The morning air in the estate was crisp, heavy with dew and the faint scent of jasmine. Riella stepped quietly into the hall, her footsteps barely audible against the marble floor. She paused by the tall window, letting the early sun warm her skin. The manor felt different now—emptier without Amelia and Chloe, yet not quite peaceful.
"Couldn't sleep?" came a voice behind her.
She turned.
Dimitri stood a few feet away, dressed in black as always, the collar of his coat undone. He looked as if he hadn't rested either, and the faint darkness beneath his eyes only deepened the intensity of his gaze.
"I slept fine," Riella said calmly. "I just needed air."
A silence fell between them—not uncomfortable, but thick with things neither dared say aloud. The soft rustle of the trees outside was the only sound.
Dimitri stepped closer, slowly, stopping just beside her at the window. "You didn't have to stay."
"I know," she said. "But I did."
That earned her a glance—brief but sharp. As though he were trying to understand something even he couldn't name.
For a moment, they simply stood side by side, watching the light move across the gardens.
"There are moments," Dimitri said finally, voice low, "when the past feels like it's just waiting to be repeated."
She looked at him, the line of his jaw tight, his profile carved in the morning light.
"I'm not your past," she replied.
"No," he said, slowly turning to face her. "You're not."
His gaze searched hers. It lingered.
The silence grew heavier, and yet neither of them moved.
Then, just as quickly as the moment had arrived, Dimitri straightened. "I have things to attend to."
Riella gave a small nod, though her eyes didn't leave his.
He hesitated.
And then, quietly: "Take a walk before breakfast. The garden's quieter in the morning."
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and walked away.
Only when he was gone did she let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
After her stroll in the garden she went back to her room to change her dress and went straight to the dining hall.
The dining hall was bathed in warm light, golden rays spilling over polished wood and silver cutlery. Riella sat at the far end of the table, alone for a while—until the soft patter of feet signaled the arrival of Noel and Nathaniel.
They rushed in, grinning wide, cheeks still flushed with sleep.
"Good morning!" Noel beamed, climbing onto the seat beside her.
"Is it true you're leaving?" Nathaniel asked, his voice small, almost disappointed.
Riella smiled gently. "Yes. Just for a while."
Both boys frowned.
"But we like you here," said Noel, pushing a slice of fruit toward her as if that might convince her to stay. "You're nice. And you smell like flowers."
Riella let out a small laugh. "Thank you."
The boys ate beside her, chatting about everything and nothing. Their presence lightened the room, made it less like a fortress and more like a home. And for a brief moment, it almost felt ordinary.
But it wasn't.
---
Later, when Riella stepped out to the waiting carriage, the boys ran to her, arms thrown around her waist.
"You'll come back, right?" Nathaniel asked.
"Promise?" added Noel, his blue eyes wide.
Riella crouched, wrapping her arms around them both. "I'll come back. I promise."
Behind her, the wind stirred the trees. A soft hush fell over the estate.
And high above, Dimitri remained at the window—eyes fixed not on the carriage, but on the figure the boys clung to so tightly.
He didn't move.
But his fingers curled faintly at his side, like he was holding something invisible.
A thought.
A longing.
Or a goodbye he couldn't say aloud.
---
The glass fogged faintly as Dimitri's breath ghosted across it. He hadn't realized he'd leaned so close to the window until the carriage wheels crunched over gravel, the sound pulling him back to the present.
Gone.
She was gone again.
Not to danger, not to mystery—just a different place with safer halls and brighter walls. But it didn't make the silence left behind any easier to bear.
He had watched her laugh at the breakfast table, her smile soft and reluctant like a secret trying to stay hidden. Watched how the twins had leaned into her warmth as though they'd known her all their lives.
Even now, he could still hear their voices echoing in the corridors. "We like her."
So did he.
More than he should.
More than he could admit.
Dimitri turned from the window sharply, the memory of her perfume still clinging faintly to the room. Too sweet, too familiar. Too dangerous.
He poured a drink he didn't touch.
He'd told himself he was watching for her safety, nothing more. That the pull in his chest whenever she looked his way was only guilt. Guilt over what she didn't know. Over who she was. Over how the world would claw at her once the truth came out.
But guilt didn't explain the way her presence settled over him like quiet flame.
Guilt didn't explain the way he now counted her laughter among the few things that made this place feel… human.
And guilt certainly didn't explain the way his hand had lingered—just briefly—on her lower back the night before, after she'd nearly slipped in the grass.
He clenched his jaw, pushing the memory down.
There was too much at stake.
She was already a danger to the empire.
She couldn't become a danger to him too.