After the two of us stepped down from the carriage, I began walking toward the house with shopping bags in both hands. Veralyn followed behind me, her steps slow and slightly drowsy. Moonlight illuminated the small path connecting the carriage stop to my house among the trees.
But as we neared the front door, I noticed something.
A white envelope lay at the threshold.
I frowned. Not many people knew the location of this house. Serena, of course. A few couriers from Crescentia Group. And my parents, who visited from time to time. Beyond them, almost no one had ever set foot here.
I set the shopping bags down on the porch floor, then picked up the envelope. There was no sender's name on the outside. Only a single line of handwriting that was neat yet slightly trembling, as though written by someone whose hands were not accustomed to writing, or someone who had been holding something back while putting pen to paper.
"For the prince who saved my daughter."
My heart beat harder.
There was only one person in this world who would write a sentence like that.
"A letter?" Veralyn asked from behind me.
I immediately slipped the envelope into my pocket with a motion I hoped looked natural.
"Ah, it is just a business letter from Serena," I replied reflexively.
A lie that came too quickly. Too smoothly. I hoped Veralyn had not noticed.
She looked at me for half a second longer than usual, but ultimately nodded without asking further.
I opened the door and we both stepped inside. The air within felt cool and familiar, the scent of wood and medicinal herbs from the garden drifting in through the vents.
"I will put these in your room," I said, lifting the shopping bags.
Veralyn nodded. "Thank you. I will prepare water for a bath."
"You do not need to do that."
"I want to," she answered flatly, then walked toward the kitchen without waiting for my response.
I watched her back for a few seconds. This woman truly could never sit still. Even after a full day of walking, shopping, eating, and meeting royalty, she still felt the need to do something.
I carried the bags to the guest room that had now become Veralyn's, placed them neatly beside the wardrobe, then walked to my own room at the end of the hallway.
The door closed behind me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, drew a long breath, then pulled the envelope from my pocket.
My hand paused for a moment before opening it. I already knew who the sender was. And I could already imagine what it contained. Yet even so, there was something heavy in my chest as my fingers unfolded the paper inside.
The same handwriting. Neat yet trembling. Ink that in several places had faded slightly, as though drops of water had fallen on it before the ink had time to dry.
Not water.
Tears.
I began to read.
To Sir Raymond.
Forgive me for not having the courage to meet you in person. I am only a maid who is not worthy of standing before someone who has done what I could not do as a mother.
When the news of what happened in the academy hall first reached my ears, I felt my world collapse. My daughter, the child who had endured everything all this time, was sentenced to death. And I was not there. I could not protect her. As had always been the case throughout her life, I was never able to protect her.
I rushed to the capital immediately. Running like a madwoman. I did not know what I would do when I arrived. I had no money. No power. No voice loud enough to be heard by anyone. I was just a maid who wanted to see if her child was still alive.
But when I arrived, I saw something I had never imagined.
My daughter was walking through the streets of the capital. Side by side with a young man. She was wearing new clothes. Her steps were light. And on her face, though faintly, there was something I had not seen in a very long time.
Peace.
My daughter who had always borne everything alone throughout her life, who had never cried in front of anyone, who had built walls around her heart because this world had never been kind to her, for the first time looked as though she was going to be alright.
And I knew it was because of you.
Sir Raymond, I do not know who you truly are. I do not know why you saved her. And I dare not ask. All I know is that you did something that should have been my duty.
Protecting her.
For eighteen years, I failed at that. I let my daughter wear hand-me-down gowns. I let her be treated like a stranger in her own home. I let this world treat her in ways no one deserves. And what I can never forgive myself for most of all, I let her grow up believing she was not worthy of being loved.
All of that because I was too weak. Too afraid. Too powerless.
Forgive me for not coming to see you both today. I stood at a distance and watched you walk together. I wanted to approach. I wanted to hold my daughter. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry. For everything.
But I am not worthy. Not because I am a maid. But because I am a mother who failed. And I am afraid that if my daughter sees me, she will be reminded of all the pain she has carried.
I know I am not worthy of saying this. I know this request is too great from someone who has nothing to offer.
But I am entrusting my child to you, Sir Raymond.
Please take care of her.
Please give her the things I could never give. A simple happiness. A genuine peace. And someone who sees her not as a mixed-blood child, not as a prince's former fiancee, not as a villain, but as Veralyn.
Just Veralyn.
Thank you so very much. From a mother who does not deserve to be called one.
I folded the letter.
No. I did not fold it. I crushed it.
My fingers clenched the paper with a force that nearly tore it apart. I could feel the fibers of the paper crumpling beneath my grip, and only when I heard the small sound of a tear at the corner of the envelope did I force my hand to stop.
I drew a breath. Deep. Long.
But the anger did not fade.
Not anger at Veralyn's mother. Not anger at this letter. Not anger at anyone outside this room.
I was angry at myself.
She had been there. In the capital. Today. While Veralyn and I walked through the streets, while we entered the Crescentia Grand Emporium, while we ate at Madame Lorna's restaurant. A woman had stood at a distance, watching her daughter from a place she could not reach, and I had not noticed.
If only I had noticed. If only I had looked around a little more carefully. Veralyn could have met her mother today. The woman who for eighteen years had snuck into her daughter's room every night to mend hand-me-down gowns, the woman who bore everything in silence, had been standing in the same city as her daughter and had not dared to come closer.
And I had let that moment pass because I was not paying enough attention.
Veralyn had already lost too much. Her engagement. Her status. A family that refused to defend her. But her mother was not one of the things she had lost. Her mother was still there. Still loved her. And if I had noticed earlier, today Veralyn could have come home not only with new clothes, but with something far more precious.
A hug from her mother.
My jaw tightened.
I looked at the letter, now crumpled in my hand. Slowly, very slowly, I smoothed it back out. Pressing the creases flat with my fingers. Making sure every word was still legible.
This letter was not mine to destroy.
I placed it in the drawer of the small table beside the bed, far beneath a stack of books that no one but me would ever touch.
Outside the room, I could hear the faint sound of Veralyn preparing water.
That woman did not know her mother had been in the same city as her today. Standing at a distance, watching her daughter walk, and not daring to approach.
And I, the person who was supposed to be looking after her, had not noticed.
I clenched my fists on my knees.
This mistake would not happen again.
Someday, I would give this letter to Veralyn. And when that day came, I would make sure she did not only receive the letter, but her mother as well.
But not today.
Today, let her sleep in peace.