The next few days passed with an unsettling stillness.
It was the kind of stillness that made Elara more cautious, not less.
The colonnade encounter replayed in her mind at odd hours — in the middle of folding linens, while balancing trays, even during the rare moments she could look at herself in the small mirror behind the servants' quarters. Rian's eyes had held something… invasive. He had spoken of pawns. And pawns were only useful in someone's game.
But there was no open confrontation, no summons. Instead, she felt a faint shift in the way people watched her. Lady Serina, in particular, had grown sharper, her eyes narrowing whenever Elara entered the same room.
It was Serina who intercepted her on the way to the kitchens one morning, the silken rustle of her gown a warning before her voice followed.
"You've been… busy," Serina said smoothly, eyes flicking over her. "Making friends in high places. I hope you remember—friendships with princes don't end well for people like you."
It was meant to sound like advice, but the undercurrent of threat was impossible to miss. Elara merely lowered her gaze. "I have no such friendships, my lady."
Serina's lips curved in the kind of smile that never touched her eyes. "Not yet."
And then she was gone, the scent of roses lingering like the echo of a warning.
---
Elsewhere in the palace, the winter gardens were quiet under the pale sunlight. Lady Mirren walked the gravel path alone, gloved hands clasped in front of her. The air smelled faintly of frost and citrus from the sheltered orange trees.
She had been trying to avoid the foreign lord who had arrived weeks ago with the dignitaries, but Lucienne had a way of appearing without intrusion—never pushing, never demanding. Only… present.
And there he was now, at the far end of the path, leaning against the low stone wall that overlooked the frozen fountain. His dark coat was dusted with fine snow, and the wind caught the loose strands of his hair.
"My lady," he said when she approached, his voice warm but unassuming. "You walk these gardens often."
She hesitated. "Only when I need quiet."
"Then we have that in common." His mouth curved faintly, the expression as brief as it was rare.
Mirren's heartbeat was steady, but her thoughts were not. In her first life, this time of year had been… different. Crown Prince Kyle had always sent her winter roses, even before their marriage. She had loved him then—deeply, desperately. Even now, some part of her chest ached when she thought of him.
But Kyle in this life was not the same. And Lucienne—he was… something else entirely.
"You don't speak like a lord," she said before she could stop herself.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her with an unreadable gaze. "And how, exactly, does a lord speak?"
"Less like… someone who's been somewhere far darker than court," she murmured.
Something in his eyes flickered—quickly hidden, but enough to leave her unsettled.
A gust of wind swept between them, and he reached into his coat, pulling out a small, folded square of dark silk. "For your hands," he said simply, offering it without ceremony.
She accepted it reluctantly, the warmth of the fabric unexpected. "You seem… practiced at noticing small discomforts."
"Only when they matter," he replied, and his tone made her wonder if he meant her.
---
Back in the servants' wing, Elara heard the soft chatter of the other maids as she passed. Words like "prince" and "seen together" slipped out between laughter and feigned whispers. She knew they weren't talking about her and Rian—at least, not openly—but the air was shifting.
She didn't notice that in another part of the palace, Lucienne had paused at a balcony, his gaze falling on her in the courtyard below. The faintest, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips before he turned away.
---