The moonlight spilled gently into the corridor, the wind brushing past the tall windows, carrying whispers not meant to be heard.
Seraphine's gaze drifted from the gardens to her cousin's shadowed face. "Do they ask about her?"
Dimitri didn't answer immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on a point in the distance, as if seeing something that no longer existed.
"The twins are still too young," he said at last, voice subdued. "They know she's gone.
A long silence fell. Then Seraphine's voice softened. "She was kind, your wife. She saw you, even when you couldn't bear to look at yourself. You loved her."
"I did," he nodded once, jaw tight. "But it wasn't enough. I failed her too."
Seraphine turned toward him fully now. "And Riella?"
That name lingered in the air like a hush in the dark.
Dimitri said nothing for a while. Then, slowly: "She reminds me of everything I couldn't protect. But she's not the past. She's... something else now. Something... dangerous. Beautiful. Fierce."
"And something you want?" Seraphine asked bluntly, her voice low.
Dimitri looked at her, a rare flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.
"I want her safe," he said.
"You didn't answer me."
He didn't.
And just around the corner—hidden behind the velvet drape of a hallway arch—Kael stood frozen, the words he had just heard swirling through his mind. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but something had drawn him down that path. Now, he couldn't unhear it.
Not only did Riella have a past she didn't know...
But Dimitri—the man who seemed carved from stone—harbored something deeper for her than duty.
And that changed everything.
Kael stayed in the shadows, the cool stone wall behind him doing little to steady the sudden pulse in his chest. He hadn't meant to hear any of it—Seraphine's gentle questions, Dimitri's grief-laced voice, and then... that name.
Riella.
He didn't know what unsettled him more—that Dimitri, always cold and unreadable, had spoken of her like that… or that Kael had felt something twist sharply in his own chest when he did.
He didn't move until the hallway emptied again, until the echoes of their conversation faded.
And even then, Kael said nothing.
Not to Seraphine.
Not to Riella.
Not even to Amelia.
But from that night forward, he watched Dimitri more closely than before. And deep inside, something in Kael had begun to shift too.
---
The night air at the estate was soft and cool, threaded with the scent of moonflowers and trimmed hedges. Riella had slipped quietly from her guest room, drawn by the stillness outside. The manor's garden looked even more enchanting under starlight — shadows moving gently over marble fountains and climbing roses. She stepped barefoot onto the grass, her hair unbound and dark like the sky itself.
As she wandered deeper, a soft rustling made her pause.
"You're not very good at sneaking, you know," a teasing voice came from behind a trimmed hedge.
She turned, startled, only to find two young boys — identical twins — peeking out from behind the rose bushes. Their dark hair was tousled, and their pale tunics looked too fine to be worn this late. They couldn't have been older than ten.
"You're out late," the bolder of the two said, hands on his hips.
"I could say the same," Riella replied with a soft smile.
They looked at her with wide eyes, their gazes fixed on her face with fascination.
"Your eyes… they're strange," said the quieter twin, stepping closer. "Green, but they kind of change."
"Like sea-glass," the other chimed in. "Our Papa says eyes like that are rare."
They both moved around her, inspecting her the way only children could — with open curiosity. One gently touched her hair.
"It's soft… and dark. Just like the lady in the picture."
Riella's brows drew together. "What picture?"
"In Papa's office," the first twin said. "A portrait of a woman. She's really pretty… like you. He always looks at it for a long time when he thinks no one sees."
"She has green eyes, though. Yours are a little different," the second boy added.
There was a hush between them as Riella struggled to find words. Something tugged in her chest — a feeling that was warm, but heavy.
And then…
"Shouldn't you two be asleep?"
The three of them turned as Dimitri stepped out from the stone arch, his voice calm but firm.
The boys groaned and darted toward him, clinging to his arms.
"She's really pretty, Papa," one said with a grin. "She looks like the lady in the painting!"
Dimitri only looked at Riella. His face was unreadable in the moonlight, but his eyes—deep and haunted—held a glimmer of something he quickly buried.
"Off to bed. Both of you," he murmured, gently nudging them toward the path.
They obeyed with playful grumbles and a last curious glance at Riella.
Once they were gone, silence bloomed again.
"I didn't mean to… wake them," she said quietly.
"They wake themselves," Dimitri replied. "They're drawn to things that feel… familiar."
"Like me?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He didn't answer.
Instead, his gaze lingered on her—eyes filled with unspoken memories—and he said only, "You should return inside. The night air carries things best left unsaid."