Elena groaned, a headache pounding from the inside of her skull—sharp, rhythmic, merciless. It felt as though a tiny man with a pickaxe had taken up residence behind her eyes and was determined to dig his way out. She cracked one eye open, only for a blade of pale morning light to spear straight through her vision. She hissed and squeezed it shut again, her stomach rolling in protest.
She let out a long, shaky sigh and forced herself to breathe through the ache. The air smelled faintly of clean linen and lavender oil—comforting, familiar. Slowly, carefully, she tried to gather herself, shifting beneath the covers. The sheets were cool against her skin, the mattress soft and unmoving beneath her weight.
When she dared to open her eyes again, more cautiously this time, she took in the carved wooden dresser, the heavy curtains half-drawn against the morning sun, the familiar canopy overhead.
Her room.
"D-Did I pass out?" she mumbled, her voice dry and hoarse, as if she'd been shouting all night. The room, unhelpfully, offered no answer.
She pushed herself upright, the movement sending another wave of pain crashing through her head. Groaning, she rubbed at her eyes, as though she could physically scrub away the sleep, the hangover, and the fog clogging her thoughts. Her temples throbbed beneath her fingers.
She sagged back slightly, then muttered, "Jake was right… I shouldn't have gotten drunk last night." The words tasted bitter on her tongue.
Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool beneath her bare feet, grounding in a way that made her wince. She stood, unsteady, swaying for a moment—
And froze.
She looked down.
She was wearing her nightgown.
Elena frowned, fingers brushing the soft fabric as confusion settled in her chest. She tried to remember changing, the feel of removing her clothes, the routine motions—but her memory slipped through her grasp like water. There was only blurred laughter… the carriage… then nothing. Darkness.
"Ugh," she groaned softly, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "This is gonna be a rough week…" she added sarcastically, wept to herself.
A sharp knock suddenly cracked through the room.
Elena yelped and clapped her hands over her ears, pain spiking as the sound reverberated through her skull.
Before she could respond, an all-too-cheerful—and all-too-familiar—voice floated through the door.
"Oooh, Lady Falmil, are you awake?"
Even through the haze, Elena could hear it, the sweetness stretched thin over something sharp.
She groaned.
That seemed to be an invitation enough.
The door swung open, flooding the room with sunlight and revealing Lily's wide, unapologetically sinister smile.
"Good morning, Elena," Lily chirped.
Elena winced, turning her face away from the light as though it might physically attack her. "Morning," she mumbled, squinting and raising a hand to shield her eyes.
Lily stepped inside, utterly unfazed. "Jake says good morning as well."
Elena froze.
Heat rushed to her face so fast it made her dizzy. "W-What happened last night…?" she stammered, heart suddenly racing. "D-Did you change my clothes, o-or di—"
Lily lifted a hand, cutting her off gently, her tone smoothing into something almost kind. "No, I changed your clothes. He just carried you in—like a princess, no less." Her lips curved in amusement.
Elena sagged in relief, the tension draining from her shoulders—only for it to snap right back at Lily's next words.
"You know," Lily added lightly, "you talked about him in your sleep."
Elena opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"Oh yes," Lily continued, clearly enjoying herself. "His golden eyes. His muscles. How handsome he is! And his ears—mostly his ears."
"Lily!" Elena cried, mortified, burying her face in her hands as her ears burned.
Lily laughed softly. "I'm teasing," she said, waving a hand as if brushing smoke from the air.
Elena peeked through her fingers, groaning in embarrassment.
"But," Lily said, her voice dipping, sweetness sharpening into something dangerous, "you shouldn't have gotten drunk while out adventuring. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"
She crossed her arms, gaze firm now and less teasing maid, but more scolding guardian.
Elena shrank just a little under the weight of it.
"I mean, what if they discovered Jake?" Lily continued softly. "What do you think they would've done if he were found courting the Fox of Falmil?"
Elena flinched.
The words struck like a slap, sharp and sudden, and her stomach twisted at the image they conjured. Jake—caught, surrounded, judged. In both Altor and the Undercity, his name was spoken with lowered voices and wary glances, fear clinging to it like a shadow that never quite left.
Not just because of his crimes, or the whispers that followed him—of a man who could hear thoughts not meant to be heard, who could pull at people's wills like strings and make them dance.
But because of his father.
Adam the Bloodsoaked.
The name rang in her ears, heavy and cold, as if the room itself had gone still to listen. Elena's fingers curled into her skirts until the fabric bunched painfully in her fists, knuckles whitening as pressure built in her chest. Her throat tightened, breath catching as heat burned behind her eyes. At the thought of what would happen to Jake if they were ever caught, and who would decide his fate… or hers.
Tears gathered despite her effort to stop them, blurring her vision.
The thought of losing him—of that golden-eyed smile vanishing, of his quiet presence slipping into memory—hurt more than she could put into words. Losing the person she was closest to. The one she trusted without reservation.
The one who made the world feel less heavy.
Her breath stuttered, a small, broken sound she couldn't quite swallow down.
Lily sighed and moved closer, the mattress dipping beside her. A gentle hand settled on Elena's shoulder, warm and grounding, thumb brushing in a slow, reassuring circle. "I'm sorry," Lily said quietly. "I stepped out of line."
Elena shook her head, the movement weak. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling as she drew in a shaky breath that burned her lungs. "You're right."
Her words came out barely louder than air. "It was foolish of me."
She stared down at her clenched hands, forcing herself to loosen her grip as another breath shuddered through her chest, the weight of fear and something else, something dangerous, twisting together.
"I–I won't be that reckless again… It–it was just so fun."
The words came out thin, worn by the dryness in her throat. As she spoke, fragments of the night resurfaced unbidden, the press of warm air in the ballroom, the lingering sweetness of wine on her tongue before it turned sharp, the ache in her feet from hours of movement she hadn't wanted to stop.
The dance.
The laughter they'd shared, light and breathless, echoing over the music. The way his hand had settled at her back—steady, grounding—guiding her through steps she hadn't realized she remembered until her body followed his without thought. The way he'd leaned in when the stares grew heavy, his presence a quiet shield, his voice low and reassuring in her ear.
"I–I got lost in it," she said softly. "In the fun. We… haven't had a night like that since then."
Her voice faded. She exhaled slowly through her nose and closed her eyes—not to escape the stabbing throb behind them, nor the intrusive light, but to steady herself. To smooth her expression. To draw the familiar, practiced calm back over her thoughts like a veil.
When she opened them again, Lily was smiling.
The rustle of fabric followed as Lily rose and crossed the room, drawers opening, hangers whispering against one another. "You know," she said lightly, "I imagine the rumors will be delicious once they start to spread."
Elena scoffed, the sound dry. "I swear, you and the maids feed on rumors."
Lily only giggled, disappearing halfway into the wardrobe as she sifted through silk and linen. The faint scent of lavender sachets drifted out with the dresses.
"Is there anything scheduled for today?" Elena asked as she stood. The floor felt cool beneath her bare feet. She turned toward the window and forced herself to face the sunlight, blinking as it washed over her skin, while making her red hair glow like a flame in the night. Her headache pulsed sharper in protest, but she squared her shoulders and endured it.
"Still blank," Lily replied, emerging with a dress draped over her arm. "But I doubt it'll stay that way. News has a habit of reaching your father quickly—by this afternoon, I'd wager."
Elena sighed. The sound carried more weight than she intended. "Then I'll go to the training grounds again." She shook her head faintly, already anticipating his reaction.
This time it wasn't a political slight.
Not a broken alliance.
Not another carefully orchestrated escape from a marriage he'd tried to bind her to.
This time, it was closer. Sharper. Something that could cut inward.
And beneath it all simmered her anger—hot, bitter, impossible to ignore—at the knowledge that Forrest Young, the man her father sought to sell her to, was a slaver.
The word settled in her stomach like molten iron.
It burned.
She exhaled again, long and slow, forcing the thought aside. One problem at a time. If she lingered on it, it would only coil tighter in her chest.
"The training grounds again?" Lily said, doubt creeping into her voice. She frowned at a richly embroidered dress in her hands before sliding it back into the closet. "Nobles will be there. And they've probably already heard."
"Yes," Elena replied, steady. "But I train with the knights. They care about form, discipline, and results—not rumors or politics."
She crossed the room and sat at her desk, the familiar creak of the chair grounding her. Opening her journal where she'd last left off, the faint scent of ink and parchment rose to meet her.
Then she saw it.
In the corner of the page—crooked, smug, unmistakable—was a badly drawn duck.
Elena snickered before she could stop herself, warmth blooming faintly in her cheeks. "Idiot," she murmured under her breath, her fingers brushing over the ink as if it might still be warm.
"Everything alright?" Lily called, returning with a fresh set of training clothes draped over her arm.
Elena shook her head, still smiling. "He drew a duck in my journal."
Lily stopped mid-step. She blinked once. Then again. "Uh… aren't you—well—concerned?" Her voice trailed off, one brow arching. "I mean, I know you—"
"No," Elena cut in gently, leaning back in her chair. The wood pressed coolly against her spine. "I'm not worried he read anything. He just likes doing things like that. Random things. To tease me." Her amber eyes lingered on the ridiculous little sketch longer than necessary.
"Really?" Lily tilted her head, green eyes gleaming with mischief. Her dark hair slid over her shoulder like spilled ink. "I didn't think you two were that close."
Elena shot her a sharp look. Lily only giggled at the faint flush rising in Elena's cheeks.
"We're just friends," Elena said firmly.
The words settled wrong in her chest, too stiff, too rehearsed.
"Oh?" Lily hummed. "You haven't done anything naughty, have you?"
Elena's face heated instantly. "No," she snapped then she froze.
The memory hit her like a sudden jolt.
A memory of last night resurfaced unpleasantly in the carriage, and how she approached him and leaned on him to pet those fluffy ears. Of how he seemed to try to hide the pleasure of it, and how he tried to pull away but failed. Toppling on top of her, when the carriage rocked, and his head landing in her breasts, and the heat of his breath and the stillness of him.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
It all rushed back at once, sharp and merciless, like an arrow slipping through a crack in armor.
Elena's face went scarlet. With a groan, she folded forward and buried her face in her journal, parchment crinkling beneath her forehead—only making her headache throb worse.
Lily froze wide-eyed.
"Oh my," she whispered, her hand flying to cover her mouth that o-ed in surprise.
"Did you two-"
"No!" she cut her off sharply, before she could mutter out more words than necessary. "J-Just a slight mishap, due to my drunken state," she mumbled out, the words thick and clumsy in her mouth, as though her tongue hadn't quite caught up with her thoughts.
Lily stood there watching her, the silence stretching just long enough to be uncomfortable. Then a small smile crept across her face—slow, deliberate—with green emerald eyes focused like a cat that just spotted a mouse. "Do tell," she said teasingly. Her voice was light, sing-song, but there was an undercurrent beneath it, something curious and sharp that pricked at Elena's nerves.
"No, I won't," Elena said, her voice muffled, face still buried in her journal. The parchment crinkled softly beneath her forehead, the faint scratch of dried ink brushing her skin. She inhaled the familiar scent of paper and old leather, grounding herself as much as she could, as if she might somehow disappear into the page—or crawl straight through the nearest window and be free of this conversation entirely.
Lily huffed. "Fine," she complained, the word drawn out as she finally conceded defeat. The soft thump of fabric followed as she set the clothing down on Elena's bed. "Be boring, then."
Elena lifted her head at last, blinking as a dull throb pulsed behind her eyes. "Could you bring breakfast up here?" she asked, her voice steadier now, though fatigue still clung to it. "I want to give my father enough time to calm down and… process things when he hears about the ball."
Lily's expression softened just a touch. She nodded once, a loose strand of raven hair bouncing against her cheek as she turned toward the door. "Of course."
Once she was alone again, Elena stood and crossed the room. Her fingers drifted off from the corner of the journal page, brushing over the crooked little duck. The ink was dry and cool beneath her touch, but the gesture sparked a small, reluctant smile all the same.
"Idiot," she murmured fondly.
She changed into her training clothes, the familiar weight of the fabric settling over her like armor she knew by heart. The material hugged her movements without restriction, worn smooth in places by use. No embroidery. No silks. Nothing ornamental. These clothes were meant for sweat and strain, for bruises and discipline, but for survival.
By the time Lily returned, the soft clink of porcelain announced her arrival. The scent of food followed her in: salt and fat and warmth. Eggs, still steaming faintly, and crisp bacon that crackled softly as the tray was set down. Two glass cups caught the light, beads of condensation sliding slowly down their sides.
"Thank you," Elena said, genuine relief slipping into her voice. She reached for one of the glasses and drank deeply. The water was cold and clean, sliding down her throat with ease, chasing away the lingering dryness and dull ache behind her eyes.
She lowered the glass and watched the last of the water slosh gently against its sides as she gave it a slow swirl. Then she set it down; the faint clink of glass sounded louder than it should have in the quiet room. "Prepare a carriage for the training grounds, please," she said at last, her voice distant, already drifting ahead to the plan she'd been turning over in her mind.
It would likely be a bigger incident now, after her father's latest attempt to marry her off. The thought tugged her mouth into a small frown.
"As you wish, Lady Falmil," Lily replied, her tone perfectly polite, smooth, and professional, with no trace of the rumor-hungry curiosity she'd worn earlier. She turned and left, the soft click of the door marking her departure.
Elena exhaled through her nose and finished her meal quickly. The warmth of the food spread through her, easing the tight knot in her stomach bit by bit. Grease and salt grounded her, anchoring her back into her body. The pounding in her head dulled—not gone, but manageable now. The hangover loosened its grip, retreating slowly, as if reluctant to surrender entirely.
She let out a long, quiet sigh as the ache finally ebbed away. Straightening her shoulders, she drew herself up and slipped the mask of nobility back into place—composed, measured, untroubled—as she stepped out of her room.
The corridors beyond were cool and hushed, sunlight filtering through high windows in pale bands across the wood floor. Elena moved swiftly, keeping to the edges of the halls, her boots whispering against the polished wood. When she spotted her mother approaching from the far end, her pulse spiked.
She darted behind a corner and pressed herself to the wall, holding her breath as her mother passed. Perfume and silk trailed first, followed by the faint sound of measured footsteps. Elena didn't move until they faded completely.
Then she slipped out and continued, silent as a shadow.
Years spent navigating the caves—where a misplaced step could send echoes racing down the stone and draw hungry attention — and with the help of Jake, he had taught her how to move without sound. She let that instinct guide her now, gliding through the halls as if she were nothing more than a breath of air.
At last, the front doors loomed ahead. She reached them and slipped outside before anyone could take proper notice, the cool morning air brushing her face like a blessing.
The carriage waited just beyond the steps, polished wood catching the light. Lily stood beside it, composed and ready. Elena offered her a brief smile before climbing inside, settling onto the seat as the door shut with a solid thud.
Moments later, the carriage lurched forward, wheels rolling over stone as they set off toward the training grounds.