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Chapter 4 - The Golden Marchioness

The morning sunlight crept through the thin curtains of the inn room, spilling gold across the worn wooden floorboards. Baron Sylvester ascended the stairs quietly, balancing a tray with a light breakfast—fresh bread, a small pot of steaming tea, and fruit that glistened in the morning haze. He paused outside the door, rapping lightly with a gloved knuckle.

"I brought breakfast, Lady Liana," he called softly.

A melodic voice drifted from inside. "Come in, Sev. Don't let it get cold."

He entered, closing the door behind him with a muted click, and froze for the briefest moment. There, bathed in the pale morning light, was her sitting on the edge of the bed.

Sylvester's breath hitched. "And after all these years, I still… can't get used to that hair of yours," he admitted, a soft awe coloring his voice.

Her eyes, a striking shade of green, turned toward him. She looked out the window first, as if weighing the day, and then back at him with a sharp, intelligent glimmer in her gaze. Golden hair spilled over her shoulders like sunlight itself, catching the early rays and refracting them into a halo around her.

"Lady Duavan," he said, almost unable to keep his composure.

There was a flicker of amusement in her eyes, but also a warmth reserved for old friends.

"Don't be so formal, Sev you've always called me Cath. You can do the same now," she said.

He chuckled, a teasing spark in his eyes.

"If I ever address you lightly in front of your king, I fear I'd lose more than my pride. Maybe my head," 

he said, leaning slightly against the doorframe before setting the breakfast tray carefully on the table beside her.

He glanced at her hair, running his gaze over the shimmering strands. "The potion worked wonders. Shame it only lasts a day—or you could blind every noble in the streets with this brilliance," he teased gently.

Standing straighter now, he adopted a more measured tone. "After all these years… when you disappeared, I wondered what became of you. And then, to see you come for me after so long… I thought perhaps your husband had you locked away," he added lightly, letting the teasing edge mask the concern in his voice.

Catalina's gaze shifted, distant now, lost in the sunlight streaming through the window. Her jaw tightened subtly, the green of her eyes reflecting the morning glow but holding a shadow of restraint.

Sylvester noticed immediately—the ease of their banter paused by an unspoken weight, the kind that only old friends recognized without needing explanation.

Her eyes finally met his, a spark of amusement flickering behind the calm.

"A cage would be far too small for me," she replied, her voice light, almost playful, yet there was a weight beneath it.

"Some things, Sev… some things can't be contained, no matter how carefully you try."

Sylvester smiled, a mixture of relief and exasperation.

"Some things indeed," he echoed.

"But I've missed this—missed you. Even with the distance, even with the secrets…" His gaze softened, letting the moment stretch, unbroken by the clamor of the outside world.

Catalina tilted her head, studying him quietly. There was a calm in his presence she hadn't realized she'd longed for, a familiarity that no disguise or distance could erase.

Catalina let herself breathe, even if just for a few precious moments. And though she did not yet speak of all she had endured, she knew that in Sylvester, she knew he could walk alongside her even in silence.

Sylvster tilted his head, a bemused frown creasing his brow.

"And what would your husband say if he knew you were running around the lower city, doing… who knows what?"

His tone was half teasing, half incredulous, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

"Does the Marquess even know you're here?"

Catalina leaned back slightly, her green eyes glinting with calm defiance as a faint, wry smile curved her lips.

"Well, he doesn't need to know," she said, voice cool and measured."A husband should respect his wife's endeavors, should he not?"

Sev's eyes widened for the briefest moment, the weight of the potential consequences flitting across his expression. If Marquess Roland ever discovered this, Baron Sylvester could very well lose his title, his lands… perhaps everything. 

He swallowed nervously, but quickly masked it with a small, tight-lipped smile.

"Right… of course. Whatever makes you feel at ease, Cath. As long as we… don't attract unwanted attention."

They shared a brief glance, and for a moment, the unspoken understanding between them hung lightly in the air—a mixture of camaraderie, trust, and just enough danger to make the exchange exhilarating. Both smiled, the tension easing, if only for a heartbeat.

Far away, in a sprawling estate bathed in the afternoon light, Roland Lievan Castell bent over a stack of papers in his private office. Quill in hand, he methodically recorded notes, balancing accounts and managing the intricacies of his vast lands. The faint scratch of ink against parchment filled the quiet room, punctuated by the occasional shuffle of parchment.

A soft knock at the door broke his concentration.

"Enter," he called, voice precise and controlled.

A butler stepped inside, wheeling a gleaming silver tray laden with a steaming teapot and delicate cups. As the butler placed it carefully on Roland's desk, his hand paused mid-step.

"Have there been any words from my wife?" Roland asked, his tone neutral but edged with curiosity.

The butler hesitated, his posture stiffening slightly under the weight of the question.

"I'm afraid, Master Roland… no letters, no reports, no sightings. The Marchioness appears to have remained otherwise occupied in her estate, sir."

Roland's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "I see," he muttered, gesturing the man away.

The butler bowed and withdrew silently, leaving the Marquess to his thoughts. Roland removed his glasses and leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He stared at the portrait hanging nearby—Catalina Duavan, the legendary Maiden Knight, immortalized in her magnificent, gleaming armor.

Roland exhaled slowly, fingertips brushing the edge of his desk as if seeking grounding.

What is she up to now? he wondered, eyes narrowing slightly.

He shifted in his chair, leaning forward and staring at the portrait as though it could answer him. After a moment, he murmured to himself, quiet enough to be lost in the papers and silence.

"Perhaps… I should visit her once more."

The words lingered in the still room, carrying the weight of unspoken tension, and the subtle echo of the unresolved conflict that threaded between them. 

Roland's fingers drummed on the edge of the desk, his thoughts unsettled. He had navigated court intrigue, parried the words of scheming nobles, and bent council chambers to his will with calculated ease—yet it was his wife, his brilliant, untamed wife, who kept him guessing.

He exhaled, slow and measured, before reaching again for the quill. Work first. But the thought remained like a thorn under his skin.

The estate morning bled into the noise of the lower city, where Catalina and Sylvester walked shoulder to shoulder along cobblestones. The air carried bread, dung, and salt from the docks. 

A hood shadowed her chestnut hair, but her sharp green eyes swept the streets alley to vendor stall with the vigilance of a knight, noticing what Sylvester did not.

"So," Sylvester murmured under his breath, "what exactly are we looking for this time? Or are we just wandering until trouble finds us?"

Catalina's reply was cool, almost teasing. "Trouble hardly needs looking for, Sev. It usually finds me before I take my second step."

He smirked, about to press her further—when her head tilted sharply, catching the faintest cry. A thin, desperate help carried from a side alley.

"So," Sylvester said, hands behind his back as they strolled.

"Are we here on some grand mission, or are you just dragging me along for fresh air? Because if this is about fabrics again, Catalina, I swear I'll—"

He glanced sideways. Empty space.

"Cath— I mean, Lady Liana?" Sylvester's brow furrowed as he turned in place, scanning the crowd. Once, twice. She was gone. His stomach dropped.

"Oh gods, no, no, no… not again," he muttered.

A faint shout echoed from a nearby alley. Sylvester's heart dropped.

Of course. Of course she heard something, and of course she went charging off like a bloodhound.

He raced toward the alley and froze.

There she was.

Towering in the narrow gloom, her chestnut hair catching the faint sunlight, eyes cold and sharp. One thug dangled helplessly in her grip, lifted effortlessly by his neck

 His feet kicked against the cobblestones, arms flailing, but she held him steady as if he weighed nothing. Two others groaned on the ground, clutching bruised ribs, glancing up at her with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Huddled against the corner, a thin girl shielding a little boy with trembling arms, both of them wide-eyed at the tall female figure.

Catalina's voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

"Pathetic. Three grown men, cornering children who have nothing. Is this what you call strength?"

From the street mouth, Sylvester nearly collapsed where he stood. His soul felt like it was flying straight out of his body.

You got to be kidding me... She's strangling a man in broad daylight. 

"Liana!" he hissed, darting forward before anyone else noticed.

She shoved the thug down—he landed hard with a yelp, scrambling back. "If I catch you preying on children again, you'll wish the city guard found you first."

The thug, coughing and scrambling back before shouting hoarsely to his companions. The thugs fled, stumbling over each other in their haste. 

The children didn't move. The girl still had her arms wrapped protectively around her brother, eyes full of fear and disbelief.

"Who… who are you, miss?" the girl asked, voice small but brave.

Catalina straightened, tugged her hood back into place, and tossed a small pouch of coin into the girl's lap.

"Just a passerby," she said simply.

The children stared at the pouch, stunned. Enough silver glinted there to keep them fed for months.

By the time they looked up, the strange woman was already gone, striding off with a man beside her scolding her in frantic whispers

Later that day, the market was alive with clamor—vendors hawking bread, fresh fish, and bright vegetables, children darting between legs, and the occasional stray dog sniffing for scraps. Catalina weaved through it all with ease, her hood still low over her face, skewer in hand, grinning at every little indulgence the city offered.

Sylvester matched her pace, though his composure was unraveling by the minute.

"Honestly, Cath—Lady Liana!—you have no sense of restraint. One wrong move, and we're either infamous or—"

"Or hungry?"

she interrupted mid-bite, holding up her skewer as though it were a shield. "Don't worry, Sev, I make careful calculations. Every step, every bite—it's all strategic."

"Strategic!?" he sputtered.

"You call hovering over thugs and tossing coins to startled children strategic?"

Catalina shrugged lightly, chewing with deliberate flair. 

"Absolutely. Morale boosting, city goodwill, and let's not forget… personal satisfaction. You should try it sometime—it's very fulfilling." She said nonchalantly.

Sylvester groaned, rubbing his temples. "I—no. I will never try it. And yet, here I am, following you through this chaos like a proper—"

"You're my moral compass," she finished for him, giving him a teasing wink as she took another bite of pork.

"Guiding me through peril, one admonishment at a time."

He scowled, but the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "Peril! That was children in danger, Catal—Liana! Not some light-hearted adventure!"

She popped a morsel in her mouth and glanced at him over the skewer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"And yet, you follow. You're remarkably consistent, Sev. Loyal, dependable… annoyingly so."

He threw up his hands, exasperated, but couldn't hide the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

 "One day, my lady… I swear, one day you're going to give me a heart attack."

Catalina tilted her head, holding out a juicy piece of skewered pork right in front of him.

"Here—eat this, it'll keep your heart from stopping."

Sylvester groaned, eyes rolling, but took the skewer with a defeated smile.

"You're impossible," he muttered, yet the warmth in his grin betrayed his amusement.

Catalina chuckled softly, eyes sweeping over the bustling streets, the children laughing, the sunlight catching the brown of her hair. Somewhere deep down, she felt the faint thrill of possibility, of a world shifting beneath her steps.

And as they disappeared into the throng, Sylvester trailing nervously behind, one thing was certain, wherever Catalina Duavan went, unexpected things were sure to follow.

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