"Miss, are you alright?" Melody's voice trembled with worry as she stepped closer—the girl from the Greenery Shop, her eyes wide with concern. A faint scent of lavender clung to her dress, drifting into the cold night air. Grace gasped, struggling to catch her breath through the sharp sting of her wound. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them against her side. Leaning against the cold alley wall, she allowed Melody's gentle hands to steady her. The alley was silent, except for the distant drip of rainwater from the eaves.
"Y-yes, I'm fine," Grace whispered, though every breath felt like a battle. Melody carefully took out a red scarf she carried, its soft fabric warm from her touch, and began to cover the wound.
"Are you… Grace? The Empress's companion earlier?" Melody asked, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity. Grace wondered how Melody could recognise her, especially when she was disguised as a woman of the night, her hair and attire far removed from the palace.
"How do you know that?" Grace's voice cracked as Melody tied the scarf tightly around her wound, the knot pressing firmly into her side.
"Your voice—it's familiar," Melody replied softly, her hands steady even as her eyes shone with concern. She worked in silence for a moment, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound between them. Grace leaned back a little, exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy cloak.
"You should be home by now," Grace said with a weak frown, glancing at the dim, cloud-covered sky. "It's well past the hour for late curfews."
"I was on my way home when I heard a strange noise," Melody explained, her eyes darting toward the deeper shadows of the alley. "And when I looked, I saw you—and a stranger—fighting."Grace said nothing, only slowly rising, each movement careful and measured though the pain stabbed at her side. Melody reached forward instinctively, but Grace refused firmly—she could not risk being seen in such a state by Barron. The moment Grace started to walk away, Melody called after her quietly.
"Please, tell Her Majesty thank you—from my father and me. For saving his life... and ours. We will visit as soon as the Empress awakens."Grace only nodded, her gaze distant, before turning toward the grand mansion, her boots tapping faintly against the cobblestones.
The clock had long passed midnight when Barron, a tall figure cloaked in brown, with silver hair and piercing silver eyes, arrived at the grand gates. His warhorse's breath clouded in the cold air, each exhale curling like ghostly mist. News from his spies had reached him—Grace, the Empress's closest maid, had vanished. She had vowed to stay by the Empress's side through the night, yet now she was nowhere to be found.Unease gnawed at Barron's heart as he rode to the bar where Grace secretly worked, his gloved hands tightening around the reins. He recalled the dark shadow that had fallen over her face when she last saw the Empress's fate—something about that haunted him deeply.Before reaching the mansion gates, Barron stepped inside the dimly lit bar. The air was thick with the scent of ale and smoke, the low murmur of drunken voices filling the room. He scanned the crowd and called out to the owner while settling onto a stool, sipping a bitter-tasting beer.
"Where is the red-haired girl who works here?"
"Aphrodite, you mean?" The owner's words caused a flicker of confusion in Barron's eyes—Grace's alias. He nodded slowly, continuing to drink, his expression unreadable.
"She's upstairs with a client," the owner replied casually, polishing a glass without looking up.Barron's jaw tightened, shocked beyond expectation—Grace truly was a prostitute. Yet confusion lingered, heavy and unshakable. Why would Grace, so close to the Empress, react so fiercely earlier? Was it loyalty, or something hidden far beneath the surface?
The owner's voice broke his thoughts. "Why do you ask, sir? You don't seem like a mere merchant."Barron glanced down at the silver pendant hanging from his neck—a sign of his high position in the mansion—and replied smoothly, "I just want to enjoy a good evening with a lady of such beauty."His true intention, however, was far from leisure. He wished to confront Grace, to understand why she worked here despite her palace duties. Or perhaps, he suspected, she owed mounting debts to this very bar.
The owner hurried upstairs, returning shortly with a different girl in tow.
"Sorry, my lord," she said, "but Grace is occupied and not answering. She's with a man in her room."A flicker of anger crossed Barron's face. He paid for his drink and left, his boots striking the wooden floor in sharp rhythm. Disappointment clouded his steps, the weight of unanswered questions heavy in his chest.
Back at the mansion, Barron dismounted his white warhorse, stroking its mane briefly before composing himself and stepping through the grand doors. The grand staircase loomed ahead, shadows stretching along the walls in the flicker of candlelight. He climbed steadily until he reached the top floor.
There, he spotted a familiar figure—Grace, her dark hair loose, wearing a tight crimson bodice dress. She moved slowly toward the Empress's chamber, one hand resting against the wall for support. Barron's sharp eyes caught the dark stain of blood spreading across her waist."Grace?" he called softly.
Startled, Grace froze, caught off guard by Barron's sudden presence. She had hoped he was asleep, but now he stood before her, witnessing her wounded state.Not again, she thought bitterly, sweat beading on her brow as she summoned the last of her strength.
"Y-yes, sir—" her words faltered as pain overwhelmed her, and she collapsed to her knees.Her vision blurred; she stared at the cold marble floor, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Suddenly, Barron's warm arms caught her before she could fall further, concern etched deep in his silver eyes."What happened?" he asked, voice low but urgent."Nothing, sir. Just a scratch," she whispered, before darkness claimed her.Barron had no choice but to carry Grace to his chamber, his cloak brushing against the floor as he moved.
It was early morning, and Harold quietly entered the dimly lit chamber where the Empress Celistine lay sleeping. His eyes never left her fragile form, the bloodied bandage wrapped tightly around her head. His mind raced with thoughts—though he had never truly desired her, seeing her like this stirred something unexpected deep within him.
Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out a trembling hand and gently ran his fingers through her soft hair. The touch was hesitant, unfamiliar, as though he feared breaking the delicate thread that bound her life. Then, with a breath caught in his throat, he let his hand rest lightly against her cheek. Her skin was astonishingly smooth and warm—softer than he had imagined, a face he had never taken the time to truly see. A quiet sigh escaped him, mingling with the silence of the room.Suddenly, the sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile moment.Medeya stepped in, her eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and cunning.
"You're Grace?" she asked, voice laced with strange sweetness.Harold stood abruptly, his gaze shifting to Medeya as he moved towards her. He took her hand gently, pressing a soft kiss to it—not out of love, but to soothe the possessive edge he sensed in her.
"What brings you here?" Harold asked, his tone calm but wary.
"My brother has arrived. Would you escort me to him? I want you to meet him," Medeya replied, smiling with unsettling warmth.
"Give me a moment to change. Meet me in the guest room," Harold said, his voice steady as he left the chamber, leaving Medeya alone with the unconscious Empress.As soon as the door closed behind Harold, Medeya's smile deepened, twisting into something darker. She moved deliberately closer to where Celistine lay, her footsteps silent on the cold floor. Her eyes gleamed with malice as she studied the Empress's peaceful face.
"Poor Celistine," she whispered, her voice low and venomous. "You should be grateful my stupid brother bungled his task."
With cruel slowness, Medeya raised her hands, fingers curling menacingly as they reached for Celistine's delicate neck. Her breath was cold against the Empress's skin as her fingers tightened just slightly—a silent promise that death could come swiftly, even in sleep.
"YOUR MAJESTY!" Grace suddenly woke, her voice breaking in a scream as she struggled through a nightmare—a dream where a strange woman tried to choke Celistine, who lay silently sleeping in bed. Terrified, Grace tried to move, but a sharp pain shot through her waist. She looked down in shock to see her waist bandaged. She was dressed properly, but the clothes were meant for a man—this confused her even more. Looking around, she recognised the large room by its faint, familiar scent of oak and parchment. Her eyes then landed on the door, where Barron stood, staring coldly at her. Grace immediately felt shy and uneasy, suspecting that Barron himself had been the one to dress her.
"Having a nightmare?" Barron said coldly as he took a seat across from her. His gaze never left Grace, as if demanding answers about the deep wound on her waist.
"Wha-what happened? Why am I here?" Grace stammered, still confused.
"Ask yourself why you have such a deep wound. Care to share?" Barron replied, lifting a cup of tea to sip slowly. Grace searched for a way to escape, knowing Barron's fierce loyalty to the Emperor meant she couldn't reveal her true identity—especially since she was the Empress's shadow, tasked with delivering a letter from Celistine's father. One slip could cost her life.
"I just had an encounter," Grace answered simply, quickly adjusting her clothes and looking for her shoes to put on. She still had enough strength to hide her assassin's tools—buried near the mansion in the forest last night—to keep them from Barron's eyes.As Grace rushed to leave, Barron suddenly blocked her way. Their faces were so close that Grace blushed while Barron's intense gaze sought the truth. She stepped back, trying to escape his piercing stare.
"An encounter, huh? Do you think I'd buy that?" Barron said skeptically.
"Yes! One of my clients had a wife I didn't know about. She caught me and stabbed me because she thought I was her husband's mistress. That's why I got hurt," Grace explained, her voice trembling but carrying a ring of truth.
Barron was shocked, wondering if Grace's excuse was real. He felt it unlikely but forced himself to believe her, knowing such things could happen—after all, Grace worked as a prostitute.
"Then why did you leave the Empress last night when you begged His Majesty not to let you go?"Grace swallowed hard, nervous as she realised how impulsive her decision had been. She was certain Barron was already watching her, sending shadows to monitor her moves. So he knew I wasn't in the Empress's chamber? Wait, is he the one who knocked? she thought anxiously.Barron stepped closer, gently lifting Grace's chin so she would meet his eyes.
"Tell me. You pleaded to the Emperor, yet you were at the bar?" Barron's voice was sharp.
"Well, I was paying my dues to Miss Aly. Then a man asked me to join him in bed. At first, I refused—I wanted to return to the Empress—but he promised to pay me well, so I agreed. I didn't expect to be stabbed by another client's wife. That's why I was late returning to the Empress's chamber," Grace lied briefly, seizing the chance to escape Barron's suspicion. She bowed quickly.
"I'm sorry for disobeying the Emperor, and I promise this won't happen again. Thank you, Sir Barron."
Grace then hurried towards Celistine's room to check if the Empress was awake.Her waist still throbbed with pain, but she ignored it, focused only on seeing the Empress. When she entered, she was surprised to find Celistine sitting up in bed."I need water," Celistine said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.