Caelion entered his chambers, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
His expression was distant.
Unreadable.
As though his thoughts were far removed from the world around him.
He moved in silence, each step measured, controlled, until he reached the inner bathing chamber. Steam curled faintly in the air, softening the edges of the room, but it did nothing to dull the sharpness in his gaze.
Without haste, he removed his coat, then the rest of his garments—each motion deliberate, unhurried.
Composed.
He stepped into the bath.
The water barely stirred.
Leaning back against the smooth stone, he exhaled softly, his arms resting along the edges, fingers relaxed—but not loose.
Never loose.
For a moment—
There was only silence.
Then—
A shadow shifted in the far corner of the room.
It did not enter.
It formed.
"I saw her again today," Caelion said at last, his voice low, carrying easily through the stillness.
A pause.
"I need her closer."
The shadow remained quiet for a beat, as though weighing his words.
Then—
"Then why not keep her here?"
Caelion's gaze lifted slightly, though he did not turn.
The faintest smile touched his lips.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Controlled.
"Not yet," he said.
A quiet certainty settled in his tone.
"It isn't time."
Silence followed once more.
But this time—
It felt heavier.
"The king requests an audience with you," the shadow said at last.
Caelion didn't move.
For a moment, it seemed as though he hadn't heard.
Then—
A soft, quiet scoff left his lips.
"That old man…" he murmured, closing his eyes.
There was no respect in his tone.
No urgency either.
Only faint amusement—
And something colder beneath it.
His fingers tapped once against the edge of the bath, slow and deliberate.
"As persistent as ever," he added.
The shadow remained still, waiting.
Caelion opened his eyes again, gaze sharpening slightly as if a thought had just crossed his mind.
"…When?" he asked.
"Immediately."
A pause.
Then—
A faint smile curved his lips.
"Of course," he said softly.
"Tell him… I'll come."
He leaned back once more, completely at ease despite the summons.
"As soon as I'm done."
Meanwhile, miles away at the estate,the corridors were unusually silent. Only the distant echo of a dripping fountain broke the stillness. Samara's footsteps sounded too loud, but she didn't care—her mind felt too restless for sleep. The cool stone walls pressed around her, and the faint scent of extinguished candles lingered in the air, calming yet strange.
"Samara."
The voice carried softly, almost as if it had been waiting for her to speak first. She froze, recognizing it instantly. She didn't turn. Not yet.
"Althea," she said finally, her voice even, though her pulse had quickened.
He emerged from the shadows, his pyjamas loose, his hair ruffled, candlelight softening the sharpness of his features. His eyes, however, were focused, questioning—an unreadable mix of curiosity and concern.
"You haven't gone to bed yet," he asked quietly.
"Yes, I just… needed some fresh air," she replied, her voice casual, though a small thrill ran through her at the sight of him here, at this hour.
Althea's lips curved slightly. "It's way past midnight."
"I noticed. And you?" Samara asked, teasing lightly. "What brings you wandering the halls?"
He cleared his throat, a faint blush tinging his pale skin. "Fresh air indeed."
Samara laughed softly. She could tell they were both lying, in a way only the other could sense. That shared honesty—or dishonesty—made her chest warm with quiet amusement.
She lingered a moment longer, enjoying the rare, unguarded silence. "I'll be on my way then," she said, but the words felt like they left something unsaid, a secret hovering between them.
Althea hummed, a soft, reassuring sound. "Goodnight, Samara," he said finally.
She smiled faintly and continued on, her mind turning over the encounter. Something about him, something hidden beneath his calm exterior, tugged at her thoughts even as she climbed the stairs toward her room.
When she reached her door, Tessa slept peacefully, unaware of the strange stirrings of the night. Samara quietly slipped inside, laying down with her mind still racing. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, shadows stretching across the floor, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine what might come next.
The following morning, Samara was the first to wake.
The room was still dim, the early light barely slipping through the curtains. Tessa remained asleep, her breathing steady, undisturbed.
Samara didn't linger.
She rose quietly and made her way to the bathing chamber, letting the cool water wash away the remnants of the night. For a brief moment, her mind drifted—to the orchard, to the unfamiliar presence, to a name she had already committed to memory.
Caelion.
Her expression hardened slightly.
She pushed the thought aside.
When she returned, Tessa was already awake.
The bed was neatly made, the sheets pulled tight with precision. Tessa moved around the room with practiced ease, every motion controlled, elegant—almost rehearsed.
"Good morning," Samara said as she made her way toward her wardrobe.
"Morning," Tessa replied curtly.
A pause.
"Yesterday… you came in late."
"Yes."
The single word carried a tone that discouraged further questioning.
Tessa seemed to understand.
She said nothing more.
Samara's gaze lingered on her, subtle but observant. The way Tessa carried herself—the straight posture, the quiet confidence, even the delicate jewelry she wore—it wasn't ordinary.
Not for someone training to be a maid.
No—
There was something else.
Something refined.
Something… higher.
Samara wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but she wasn't blind either.
As if sensing the weight of her gaze, Tessa turned. Their eyes met, if only for a fleeting moment.
"I'll go take a bath," Tessa said, her tone neutral. "The competition will begin soon."
Samara gave a small nod.
"Don't keep them waiting."
Tessa turned to leave.
"You carry yourself like someone trained," Samara added casually, as if the thought had only just occurred to her.
Tessa paused.
Just for a second.
Subtle,
but real.
Then she resumed, smoothing the fabric of her sleeve with practiced ease.
"We are all being trained," she replied.
A simple answer.
Too simple.
Samara's gaze lingered, quiet and assessing, but she didn't press further.
Tessa didn't look back again.
The door closed softly behind her.
Silence returned to the room.
But it no longer felt the same.
Samara remained where she stood, her thoughts shifting, aligning,pieces falling into place, though the full picture remained just out of reach.
Her fingers brushed lightly against the edge of her wardrobe.
Interesting.