Dawn crept gently into Meisha's quarters, slipping through the small basement window in pale gold ribbons. The light stretched across the stone floor, warming the chill that always settled overnight. It brushed against her cheek, coaxing her awake.
Meisha blinked slowly, her body heavy with the remnants of sleep. For a moment, she didn't move. She simply breathed — the lavender‑sage scent still clinging faintly to her skin, the warmth of the blankets wrapped around her, the quiet hum of the burner in the corner.
Then she noticed him.
Kaydence was already awake.
He sat on his cot, legs crossed, spine straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. The early light caught the edges of his silhouette, outlining him in a soft glow that made him look almost otherworldly — calm, centered, untouched by the chaos waiting above them.
But Meisha knew better.
This was discipline. This was preparation. This was a general readying himself for whatever the day might bring.
She watched him for a moment, letting the sight steady her. The quiet strength in his posture. The stillness he carried even in the face of danger. The way his presence filled the room without ever overwhelming it.
Her heart eased.
He must have sensed her stirring, because his head tilted slightly — not enough to break his meditation, but enough to acknowledge her wakefulness.
"Good morning, Meisha," he said softly, eyes still closed. His voice was calm, grounded, like the first steady note of a song.
Meisha pushed herself up on her elbows, her loose kinky curls falling around her face. "You've been awake for a while."
"A little before dawn," he replied. "I wanted to center myself before the day begins."
She nodded, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders. "Did you sleep at all?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Enough."
Meisha studied him — the quiet discipline, the stillness, the way he seemed to anchor the room simply by breathing.
Today would be dangerous. Today would be pivotal. But seeing him like this… she felt a little less afraid.
Kaydence finally opened his eyes, turning his head toward her. They were clear, steady, and focused — but softened when they landed on her.
"Are you ready?" he asked, not as a command, but as a gentle invitation into the day.
Meisha drew in a slow breath, still waking, still settling into the reality of the day ahead. Kaydence's question lingered in the air between them.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
She nodded once. "Yes." She knew exactly what he meant — the shower‑swap plan, the masking, the careful choreography they needed to pull off before she stepped into the estate.
But before she rose from the bed, something tugged at her mind.
"Kaydence… before we start, let me see your wound."
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn't question her. He unfolded his legs and stood from the cot with that quiet, controlled grace he always carried. Without hesitation, he reached for the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head, setting it aside. Then he unwound the bandages from around his torso.
Meisha stood as well, stepping closer.
The gash on his right side — the one that had nearly killed him — was gone. Not faded. Not half‑closed.
Gone.
Only a raised, fully sealed scar remained, pale against his maroon skin.
Her fingers hovered before she let them gently brush over the healed flesh, tracing the line where the wound had been. She couldn't help noticing the sculpted strength of his torso beneath her touch — in awe of the resilience, the power, the sheer will it took for him to still be standing.
"Your wound…" she whispered, looking up at him. "It's completely healed."
A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "As I mentioned before — your knowledge as a healer and your herbal skills are the reason I'm standing here right now."
Meisha stepped back slowly, giving them both a little space. "But it's barely been three days. I know demons heal fast, but this fast?"
Kaydence glanced down at the scar, then back at her. "You're correct. We do recover quickly. But the severity of this injury — without the poison blocking my regenerative factor — would have taken at least two weeks to fully recover. Even with my innate abilities."
Meisha's expression tightened. "How are the lingering effects from the blade's toxins hindering you?"
He exhaled through his nose, thoughtful. "Your herbs and your medicinal care have helped me recover physically. But my strength and power are still on a slow incline."
She swallowed. "And if you were to engage in a bout with Lord Warren—"
"He would mildly have the upper hand," Kaydence answered immediately, without hesitation.
Meisha's jaw clenched. "Then let's try to make that a last resort if possible. I'll keep doing things as I have to avoid suspicion."
Kaydence nodded once, firm and resolute. "Agreed."
Meisha returned to a standing posture, adjusting her night gown. "And for the shower," she said. "I'm ready. But… you should shower first since I bathed last night."
Kaydence paused, considering it. His brows drew together in a thoughtful line. "Hmm." A moment passed. Then he nodded. "Very well."
He crossed the room to the shower stall and turned the knobs, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise. The warmth filled the small space, curling around them.
And then— He began removing the rest of his clothing.
Not out of arrogance. Not out of disregard. But out of pure, unfiltered relief — the anticipation of cleansing his body for the first time in days overtaking his awareness of her presence.
Meisha's eyes widened. She spun around so fast her braid brushed her shoulder. "Oh—!"
She hurried to her herbal desk, pretending to busy herself with her supplies, though her ears burned with embarrassment.
Kaydence froze mid‑movement, realizing what he'd done. "Meisha—my apologies." His voice was earnest, not flustered. "It's been weeks since I've had a proper wash. I… forgot myself for a moment."
A small laugh escaped her — soft, genuine. "Cleansing the body is a form of healing as well."
"You are definitely right," he said, a hint of warmth in his tone.
He stepped behind the curtain and pulled it closed, the sound of the rings sliding along the rod marking the boundary between them.
Water began to fall in steady, rhythmic sheets.
Meisha exhaled, letting the moment settle. Then she focused on her work.
She ground more lavender and sage, mixing them with practiced hands in the oil. The scent filled the room — calming, protective. She poured the mixture into four additional vials, corking each one tightly.
Eleven vials total. Enough to mask them both through the day.
As Kaydence showered, Meisha moved through the room with quiet intention. She laid her uniform and apron across the bed, smoothing the fabric and adjusting the sheets beneath them. She set out a fresh tunic and trousers for Kaydence — simple, clean, and free of the dried blood that stained the clothes he'd worn under his armor.
She wanted to wash those blood‑stained garments. Desperately. But she knew she couldn't risk it. Anything out of place could raise suspicion.
Instead, she folded them neatly and tucked them away.
She slipped two vials of the lavender‑sage oil into her apron pocket — for herself to use throughout the day — then returned to her desk. She tidied the tools he'd used the night before, aligning the jars, wiping the surface, restoring order to the space.
The sound of the shower continued behind her — steady, cleansing, almost meditative.
And Meisha waited her turn, the morning unfolding with quiet precision.
Kaydence let the curtain fall closed behind him, the warm water cascading over his shoulders in steady sheets. For the first time in days, he felt the grime, dried blood, and tension begin to loosen from his skin. He reached for the eucalyptus soap — sharp, clean, invigorating — and lathered it between his palms.
As he washed, he let his senses expand.
Not outward in sight. But inward — into the rhythm of the estate.
He slowed his breathing. Let the water mask the shift in his pulse. And opened his awareness.
The vibrations of footsteps. The hum of voices through stone. The faint tremor of tension in the air.
He sifted through it all until he found the thread he was looking for — the Hennis family's private chamber.
Three voices. Low. Urgent.
Lord Warren. Lord Varrick. Duke Noren.
Kaydence focused, letting their words rise through the vibrations like ripples on water.
Warren: "Our plan may be compromised. King Burruk's advisor arriving unannounced? That is no coincidence. And I believe Meisha is the reason."
Kaydence's jaw tightened.
Varrick: "Impossible. I have her on a tight leash. She wouldn't dare jeopardize anything."
Warren: "You didn't smell it? I'm telling you — there was a faint trace of demon scent on her. Faint, but present."
Kaydence's grip on the soap stilled.
Varrick: "She forages in the Nykon forest constantly. She's the town healer. She touches everyone. That scent could have come from anywhere."
Warren: "No. This was different. Familiar. I want to be sure."
Noren: "Then be sure before you act. We can't afford rash decisions. Not now."
The conversation dissolved into muffled pacing and low murmurs.
Kaydence exhaled slowly, letting the water wash over his face. The danger was no longer hypothetical. Warren's suspicion had sharpened — and he was already moving.
Kaydence rinsed the soap from his skin, then washed his hair thoroughly, making sure no trace of his natural scent remained. He needed to mask everything.
When he finished, he poked his head out from behind the curtain.
"Meisha," he whispered.
She turned immediately, concern flickering across her face.
"Could you hand me two vials of the lavender‑sage oil?"
She retrieved them from the shelf and walked over, placing them into his outstretched hand without crossing the curtain line.
"Is everything okay?" she asked softly.
"I'll tell you once I'm done."
She nodded, trusting him, and turned back to the small counter to prepare a simple breakfast — bread, butter, and milk. Her movements were steady.
Behind the curtain, Kaydence uncorked the vials and applied the oil thoroughly — into his hair, across his shoulders, down his arms, over his torso, legs, and feet. The scent enveloped him, earthy and calming, masking every trace of what Warren might detect.
When he was finished, he poked his head out again. "I'm stepping out."
Meisha turned away immediately, giving him privacy.
He dried himself quickly and dressed in the fresh tunic and trousers she had laid out. They fit him surprisingly well — clearly chosen with his stature in mind. Far better than the blood‑stained garments he'd worn beneath his armor.
"I'm finished," he said, turning his back so she could undress.
Meisha shed her clothing and stepped into the already running shower. The water hit her skin, warm and soothing, but her mind was already racing.
"What's the sudden urgency?" she asked over the sound of the water.
Kaydence pulled the chair from her table and placed it near the shower, sitting with his back to her so his voice could reach her in a whisper.
"During my shower," he said quietly, "I used my ability to read the rhythm and vibrations of the estate. I listened in on the Hennis family."
Meisha's breath hitched. "And…?"
Kaydence's voice dropped even lower. "My suspicions about Lord Warren being on to you have come to pass."
Her heartbeat spiked — he could feel it through the vibrations of the room.
"Meisha," he said firmly, "remain calm. They are not completely on to you yet."
She pressed a hand to the wall, steadying herself. "Then why the sudden swap?"
Kaydence inhaled slowly. "Because Lord Warren is on his way to your quarters. He intends to see if he can catch my scent from the door."
The water continued to fall around her, but suddenly it felt colder.
And the danger felt much, much closer.
Kaydence sat in the chair near the shower, his back to Meisha, his posture deceptively calm. But inside, every sense was sharpened, every instinct alert. The vibrations in the stone beneath his feet shifted — faint, but unmistakable.
Warren was moving.
Closer.
Down the stairs.
Toward them.
Kaydence's voice dropped to a whisper. "Meisha… he's coming. Warren is drawing closer to your quarters."
The water continued to fall around her, but Meisha's breath hitched. She steadied herself against the wall. "Then I need to mask myself too," she whispered.
"Ask," Kaydence murmured.
"Pass me two vials."
He rose silently, retrieved two vials from the shelf, and extended them behind him without turning. She reached out from behind the curtain and took them, her fingers brushing his briefly — cold with fear, but steady with purpose.
Kaydence returned to the chair, sitting with his back to her again.
Meisha uncorked the vials. The scent of lavender and sage bloomed instantly, warm and earthy, filling the room. She poured the oil over her skin, starting with her hair, letting it run down her shoulders, her arms, her torso, her legs — every inch masked, every trace of Kaydence's presence erased.
Kaydence's breath slowed.
"He's here," he whispered. "He's standing right outside your door."
Meisha poked her head out from behind the curtain, eyes wide. "What is he doing?"
Kaydence turned just enough for her to see the sharpness in his gaze — and the warning. He lifted a finger to his lips.
"Shh."
Then he raised his hand, palm outward, urging her to stay calm.
He closed his eyes again, letting his abilities sharpen. Through the vibrations, he saw Warren as clearly as if he were standing in front of him.
Warren stood at the door, inhaling deeply — savoring the scents rising from the room.
Lavender. Sage. Eucalyptus.
Kaydence's jaw clenched.
You sick bastard.
Warren leaned closer, pressing his nose near the crack of the door, breathing in again. Kaydence felt the revulsion coil in his gut.
Then Warren reached for the knob.
Kaydence's muscles tensed.
The knob turned.
Clicked.
Stopped.
Locked.
A small, proud smile tugged at the corner of Kaydence's mouth.
Good girl, he thought, knowing Meisha had locked it the moment the night before.
Warren muttered to himself, low and irritated. "Perhaps… my suspicions were off. No demon scent. Nothing unusual."
Kaydence watched through his senses as Warren stepped back, taking one last inhale — frustrated, uncertain — before turning away.
His footsteps retreated up the stairs, back toward the private lounge where Varrick and Duke Noren waited.
Only when Warren's presence faded completely did Kaydence exhale.
He turned his head slightly toward the shower, voice low and steady.
"He's gone."
And the danger, for now, slipped back into the shadows.
The water ceased abruptly, the last droplets pattering against the stone. Kaydence's eyes opened. He rose from the chair immediately, moving it back to its place at the table. Instinct told him not to linger near the stairs — not with Warren's presence still echoing faintly in the stone.
He crossed the room and settled onto the cot in a meditation pose, facing the wall, eyes closed. His posture was still, composed, but every sense remained alert.
Meisha stepped out of the shower, wrapped in her towel. She paused when she saw him — sitting with his back turned, giving her full privacy. A small breath of gratitude escaped her. She dried herself quickly, dressed in her servant's uniform and apron, and tied her hair back into a braid.
"I'm done," she said softly.
Kaydence opened his eyes and turned.
Meisha was already walking toward him, a plate of bread and butter in one hand, a cup of milk in the other. Her movements were steady, but he could see the faint tremor beneath them — the residue of fear she was trying to swallow.
He accepted the plate with a nod. "Thank you."
"Do you have any wine left?" he asked gently. "I'd prefer that, if possible."
Meisha blinked, then nodded. "Yes. I still have some from a few days ago."
She turned to her small shelf, poured a cup of the dark red wine, and brought it to him. He accepted it with quiet gratitude.
"Thank you," he said again.
"You're welcome." She took her own breakfast — bread, butter, and milk — and sat on the edge of her bed. The room felt warm, but the air between them held a thin thread of tension.
After a few bites, Meisha finally asked, "What did you sense… when Lord Warren was at the door?"
Kaydence paused, choosing his words carefully. He would not burden her with the full truth — not the way Warren inhaled the air like a predator, not the way he lingered, not the way his fingers curled around the doorknob with intent.
"Just to see if he could smell my scent," Kaydence said simply, then took a bite of bread.
A chill rippled down Meisha's spine. She set her cup down, her fingers tightening around the edge of the bed.
Kaydence noticed immediately. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," she said, though her voice betrayed her. "It's just that Warren is… insufferable."
Kaydence tilted his head slightly. "How so?"
He asked not out of curiosity — he already had his own impressions of Warren, sharpened by what he sensed outside the door. The man's behavior had been invasive, entitled, hungry. Kaydence knew in his gut that Warren would claim Meisha if given the chance… and would not care whether she consented.
But he asked because he wanted her to speak. To release some of the fear tightening her chest. To give her strength for the day ahead.
Meisha exhaled slowly. "He's always hovering. Always watching. Always… too close. And he acts like he has a right to me. Like I'm something he can just… take."
Kaydence's jaw clenched, though he kept his expression calm for her sake.
Their rendezvous with Nichelle wasn't just important — it was essential. It was the only path that could free Meisha from this place, from Warren, from the Hennis family's grip.
And Kaydence would see it through.
Through diplomacy if possible. Through force only if absolutely necessary.
But one thing was certain:
He would not let Warren touch her.
Not now. Not ever.
They finished their breakfast in a silence that wasn't uncomfortable — just heavy with the weight of the day ahead. When Meisha set her empty plate aside, Kaydence rose from his cot and collected both her plate and cup without a word.
She watched him for a moment, the simple domesticity of the gesture softening something in her chest.
Meisha stood and moved to the bottom step, sitting to slip on her shoes. Her fingers trembled slightly as she tied the laces — not from fear, but from the reluctance she couldn't quite hide. She didn't want to leave this room. Not today. Not with Warren prowling the estate like a shadow with teeth.
Kaydence washed the dishes with quiet efficiency, dried them, and placed them back on the shelf exactly where they belonged. When he turned, he saw Meisha standing at the foot of the stairs, apron tied, hair neat, ready to step into the role she hated.
Ready to walk into danger.
"Meisha," he called softly.
She paused and looked back at him. Her eyes lifted to his with a warmth she didn't try to hide — adoration, trust, and a tension in her shoulders that told him she wished she could stay right here, in this small sanctuary they'd built together.
He walked over to her, stopping just a step away.
"I want you to go about this day as you've been doing all along," he said gently. "Unnoticed. Unseen."
Her breath steadied.
"Our plan is going to succeed," he continued, voice low and certain. "And to ease your worries a bit more… I'll be watching you as you move throughout the estate."
Her shoulders loosened, the tension melting away like frost under sunlight.
"But only the estate," he added. "If you go into town, you'll be on your own. But I know you can handle it."
Meisha exhaled, relief softening her entire posture. "Thank you, Kaydence. I… needed that."
"I know," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
Something in her chest swelled — gratitude, affection, the comfort of being seen. She stepped forward, instinctively moving into an embrace.
Kaydence reacted quickly, taking a small step back.
Meisha froze, mortified. "My apologies. I overstepped."
He shook his head immediately. "No. You didn't."
She looked up, confused.
"As much as I want to embrace you back," he said softly, "I can't risk getting my scent on you. Not today. Not with Warren already suspicious. It would put you in danger."
Meisha lowered her head, her voice small. "Okay…"
The sorrow in her tone tugged at him, but he held firm. Protecting her mattered more than the comfort of a moment.
He reached out — not to touch her, but to let his presence steady her.
"Meisha," he said gently, "you're not alone. Not today. Not ever again."
She lifted her gaze, and the strength in his eyes met the fear in hers — and steadied it.
Then, with a quiet breath, she turned toward the stairs.
Meisha placed her hand on the stair rail, ready to climb, when something tugged at her chest — a thought she couldn't ignore. She turned back to Kaydence, her voice low but steady.
"There's something you need to know before I go."
Kaydence's attention sharpened instantly. "What is it?"
"The storage room," she said, nodding toward the door across the hall. "Behind the crates… there's a secret passage."
His brows drew together. "Why are you telling me this?"
"In case I don't return."
Kaydence's expression hardened. "Don't talk like that. You will return."
Meisha shook her head gently. "Kaydence… this is just in case I don't. Especially with the pressure the Hennis family is under. They're unpredictable right now."
He didn't interrupt her — but the tension in his jaw told her he hated every word.
"The opening leads down a set of stairs," she continued. "At the bottom, there's a long corridor. Follow it all the way through, and it'll take you outside the estate grounds."
Kaydence listened with the stillness of a soldier memorizing a battlefield map.
"When you reach the end," she said, "you'll see a collapsed section of the outer wall. It's hidden under vines and ivy, but it's big enough to slip through. From there, you can make your way toward the Nykon Forest."
Silence settled between them — heavy, meaningful.
Kaydence let out a slow, controlled sigh. "Thank you," he murmured.
Then, without warning, he lowered himself onto one knee.
Meisha's breath caught. "Kaydence—what are you doing?"
He bowed his head; one fist pressed lightly to the floor. "Since I cannot embrace you to show my sincerity… then a vow will have to suffice."
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
He lifted his gaze to her — steady, unwavering, full of something she couldn't name.
"I, second in command to King Burruk's army… General Kaydence Syire… make this vow." His voice deepened, resonant with authority and devotion. "I will ensure your escape from this bondage. You and your father both."
Meisha's lips parted, but no sound came out. She stood frozen, stunned, overwhelmed by the weight of what he had just pledged.
Before she could think — before she could feel too much — she turned and rushed up the stairs. She slipped out the door of her quarters and closed it behind her with trembling hands.
The moment the latch clicked, she pressed her back against the wooden door, breath shaking. Tears threatened, burning at the corners of her eyes. She brushed them away quickly, refusing to let them fall.
"Come on, Meisha," she whispered to herself. "Start the day."
She pushed off the door and stepped into the corridor, her footsteps soft but determined. The estate was waking — servants moving, voices murmuring, the distant clatter of morning preparations.
Her mind sharpened.
I can get through this, she told herself. Just as I always have for the past fifteen years.I only need to make it to nightfall.
She lifted her chin, steadied her breath, and began searching for Silas.
The day had begun — and she would survive it.
Meisha moved through the corridor with quiet purpose, her senses sharpened by the unease in the estate. She spotted Silas near the main hall, speaking in hushed tones to a pair of junior servants. His posture was stiff, his gestures clipped — something was weighing heavily on him.
When he turned and saw her, his entire face softened with relief.
"Meisha," he breathed out, almost collapsing into the sound of her name. "Thank goodness."
She stepped closer, studying him. "Silas… what's wrong?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced around the hall, ensuring no one lingered close enough to overhear. Only when he was satisfied did he speak.
"I need you to prepare calming tea for Lord Varrick, his father, and his brother. Immediately." His voice was low, urgent. "Tensions are high after the message I delivered last night about King Burruk's advisor arriving."
Meisha's stomach tightened. "Do I have to serve them as well?"
Silas placed a steadying hand on her shoulder — warm, reassuring, protective in the way only Silas could be.
"No," he said firmly. "You do not have to serve them. I'll do that for you. Just bring the tray to me like before, and I'll take it up."
Relief washed through her so quickly it nearly buckled her knees. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a grateful embrace.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Silas returned the gesture with a gentle pat on her back. "You're welcome. I know how troublesome Lord Warren can be. Sunya and two other maids have already reported complaints to me this morning."
Meisha stiffened slightly at the mention of Warren, but Silas didn't notice — he was too busy inhaling a deep breath.
"Good heavens," he murmured. "You smell wonderful. Lavender and sage… it's easing my nerves just standing near you."
Meisha pulled back, offering a small, composed smile. "I'm glad I could be of some help."
She straightened her apron. "Is there anything else you need me to do after preparing the tea?"
Silas shook his head. "No. Just be on standby in case they request more. I'll handle the rest."
Meisha nodded, her resolve settling. "Understood."
As she turned toward the kitchen, she felt Kaydence's distant awareness brushing against her — a quiet, steady presence tracking her movements through the estate.
Meisha pushed through the swinging kitchen door and was immediately met with the familiar heat of the hearth, the clatter of pans, and the sharp scent of herbs being chopped. But beneath all of that, there was something else in the air today—an electric tension, a nervous hum threading through every whispered conversation.
She moved to her usual station, pulling down the jars she needed: chamomile, valerian, lavender, and the estate's prized calming blend reserved for the Hennis men. Her hands worked with practiced ease, but her ears stayed open.
Two maids near the bread counter whispered fiercely:
"—I heard the General is dead. That's why the advisor is coming. To investigate."
Another scoffed. "No, no. They say he deserted. Ran off in the night. That's why the King sent his advisor—to drag him back."
A third leaned in, voice hushed. "You're both wrong. My cousin in the stables said the advisor is coming for something else entirely. A different order. Something secret."
The rumors tangled together like smoke, each one more dangerous than the last.
Meisha kept her expression neutral, measuring herbs into the teapot, pouring hot water, letting the steam rise around her like a shield. She listened, but she didn't react. She couldn't afford to.
As she arranged the cups on the tray, one of the maids—Talia—turned toward her.
"Meisha?" she called, drawing the attention of the others. "What do you think? Why would the advisor of the demon realm come all the way here?"
Meisha lifted her head, ready to give a careful, harmless answer—
But the air shifted.
A presence filled the doorway.
"Yes, Meisha," Warren's voice slid into the room like a blade. "What is your opinion on the matter at hand today?"
The maids froze.
Then, like startled birds, they scattered—heads down, skirts swishing, disappearing into side rooms and hallways until only Meisha remained.
She turned slowly, keeping her posture respectful, her face composed.
"I don't have an opinion, my lord," she said evenly. "I am just a servant. Matters of this seriousness are handled by our two capable lords and our duke. Issues of this nature are of no concern to me. Only my duties."
Warren stepped fully into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.
And Meisha was alone with him.
The tray trembled faintly in her hands—but she kept her eyes lowered, her breath steady, her mind sharp.
Kaydence's presence pulsed faintly beneath her awareness, like a heartbeat in the stone.
Warren stepped forward with that slow, predatory confidence he always wore when he thought he had someone cornered. He reached out, took the tray from Meisha's hands, and set it on the counter with deliberate ease — as if he owned the room, the air, and her.
Then he began to circle her.
Not hurried. Not subtle. Just invasive.
His boots scraped softly against the stone floor as he moved behind her. Meisha kept her gaze lowered, her breath steady, her hands clasped in front of her apron. She felt him before she saw him — the heat of his presence, the arrogance in his stride.
His right hand folded behind his back.
His left reached forward.
Fingers brushed her braid.
He lifted it gently, almost reverently, and brought it to his nose.
Meisha's stomach twisted, but she didn't flinch. She closed her eyes, grounding herself in the memory of Kaydence's vow — the weight of his kneeling form, the certainty in his voice.
You're not alone.
Warren inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of lavender and sage clinging to her hair. When she didn't react, his expression soured. He wanted fear. He wanted trembling. He wanted her spirit to crack.
Instead, she stood like stone.
So he changed tactics.
With a sudden, sharp movement, he spun her around. Meisha gasped, eyes flying open — and found herself staring directly into Warren's.
He tilted her chin upward with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze.
She was trapped between his body and the counter, his shadow swallowing her whole.
"Be my mistress, Meisha," he whispered, his breath brushing her ear.
Her throat tightened. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes — but she refused to let them fall. She would not give him that victory. She would not break.
"Milord," she said, voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "As I stated before… I am unworthy."
Warren's eyes narrowed. He could sense the defiance beneath her humility. And he hated it.
His hand remained on her chin, thumb brushing across her lips — a gesture meant to unsettle, to claim.
"You've been in servitude since you were fifteen," he murmured. "So you've never had your first kiss. Perhaps I should be your first… since my brother clearly doesn't know how to tame you."
Meisha's eyes widened — the reaction he'd been hunting for.
"There it is," he said with a wicked smile.
His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer. She pushed against him, but he was stronger — and he knew it.
Just as Warren leaned in, intent clear in his posture—
The town bell rang.
A deep, resonant clang that shook the kitchen shelves.
Warren froze.
The swinging door burst open.
"Milord!" Silas shouted, breathless, eyes wide as he took in the scene — Meisha pinned, Warren looming over her.
Warren straightened slowly, annoyance flashing across his face. "What is it?"
"The soldiers need your assistance," Silas said, voice firm despite the tension. "A grand bear has crossed the Ashen Vale."
Warren clicked his tongue, irritated. But duty — or pride — pulled him away.
He released Meisha, stepping back with a final, lingering look.
"This isn't over," he murmured.
Then he swept out of the kitchen, leaving the air colder in his wake.
Meisha sagged against the counter, breath shaking — but unbroken.
Silas moved to her side immediately. "Meisha… are you hurt?"
She shook her head, swallowing hard. "No. I'm alright."
But her hands trembled.
And deep beneath the stone floor, Kaydence felt every vibration of what had just happened — and his fury simmered like a storm waiting to break.
Silas reached Meisha's side the moment Warren left, his presence steadying her like a hand on the small of her back. Her breath trembled, her fingers gripping the counter for support. Silas didn't touch her at first—he simply stood close enough for her to feel anchored.
"Meisha," he said softly, "look at me."
She lifted her gaze, eyes still wide, still shaken. Silas placed both hands on her shoulders, firm but gentle.
"Breathe," he murmured. "You're safe now."
She inhaled slowly. Exhaled. Again. And again. The trembling eased. Her spine straightened. Her heartbeat steadied.
Only when she had fully regained herself did Silas speak again.
"I'll deliver the tea to Lord Varrick and Duke Noren," he said. "And I'll inform them of what happened."
Meisha's eyes softened with gratitude. "Thank you."
"Is there anything else you need from me?" she asked, voice quiet but steady.
Silas shook his head. "No. You may retire for the rest of the day. If they need more tea, I'll come get you—but until then, rest."
Relief washed through her so deeply she nearly sagged. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For watching over me all these years."
Silas returned the embrace with a warm, fatherly firmness. "Your mother was a living treasure to this town," he said, voice thick with memory. "I'd dishonor her if I didn't look after you. I only wish there was more I could do."
They pulled apart slowly.
"You do more than enough," Meisha said. "Protecting me from the Hennis men… that's more than anyone else has ever done."
A small, shared smile passed between them—tired, but genuine.
"Go on now," Silas said, patting her arm. "Get some rest. I can take it from here."
"Okay," she replied. She reached for the small tin on the counter. "Here's the canister with the herbal blend I made. In case they need more."
Silas accepted it with a nod. "Thank you."
Meisha slipped out of the kitchen, her steps slow but purposeful.
The estate was erupting into controlled chaos. Servants darted down hallways, shutters were being latched, and guards rushed toward the outer gates. The alarm bell still echoed faintly through the stone.
"A grand bear," someone whispered as they hurried past. "Crossed the Ashen Vale—gods help us." "Get inside, quickly!"
Meisha barely registered any of it.
Her body was heavy with exhaustion, her mind still echoing with Warren's voice, her skin crawling with the memory of his hands. All she wanted—all she needed—was to return to her quarters.
To Kaydence.
To the quiet safety of his presence.
To the one place in this estate where she could breathe.
As she trudged toward the eastern corridor, she felt a strange, bittersweet gratitude. The beast sighting had bought her freedom for the day. A terrible situation had turned into a small mercy.
And she intended to spend every moment of it with the one person who made her feel whole.