigger it. She just had to find it.
Meisha circled the room with slow, deliberate steps, her expression composed, her movements quiet enough not to disturb Lord Varrick's fragile calm. She paused near a shelf of maps, pretending to straighten a rolled parchment as she spoke.
"Why is your agitation an understatement, my lord?"
Lord Varrick let out a long, weary exhale. He set the teacup down and leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming anxiously against the desk.
"Because," he began, voice tight, "King Burruk and King Es'scoff have an established treaty. A delicate one. And now that King Burruk's general is missing—Kaydence Oren—the entire agreement is at risk."
Meisha kept her back to him, nodding as though absorbing the information for the first time. In truth, she was listening with razor‑sharp focus.
Lord Varrick continued, his tone growing more strained. "His last known location was in the Nykon Forest. His horse was found near the Silver Springs—on this side of the Ashen Vale."
He rubbed his temples again, frustration radiating off him in waves. "If Burruk believes we had anything to do with his disappearance, the treaty could collapse. And if that happens…" He shook his head. "War is not out of the question."
Meisha hummed softly, feigning concern. "That is… troubling, my lord."
But her attention was split.
As she drifted toward the tall bookshelf lining the far wall, something shifted—subtle, faint, like a whisper brushing the inside of her ribs. A soft pulse. A tug. A stirring.
Her bracelet reacted instantly.
A cool, suppressing pressure wrapped around her wrist, dampening the sensation before it could rise. It didn't hurt, but it was unmistakable—like a spark snuffed out the moment it appeared.
Meisha didn't flinch. She didn't pause. She simply adjusted a book on the shelf, masking the moment beneath a servant's practiced composure.
But inside, her pulse quickened.
There. That was something.
The faint reaction had come from beyond the bookshelf—through the wall that separated the study from Lord Varrick's private sleeping quarters.
She kept her breathing steady, her expression neutral, but her mind sharpened.
Something in that room was triggering her power. Something the bracelet didn't want her to feel.
And now she knew exactly where to look.
Meisha lingered near the bookshelf, fingers brushing lightly over the spines as if tidying them. In truth, she was buying herself a few more precious seconds—just enough to confirm what she'd felt pulsing faintly from beyond the wall.
"So," she said casually, keeping her tone light, "in a nutshell, your father and brother are on their way to assist you with this predicament."
Lord Varrick lifted the teacup again, taking another slow sip. The calming herbs were clearly working; his shoulders had loosened, his voice less sharp when he replied.
"More like making sure I don't screw things up."
There was bitterness in the words—old, familiar, deeply rooted. Meisha didn't comment on it. She'd gotten what she needed from this room, and lingering any longer risked drawing his suspicion.
She stepped away from the bookshelf, smoothing her apron as she approached his desk once more.
"Milord," she said gently, "I don't want to hold you from your duties any longer, especially with the Duke and his proxy on the way. If there's nothing else you need from me…"
Lord Varrick took another drink of tea, slower this time, letting the warmth settle him. He didn't look at her when he spoke.
"You may go."
Meisha bowed her head, the perfect image of a dutiful servant. But inside, her pulse thrummed with quiet triumph.
She had felt it. A trigger. A pull. Something hidden beyond the bookshelf—within his private quarters.
And the bracelet had reacted.
She turned toward the door, tray in hand, her expression calm and unreadable. But beneath that mask, her mind was already racing ahead.
She knew exactly where she needed to return.
Meisha stepped out of Lord Varrick's study, closing the door behind her with the same quiet composure she always maintained.
But the moment her foot crossed the threshold into the corridor—
The stir inside her surged.
A sharp, twisting force rippled through her abdomen, and the bracelet on her wrist ignited with a crushing pressure, suppressing the rising power with brutal efficiency. The pain hit so suddenly, so violently, that her breath caught in her throat.
She let out a silent scream, her jaw clenched tight to keep any sound from escaping.
The tray in her hands wobbled dangerously.
Not wanting to drop the tray on the floor and draw attention, she lowered herself and set it gently on the floor, her fingers were trembling.
Another wave of pain tore through her—worse this time. She didn't know whether to cradle her abdomen or grip her wrist, so she pressed one arm against her stomach while the other clutched the bracelet, trying to steady herself.
Her vision blurred.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
But then— Kaydence's voice echoed through her mind, steady and grounding.
"Don't just endure it—observe it."
Meisha forced a breath in. Then another. And she did exactly as he taught her.
She looked past the pain. Past the suppression. Past the panic clawing at her ribs.
And beneath it all… she felt it.
A tug.
Subtle, but unmistakable. Not pulling her inward—pulling her forward.
Something was calling to her.
She followed it.
One step. Then another. Her breaths came in sharp, controlled bursts, tears slipping down her cheeks as she pushed through the pain.
The pull led her down the corridor— past the study door— and directly to the door beside it.
Lord Varrick's private sleeping quarters.
The closer she got, the stronger the tug became. The bracelet tightened, suppressing harder, almost punishing her for approaching.
Meisha stood before the door, shaking, her breath ragged. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, steeling herself.
Whatever was behind this door… it was connected to her. To her power. To the truth she'd been denied for years.
With trembling fingers, she reached for the doorknob.
Meisha turned the doorknob with trembling fingers and slipped into Lord Varrick's private sleeping quarters, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the tug inside her intensified.
The pain in her abdomen twisted sharply, and the bracelet on her wrist constricted with brutal force, suppressing the rising surge of power. She gasped, one hand gripping her stomach, the other clutching her wrist as the pressure tightened like a vice.
But she didn't retreat.
She stepped deeper into the room.
The air felt different here—charged, humming, as though something unseen was vibrating beneath the surface. Her vision wavered, but she forced herself to breathe, to stay upright, to observe.
Kaydence's voice steadied her again.
"Don't just endure it—observe it."
And she did.
Through the pain. Through the suppression. Through the trembling in her limbs.
Her gaze swept the room until the tug sharpened—pulling her toward the fireplace mantle.
There, sitting neatly atop the stone ledge, was a small chest. Dark wood. Iron lock. Unassuming at first glance… but the moment her eyes landed on it, the stir inside her pulsed violently.
Her bracelet tightened again, punishing her for even looking at it.
Meisha staggered forward, breath ragged, tears slipping down her cheeks as she fought through the pain. She reached the mantle, bracing herself against it with one hand while lifting the other—her trembling wrist—over the locked chest.
The moment the bracelet hovered above it—
Something inside the chest stirred.
A faint thrum. A whisper of power. A resonance that matched the one buried deep within her.
Her bracelet reacted instantly.
A harsh, suppressing force shot up her arm, and dark markings—thin, branching lines—lit up beneath her skin, tracing the outline of her veins like ink spreading through water.
Meisha bit down on a cry, her knees buckling.
But she didn't pull away.
She held her wrist over the chest, letting the reaction burn through her, letting the truth of it settle into her bones.
Whatever was inside this chest… it was connected to her. To her power. To everything she wasn't supposed to know.
And the bracelet knew it too.