The fever of the night had cooled into a sharp, clear reality by the second day. Eirene sat in the corner of her boudoir, her body recovered but her mind restless.

  She felt the servants’ attitudes shift, their looks carrying a new, measuring weight. She noticed, but she did not mind.

  The teardrop sapphire pendant and her choker rested together in the velvet box, as though they had always belonged side by side.

  “My lady, this is not right.”

  Margot rushed in, closed the box with a sharp snap, and pushed it deep behind the other jewelry. “Duke Aurelian never prepared you for court politics. You were supposed to have a proper match arranged with his approval, someone younger, someone more…”

  Her voice trailed off. She turned toward the door, pressing a hand to her forehead as if steadying herself.

  Eirene rose and wrapped her arms around Margot’s shoulders from behind.

  “I know who you are thinking of. Someone from Staghelm’s high noble families, but not the first son. Someone with a manor, educated in agriculture and estate management. Someone healthy, who keeps clear of women, gambling, and drink…”

  She nudged Margot gently, voice soft with affection. “Shall I remind you that Father searched for three years and found no one?”

  Margot sighed heavily. There had been one candidate who came close, but even he had slipped under scrutiny.

  “I understand your concern,” Eirene continued. “But don’t worry too much. Lioren is true to me, and Father will welcome my staying in Staghelm with his most loyal vassal.”

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  A smile bloomed, warmer than the dazzling afternoon sun. “With the two highest nobles aligned, I don’t see what can go wrong.”

  “Yes, you understand,” Margot said, patting Eirene’s arms with a frown. “But you do not see the full picture of the court.”

  Aurelian had kept her close for a reason. He had never debuted her in the sovereign social circle or allowed her into the capital’s gatherings. She had been trained strenuously in governance and intelligence, but her political reading remained provincial.

  All to keep Staghelm stable.

  “You have not seen how differently the court can view a relationship like yours,” Margot whispered. “Peaceful now, yes. But it was not always so.”

  She remembered the baron’s daughter. The way the court watched her suffer. The way she vanished.

  Everyone knew it was wrong.

  Everyone remained silent. It had been less than thirty years, yet many had already forgotten.

  “The court does not know mercy,” Margot said. “And you are still too young.”

  She turned to meet Eirene’s eyes. The golden rim bright on the green. She had watched those eyes since they were a child's. They had not changed. Everything else had.

  Eirene did not argue. She only laughed and shook Margot gently, tightening her embrace.

  After Margot stepped out with a mild headache, Eirene returned to the mirror. The same nose, the same gaze. Yet she knew the certainty she carried now had changed her within. She moved into the adjacent room, where her desk sat bathed in the late sun.

  She pulled a fresh sheet of paper and dipped her pen, the scratch of the nib loud in the quiet room. She wrote a short message and sealed it with orange and black wax — a standing black bird holding a few wheat ears in its claws, sigil of Ravenwood. She looked at the inscription once more, realizing how the formal title now belonged to the man she had held in the dark.

  She rang the silver bell.

  “To the Duke of Falconwald.” The servant bowed and departed with the note.

  Sunlight slanted across the floor in pale bars.