The stranger exhaled one last time, the ember of his cigarette glowing briefly before he flicked it to the ground. The tiny flame sizzled as he crushed it under his boot, the motion slow and deliberate. In the moonlight, his features came into view—sharp, composed, and unmistakable. It was Duke Edmund.

  From her place on the ground, Jana stared upward, her body still half inside the narrow crawlspace beneath the fortress wall. Dirt clung to her hands, her maid’s uniform was stained, and her heart pounded from the sudden encounter. Yet what made her breath hitch wasn't the fact that he had caught her sneaking in—it was the way he looked at her. As if she were a stray animal, something out of place in his controlled world.

  “I wasn’t aware palace maids had such liberties,” Edmund remarked, his voice low and detached, almost bored.

  Jana didn’t move. She remained crouched, eyes locked with his, calculating. Her face held just enough fear to appear flustered, but not enough to betray anything real. Inside, she was already assessing her options. Escape? Improbable. Lie? Likely. Fight? Last resort.

  Jana forced a nervous smile, her voice light and trembling. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was… I stayed too long. My mother is very ill, and I barely made it back before the bells. I didn’t want to draw attention.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Touching story,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward the crawlspace. “Though that particular hole has seen use more than once?”

  Still crouched, Jana lowered herself further, pressing her forehead to the ground in a full gesture of submission. “Please, Your Grace… it won’t happen again. I swear it. I beg your forgiveness.”

  For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched like a blade between them. Then he turned and began walking away. Halfway down the path, he spoke without turning. “What be thy name?”

  "Agnes, my lord." Jana answerd.

  He paused, a faint shift in posture, as if pondering. He pivoted slightly, just enough to glance back. "Agnes… Are you the one who caused the disturbance at the tea party? The spilled tea?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she murmured, while nodding faintly, still crouched on the ground.

  “Wouldn’t such exertion be bad for your burn?” he asked, his voice low and edged with something darker—half curiosity, half accusation. The way he said it made it clear he found it strange, even suspicious, that a freshly wounded maid would be crawling through rubble in the dead of night.

  Jana’s resolve broke. Her voice trembled as tears welled up, “My mother... she’s ill. I have no one else to…” She paused—just for a moment, or so she thought—but the silence stretched a beat too long, enough for the Duke’s brow to furrow slightly, catching the hesitation with unnerving precision. Her heart sank. Agnes was officially an orphan. The weight of stress and sleepless nights was beginning to show, and slips like this were happening more often than she dared admit. “…to take care of her,” she finally whispered, burying her expression into the sleeve of the night.

  The Duke remained silent, but in the brief glint of his gaze, Jana caught the unmistakable glimmer of suspicion—subtle, sharp, and dangerous. If he ever chose to look closer, to pull at the threads of her story, it would all unravel. And yet, beneath her dread stirred a quieter, more pressing thought: what was he doing here, alone, at this hour, lingering on the palace’s forgotten edge without a single guard in sight?

  It was time to investigate. Most of the information Jana dealt in was rooted in historical records, fragments of a past that shaped this world, but her very presence here had proven—more than once—how quickly the butterfly effect could twist reality into something unrecognizable. Finding out what the Duke was doing there might just become her safe conduct, should his curiosity ever wander beyond court gossip and trivial palace rumors.

  The Duke, didn’t much appreciate being spotted by a palace servant—though it posed no real threat, it was an annoyance all the same. Without a word, he slipped through a side security gate where a palace guard awaited. Their hands met briefly—he was clearly passing something, a bribe probably —and then he continued on. Just outside, his escort stood waiting, cloaked in a long, dark tunic. Together, they walked in silence toward the waiting carriage, the guard’s presence fading behind them.

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  Once inside, the Duke crossed one leg over the other and leaned an elbow against the window, his gaze fixed on the blurred scenery outside. Silence filled the cabin, until he finally spoke—his voice calm, detached, without turning to face his companion.

  “How familiar are you with the palace?”

  The escort answered, “Not particularly, but I know what most who’ve worked there know.”

  The Duke’s tone sharpened, just slightly. “How punishable is it for a maid to sneak out of the palace without authorization—and to return by questionable means?”

  “In Drakorian times?” the escort replied, “That would’ve been a crime punishable by death.”

  “And in Valtorian times?”

  “I don’t know the full extent of their laws,” the escort admitted, “but I’ve heard they're more... benevolent.”

  A pause. Then the Duke murmured, almost to himself, “So benevolent that a maid dares sneak out to visit her ill mother. I see.”

  The escort stopped short, his voice now lower, more cautious. “No Drakorian maid with family outside the palace would’ve been allowed to work there. After the conquest, only a select group remained from those who had already worked in the palace for years. Widows, children, orphans, and those whose knowledge was too deep-rooted to be easily transferred hands with decades of service—people whose experience couldn’t simply be replaced.”.

  "If she has family here," the Duke said coldly, "then she is Drakorian—and her presence within the palace walls is, is certainly unwelcome."

  “It’s true that after so many years since the annexation, some of the stricter policies have loosened. But during my recent time at the palace training grounds, I haven’t heard a word about new Drakorian recruits among the prince’s staff.” The escort added, unsure who exactly the duke was referring to.

  A beat of silence passed in the swaying carriage.“Although,” he added thoughtfully, “with the prince's current search for a bride, the influx of new personnel at the royal palace has grown steadily… even in wings previously untouched.”

  The ride back was silent from then on. Once inside the mansion, the duke was greeted by his staff. An elderly woman with a sharp wit and tender heart approached him—a woman known as Mistress Martha, his longtime nanny. She moved with the steady grace of years spent caring for the household, her face etched with lines of patience and quiet amusement.

  Still taking off his coat, she chided, “Arriving this late again ?, always making me worry, Your Grace"

  The duke smiled at her. "I’m sorry, Miss Martha, I swear I won’t do it again," he said, his tone almost childish.

  She grumbled, "You always say that, and then do it again. If you break your promise this time, I’ll smear sand in your boots and make you march all day in them.” She gave him a sharp look, lips twitching as if barely holding back a scold. "Do you even hear yourself when you swear those promises? Or is it all just words to trick an old woman?”

  The duke grinned, a rare softness in his eyes. “ I swear this time I mean it.” He spoke in a light, almost childish tone.

  “The more a man swears, the less you should believe him, but I suppose I should believe you—until the next time you come home smelling like the night itself.” Her hands landed firmly on her hips. With that, the duke laughed and dashed up the stairs two at a time, leaving her calling after him. “This better be the last time, or I’ll be back with a bucket of sand!”

  The servants exchanged knowing smiles. Such scenes were unusual—the duke’s playful side reserved only for those closest to him. Inside the mansion, a free and restless spirit; outside, a calculating nobleman.

  Once the entrance hall disappeared from sight, the duke’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he continued thinking about that maid.He entered his office where his assistant, a precise man named Corbin, awaited him. Corbin gave a respectful nod as the duke settled into his chair.

  “I’ll begin briefing you on the documents,” Corbin announced smoothly, producing neatly folded papers from a leather satchel. “The first document details the latest reports from the eastern estates, and the second concerns findings in the Talisman mines...”

  The duke barely heard him, his mind still turning over what the escort had said during the carriage ride. Suddenly, he interrupted sharply.

  “Corbin,” he said, “I need you to find everything you can on a maid named Agnes.”

  “My lord, we have no record of any maid named Agnes in the mansion.” Corbin answerd

  “Palace maid” the duke specified firmly.

  Corbin’s eyes flickered with surprise “At once, Your Grace. I’ll leave the documents referring to the matters I was briefing you on before in your care.” Before leaving, he added, “Make sure not to exhaust yourself, Your Highness—you should get some rest.”

  The duke without lifting his eyes from the documents he was given replied ignoring his assistant’s advice, “Close the door on your way, Corbin.”