The sky over WindSwept burned gold and gray, thick clouds threatening rain. A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes in Viscount Matteo's study, where work had taken on a frantic, almost warlike pace.
Stacks of parchment littered the desk like fallen soldiers—contracts, letters from Parliament, coded reports from Muerte Juju scouts, and inquiries from neutral estates caught between the Church and the rising rebellion. Candle wax dripped unchecked. Ink bled across maps of contested land.
Seamus stood amid it all, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his hair loose and wild around his face. Across from him, Kenneth organized documents with a soldier's precision. Both men wore the tight-eyed, hollow look of those who hadn't slept in days.
"Send word to the Behike- have her double-check the chapel's protections. I don't want another ward breach like last week," Seamus muttered, flipping through yet another ledger. "And review the guest list again. No allies of Yidali within ten leagues."
Kenneth nodded, already reaching for a fresh scroll.
Their wedding was coming—meant to be an act of spiritual rebellion against the Church, a binding not just of hearts but of ideology. Every detail was a risk. Every gesture, a declaration of war.
And then—
A knock.
Soft. Hesitant.
Elena stood just outside the doors, her palm hovering midair as she summoned the courage to knock again. She had paced the upper corridor for ten minutes, smoothing her skirts, checking her reflection in the stained-glass window. Her heart beat loud in her chest.
He deserves to know. Now. Even if he hasn't said what he wants… even if I don't know what he'll say.
She raised her hand again—only for the doors to burst open before she could touch them.
A young messenger stumbled in, soaked in sweat and breathless with panic. "My lord—an emergency—mine thirteen—gas leak—ten dead, possibly more!"
The words struck like thunder.
Seamus straightened instantly, his jaw set. Kenneth swore under his breath, already gathering coats and gloves.
In the hall, Elena froze. She'd heard the word casualties. Her news, so fragile and private, withered on her tongue.
Seamus caught sight of her as he reached the door. His stride faltered.
"Elena?" His voice was soft—gentler than he used with anyone else. "Is something wrong?"
She tried to smile. It faltered at the edges. "I… I just came from the apothecary, and I-"
Seamus took her hands, squeezing them. "My love, can it wait? There's been a terrible accident in the mines. I swear to you, we'll talk tonight. I just-"
Her throat tightened. "Seamus, please, I only need a moment-"
Kenneth's voice cut between them. "My lord, every second we waste is another life lost."
Seamus turned, guilt warring in his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her hands, once, quickly. "I truly can't right now. I promise, we'll speak soon."
Elena stood in the middle of the hall, fists trembling.
She watched him walk toward the door, his back already retreating into duty.
And something inside her snapped.
No more waiting. No more secrets. No more fear.
Just as Kenneth reached for the doorknob, Elena's voice rang through the chamber.