Meisha moved with slow, deliberate breaths as she prepared herself to leave the safety of her quarters. The warmth of the stew still settled in her stomach — grounding, steadying — just as Kaydence had insisted. She had eaten every last spoonful, not because she felt hungry, but because she knew he needed her strong.
Before stepping out, she reached beneath her cloak and tucked small bundles of sage and lavender against the inner seams of her clothing. The herbs were familiar, comforting, and potent enough to mask the faint trace of Kaydence's scent still clinging to her skin from their embrace.
She couldn't risk Varrick noticing anything out of place.
Not tonight.
Not when everything was shifting.
With one last inhale, she opened her door and stepped into the corridor.
The estate halls were dim, lit only by the flicker of wall sconces that cast long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. Her footsteps were soft, practiced — the quiet tread of someone who had learned to move unseen.
But tonight, something felt different.
Her body still ached faintly from the toxins, but her mind… her mind was sharper than it had been in years. The truth Kaydence had revealed still echoed inside her, heavy but clarifying. Every step she took down the corridor felt like walking a tightrope between the life she'd been forced into and the life she might finally reclaim.
She adjusted the herbs beneath her clothing, ensuring they stayed hidden.
Kaydence's scent was masked.
Her heartbeat steadied.
She could do this.
She had to do this.
As she reached the end of the corridor, she paused, glancing back once — not because she expected to see him, but because she could still feel the warmth of his arms around her, the quiet promise he'd whispered into her hair.
I'm coming back for you, Meisha.
She swallowed hard, straightened her posture, and stepped into the next hall — toward Varrick's chambers, toward danger, toward the role she had to play a little longer.
The night had settled over the estate.
And Meisha walked straight into it.
Meisha reached Lord Varrick's study and paused, steadying her breath before lifting her hand to knock.
Three soft taps.
Silence.
She waited, listening for the familiar scrape of his chair, the irritated sigh, the heavy footsteps that always followed. Nothing came.
She knocked again, a little firmer this time.
Still nothing.
A strange unease prickled at the back of her neck. Varrick was many things — cruel, volatile, obsessive — but absent was rarely one of them. Especially not at this hour.
She tried the handle.
Locked.
Meisha exhaled slowly. If he wasn't in his study, there was only one other place he might be at this time of night — the western wing, where the kitchen staff prepared the late‑evening trays and where Varrick often prowled when he was restless.
She turned and began making her way down the corridor.
The deeper she walked into the western side of the estate, the louder the commotion became. Voices overlapped in hurried whispers and excited chatter — a rare break in the usual rigid silence of the servants' quarters.
As she rounded the corner, she caught fragments of their conversation.
"—crossed the Ashen Vale, can you believe it?"
"A Grand Moose! In winter no less—"
"They say Duke Hennis's knights brought it down—"
"No, no, it was his proxy. The one with the silver crest—"
"Did you see the size of the antlers? Spirits above—"
Meisha slowed her steps, listening without appearing to. The servants were gathered near the kitchen entrance, hands still busy with pots and linens but their attention clearly elsewhere.
A Grand Moose crossing the Vale was rare enough.
But being slain?
That was unheard of.
Her heart tightened. She remembered the bell. The tremor in Kaydence's voice. The way he'd nearly stood up in alarm before she stopped him.
Nichelle…
The thought flickered through her mind like a spark.
She kept walking, slipping past the cluster of servants unnoticed. Their chatter swelled behind her, a mix of awe and fear — the kind that came when the world shifted in ways no one expected.
As she stepped into the kitchen's warm glow, she braced herself.
If Varrick was anywhere tonight, it would be here.
And she needed to face him with every ounce of composure she had left.
Meisha slipped out of the kitchen, the noise of the servants fading behind her as she made her way toward the central entrance hall. The air grew cooler the closer she came, the wide stone corridor opening into the grand foyer where the estate's activity always seemed to converge.
Tonight was no different.
Silas stood at the center of it all, his voice sharp and commanding as he directed servants in every direction.
"Move those linens to the east wing— No, not that tray, the other one— Someone fetch the steward immediately— We don't have all night!"
His back was turned to her, shoulders tense, posture rigid with the strain of keeping the estate from descending into chaos. Meisha approached quietly, her steps soft but purposeful.
Silas spun around mid‑order—and froze when he saw her.
"Meisha." Relief washed over his face so quickly it almost startled her. "Thank the Heavens you're here."
She tilted her head slightly, keeping her expression neutral. "What's going on?"
Her voice carried just the right amount of confusion, the perfect imitation of a servant who had been tucked away and unaware. She had learned long ago how to mask her thoughts, how to blend into the background even when the world around her was shifting.
Silas didn't question her tone.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves might be listening.
"It's Lord Varrick," he said, glancing around before continuing. "He's in a foul mood. Worse than usual. The news about the Grand Moose has him… unsettled."
Meisha kept her face carefully blank, though her pulse quickened.
Unsettled Varrick was dangerous.
Silas continued, "He's demanded all senior staff be accounted for. I've been trying to gather everyone, but with the commotion—" He exhaled sharply. "We need you. He'll be expecting you."
Meisha nodded slowly, her mind already shifting into the role she had perfected over the years—obedient, composed, invisible when necessary.
Inside, though, something else stirred.
A quiet strength. A growing resolve. A reminder of Kaydence's arms around her, his voice steady in her ear.
Continue to be strong just a little longer.
She straightened her posture.
"Where is he now?" she asked, her tone calm, controlled.
Silas gestured toward the upper level. "His private lounge. He's been pacing for the last hour."
Of course he had.
Meisha inhaled softly, bracing herself.
"I'll go see if the prude needs anything," Meisha muttered, letting just enough irritation slip into her voice to sound believable. Silas didn't question it — he never did when it came to her and Varrick.
She turned toward the central staircase, gathering her composure as she began the ascent. The first flight was quiet, her footsteps soft against the polished stone. But as she reached the curve leading to the second flight—
"Oh! And Meisha!"
Silas's voice echoed up from the foyer below.
She stopped mid‑step, one hand gripping the handrail, her body angled toward him. "Yes?" she called down, keeping her tone neutral.
Silas cupped a hand around his mouth. "He's up there with his father as well. His brother should be returning soon from slaying the beast."
Meisha's stomach tightened.
Of course. Of course, the entire Varrick bloodline had to be gathered tonight of all nights.
She let out a deep, weary sigh — one she didn't bother to hide.
"Thanks for the warning!" she shouted back, lifting a hand in a quick wave before continuing up the second flight of stairs.
Her steps were steady, but inside, her thoughts churned.
Varrick. His father. His brother returning triumphant from the Grand Moose hunt.
Three men cut from the same cloth — power, ego, cruelty wrapped in noble titles.
And she was walking straight toward them.
But she kept climbing.
Because she had to. Because Kaydence was counting on her. Because the situation had shifted — and for the first time in years, she wasn't walking into danger alone.
She reached the landing, inhaled once, and prepared herself for whatever waited behind the next door.
Meisha approached the private lounge with careful, silent steps. The door was cracked just enough for sound to spill into the hallway, and the moment she drew close, a thunderous voice shook the air.
"YOU ARE UTTERLY USELESS!"
Duke Warren Hennis.
His fury vibrated through the wood.
Meisha froze, breath caught in her throat.
"Father, I'm doing my best to find him," Varrick pleaded, his voice thin and strained — a tone she had never heard from him before.
"Your best. Your best." Warren spat the words like poison. "If it were your brother, he would have found him by now."
Meisha's hand hovered near the doorframe. She knew she needed to announce herself… but not yet. Not while the truth was spilling so freely.
She stayed still, listening.
"And the Emberwynn girl," Warren continued, voice dropping into something colder. "Why isn't she with child yet?"
Meisha's eyes widened.
With child?
The words formed silently on her lips, her stomach twisting.
Inside, Varrick exhaled sharply. "Father, you know as well as I do that you can't take them by force. The flame that dwells within them will fade."
"Excuses," Warren snapped. "Maybe I should have your brother handle it, since it seems you can't get the job done."
"Father, I can handle it," Varrick insisted. "Just give me more time."
Meisha could hear pacing — heavy, irritated footsteps moving from one end of the room to the other. Duke Warren's voice rose and fell with the movement, each pass sharper than the last.
"More time! I gave you fifteen years."
A glass shattered — violently — against the far wall. Meisha flinched, heart hammering.
"You failed at obtaining her mother," Warren roared. "Now you can't even obtain her child."
Meisha's breath caught.
Her mother.
Her child.
Fifteen years.
The pieces slammed together in her mind with brutal clarity.
She wasn't just a servant. She wasn't just a captive.
She was a target.
A prize.
A lineage they had been trying — and failing — to claim.
Duke Hennis's voice bellowed again, shaking the walls.
"And what of General Kaydence! Why has he not been found!?"
Varrick's voice followed, strained and defensive. "My soldiers have continuously searched the Nykon Forest and only discovered his horse at the Springs."
"I have the king on my ass because of this damned treaty!"
Meisha's pulse quickened. Every word felt like a stone dropping into her stomach. Kaydence's horse. The Springs. The king. The treaty. All of it tangled into something far larger — and far more dangerous — than she had realized.
Then it happened.
A sudden, sharp twist in her gut — instinct, warning, something primal and undeniable.
Move. Back away. Now.
She didn't question it.
Meisha quietly stepped back from the door, retreating across the hallway until her back pressed against the far wall. She lowered her head, clasped her hands in front of her, and slipped seamlessly into a servant's stance — invisible, unobtrusive, exactly where she was expected to be.
Just as she settled into place—
Heavy footsteps echoed up the staircase she had just climbed.
Warren Hennis.
Ascending with the fury of a storm.
Meisha's breath stilled in her chest. If she had been even a few steps closer to that door, he would have caught her listening. He would have known.
She kept her posture perfect, her gaze lowered, her presence small.
Warren reached the landing, his boots striking the stone with authority. He turned sharply—
And saw her.
"Meisha," he said, his voice clipped, commanding.
Meisha lifted her head just enough to acknowledge him, turning her gaze in his direction with practiced obedience.
"Yes, my lord."
Her voice was steady.
Her heart was not.
Meisha dipped her head respectfully. "I was instructed by Silas to see if Lord Varrick was in need of anything, my lord. But when I approached the door…" She let her gaze flick briefly toward the lounge, then back down. "I heard yelling. I wasn't sure when it would be appropriate to knock."
Warren turned his head toward the door, and even from across the hall, the muffled roar of Duke Hennis's fury bled through the wood. The man's voice was unmistakable — sharp, venomous, relentless.
Warren's jaw twitched.
Then he looked back at Meisha.
"Well," he said, a humorless huff escaping him, "hearing all of that would definitely have me questioning whether to knock as well… if I were a servant."
Meisha offered a small, polite smile — the kind she'd perfected over the years. Soft. Submissive. Unthreatening. The kind that made nobles overlook her, underestimate her.
But inside, her guard stayed high.
Warren Hennis was not a man to be trusted.
She'd heard the whispers over the years — the maids who disappeared after catching his eye, the quiet sobs behind closed doors, the rumors of pregnancies that were "handled" before they could become scandals. Some said he forced the women to get rid of the child. Others said he got rid of the women entirely.
Meisha kept her expression serene, but her stomach tightened.
He stepped closer, his boots clicking sharply against the stone. Not close enough to touch her — but close enough to remind her of the power he wielded without consequence.
"Good," he said, his tone shifting back to command. "Stay here until my father is finished. Varrick will need someone competent once he's done being scolded."
Meisha bowed her head again. "Yes, my lord."
Warren gave a curt nod and strode past her, his cloak brushing the air as he turned to enter the lounge with his father and brother.
Meisha remained perfectly still, hands clasped, head bowed, waiting until the sound of the door closing behind them faded. Only then did she allow herself a slow inhale, steadying her breath and regaining her composure.
Moments later, Varrick's voice cut sharply through the door.
"Meisha!"
The summons was unmistakable — clipped, irritated, commanding.
She stepped forward immediately, approaching the door and opening it with practiced grace. As she entered, Varrick didn't even look at her before barking:
"Close it."
Meisha obeyed, shutting the door quietly behind her.
When she turned, she found all three men watching her.
Lord Varrick sat to her left, tension coiled in his posture. Directly across from her sat Duke Hennis, his expression carved from stone. Beside him, Varrick's brother lounged with a predator's ease, eyes sharp and unreadable.
Varrick's gaze snapped to her.
"Lord Warren states that you were standing outside the door across the hall. Explain."
Meisha kept her posture low, respectful. "I was instructed by Silas to see if you were in need of anything, milord."
Varrick rose from his seat, each step toward her slow and deliberate. When he stopped in front of her, his voice dropped into a low, menacing tone.
"Did you hear anything?"
Meisha lifted her gaze just enough to meet his chin, not his eyes. "Only Duke Hennis shouting, milord… and something breaking. So I felt it was best to wait to enter."
A beat of silence.
Then Varrick's lips curled into something that wasn't quite approval, but close enough.
"Good."
Lord Varrick returned to his seat, jaw tight, eyes avoiding hers. The moment he sat, his father's attention shifted to Meisha like a shadow sliding across the room.
"Meisha," Duke Noren said, his tone eerie and almost nostalgic, "you're beginning to look like your mother with each passing year."
Meisha bowed, keeping her expression neutral even as her stomach tightened. She could feel his gaze crawling over her, assessing, remembering, wanting.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
Noren leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "I was just discussing with Varrick how you should be transferred to the ducal estate. With my retirement approaching, your knowledge and skills would prove useful to Warren when he takes my place."
A cold ripple slid down Meisha's spine.
Kaydence's words echoed in her mind — stay grounded, stay focused. She clung to them like a lifeline. She didn't want to hold on to the hope he'd given her… but a small, stubborn part of her did. A life beyond these walls. A life with her father. A life where she didn't have to pretend every waking moment.
"You're much too kind, Your Grace," she replied, voice steady despite the storm inside her.
"I think that's a great idea, Father," Warren chimed in.
He stood and approached her with slow, deliberate steps. He towered over her, but Meisha kept her head bowed, hands clasped, posture perfect. She could feel his eyes on her — hungry, entitled, possessive.
"Not only does she resemble her mother," Warren said, glancing toward his father and brother, "she has her smell as well."
Meisha's pulse hammered. She prayed the sage and lavender masked every trace of Kaydence.
Warren leaned in, lowering his face toward her neck. She felt the heat of his breath before he inhaled deeply, pulling in her scent like he had a right to it.
"Like crisp winter mixed with herbs."
Her body went rigid.
His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer.
Meisha's eyes darted to Varrick over Warren's shoulder — a silent plea, a desperate hope that he would intervene, that he would show even a shred of decency.
But Varrick looked away.
Coward, she thought, the word burning through her like fire.
"Enough! Warren."
Duke Warren's voice cracked through the room like a whip.
Warren froze, his grip tightening once before he released her. He straightened, expression shifting back into something smug and unbothered, as if he hadn't just crossed a line.
Meisha stepped back, reclaiming her space, her breath, her dignity — even if only by inches.
Varrick finally spoke, his voice clipped and brittle around the edges.
"If my father and brother are no longer in need of anything… you are dismissed for the evening."
Meisha remained still for a few seconds longer, waiting for Duke Noren or Warren to object. Neither man spoke. Their silence hung thick in the air, heavy with unspoken intentions.
She bowed her head. "I'll prepare some herbal tea for the three of you and leave it with Silas."
Varrick waved a hand dismissively, not even looking at her. "That'll do. You are dismissed."
The moment the words left his mouth, Meisha turned sharply, opened the door, and slipped out. She closed it behind her with controlled precision — not too fast to seem panicked, not too slow to seem defiant.
Only when the latch clicked shut did she allow herself a breath.
A single, quiet breath.
Her heart was still pounding from Warren's proximity, from the weight of Duke Noren's gaze, from Varrick's cowardice. But she kept her posture straight as she walked down the hall, each step measured, each inhale steady.
She had survived the room.
Meisha descended the stairs with the heaviness of someone who had been wrung out and left to dry. Each step felt languid, her legs moving as though she carried two full water barrels balanced across her shoulders. The encounter with the Hennis men clung to her like a second skin — suffocating, unwelcome, impossible to shake off.
Silas was still stationed near the central entrance, though the frantic edge from earlier had faded. The estate had finally begun to settle into its nighttime rhythm. Servants moved with quieter purpose, the chaos of the day replaced by a tired hush.
Silas turned just in time to see Meisha reach the bottom step.
His brow furrowed.
He stepped toward her and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, stopping her before she could take another step.
"Meisha," he said softly, concern threading through his voice. "Are you okay? You don't look so well."
Meisha forced herself to turn toward him, pulling the mask back over her features. She couldn't let him pry — not tonight, not with everything she'd overheard, not with the weight of Warren's hands still ghosting her waist.
"Yes, I'm fine," she said, injecting a tired but believable smile. "Just… tired from the day."
Silas studied her for a moment longer, but he didn't push. He never pushed.
"All right," he said gently. "Did Lord Varrick have any other requests?"
"He did," Meisha replied. "He requested some herbal tea to be prepared for the three of them and I could give you the tray to you to deliver."
Silas's expression shifted — a subtle tightening around the eyes, a flicker of understanding. Varrick rarely had others deliver his tea unless something had happened. Something unpleasant.
"I'll be here when you're finished," Silas said, his tone carrying a quiet promise. "Did he give you any other tasks?"
"No," she answered. "After preparing the tea, I'm dismissed for the evening."
Silas nodded. "I'll leave you to it then."
He stepped aside, giving her space to move toward the kitchen. But his eyes lingered on her a moment longer — noticing the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she held her breath between steps, the exhaustion she tried so hard to hide.
Meisha kept walking.
She had a task to complete.
And after that… she would finally be free to breathe.
The kitchen was silent when Meisha entered — blessedly, mercifully silent. The moment the door swung shut behind her, the mask she'd been holding together all evening cracked.
Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.
No sobs. No sound. Just a steady, uncontrollable stream as her body finally reacted to everything she had endured upstairs — Warren's hands, Duke Noren's gaze, Varrick's cowardice, the truth she'd overheard.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, forcing her breathing to stay quiet. She didn't want anyone to hear. She didn't want anyone to see.
When she could move again, she hurried into the pantry, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. She grabbed lemon balm and chamomile — her hands trembling only slightly — and set them on the counter.
The motions grounded her.
She prepared the wood-burning stove, striking the flint until the flame caught. She placed the kettle on top, filling it with water and letting the fire coax it toward a boil.
The kitchen's warmth wrapped around her, but it didn't soothe her. Not tonight.
She set out a tray, arranging everything with practiced precision: the teapot, three saucers, three cups.
Her hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over where her mind could not.
When the kettle finally whistled, the sharp sound cut through the quiet like a blade. Meisha lifted it carefully, pouring the steaming water into the teapot. The herbs followed — lemon balm first, then chamomile — their calming scent rising in gentle waves.
She watched the steam curl upward, her expression hardening.
Since you want to be calm, she thought bitterly, I have some calm for all three of you.
She placed the lid on the teapot, set it on the tray, and straightened her posture. Her tears had dried, leaving faint tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes were steady now.
She picked up the tray.
Her steps were slow but sure as she made her way back toward Silas — the only person in this estate who had ever shown her genuine concern.
The only person she could trust with this small, necessary task.
Meisha reached Silas just as the patrolling soldier stepped away, dismissed with a curt nod. The soldier returned to his post, boots echoing down the hall. But Meisha's senses sharpened immediately — something in Silas's posture had shifted. His face, usually composed even under pressure, now carried a tight, worried crease.
She approached him with the tray balanced in her hands.
"Now I'm the one asking," she said softly. "Are you okay? What happened just now?"
Silas let out a deep groan as he took the tray from her, the weight of it nothing compared to whatever news he'd just received.
"I'll tell you," He muttered, leaning closer "since you don't go blabbing about like most individuals in this estate."
He angled his head toward her ear, voice dropping to a whisper.
"That soldier just gave me a message. A messenger from the demon king just delivered this. King Burruk's advisor — who is also General Kaydence's father — will be arriving either tomorrow late night in the evening or the morning after."
Meisha's breath stilled.
"This doesn't bode well for you," she said quietly. "Good thing I made the tea extra strong. Just make sure you give it to them before you deliver the message."
A small, tired smile tugged at Silas's lips. "Thank you, Meisha. You're an angel," he added, sincerity softening his features.
"You're welcome, Silas." She stepped back, exhaustion settling into her bones. "I'm going to retire to my quarters now."
"Rest well, Meisha."
"I will."
The two parted ways — Silas heading up the central staircase with the tray, shoulders squared for whatever awaited him upstairs. Meisha turned toward the eastern wing, her steps slow but steady as she made her way down the long corridor.
The estate grew quieter with each turn she took, the noise of the upper floors fading behind her. When reaching the door, she opened and closed it behind her, then descended the narrow staircase leading to the basement quarters, the air cooler, the stone walls familiar.
Meisha slipped into her quarters and closed the door behind her with a soft click. The moment the latch settled, her body finally gave out.
Her back pressed against the wood, her knees buckled, and the breath she'd been holding since the lounge tore free from her chest. Tears spilled again—quiet, exhausted, unstoppable. The kind that came not from weakness, but from surviving too much in too little time.
Her sanctuary — small, dim, and humble — waited for her at the end of the stairs.
And for the first time all day, she allowed herself to exhale.
Kaydence was on his feet before she even registered his movement.
He crossed the small room in two strides and gathered her into his arms, pulling her against him with a gentleness that unraveled her completely. His left hand cradled the back of her head, guiding her face into the safety of his shoulder. His right hand braced the small of her back, steadying her as if he could hold up all the pieces she could no longer carry.
"I'm sorry you had to experience that, Meisha," he murmured, voice low and steady against her ear.
The sound of him—warm, grounded, real—broke something open inside her. She clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as if anchoring herself to the only place she felt safe.
Her tears soaked into his shoulder, but he didn't flinch. He held her tighter, his thumb stroking slow, soothing circles at the base of her skull. His breath was calm, deliberate, a rhythm for her to match.
"You shouldn't have had to face them alone," he added, his voice thick with a quiet fury he kept contained for her sake. "Not after everything you've endured today."
Meisha shook her head against him, her voice barely a whisper. "I didn't know how much more I could take."
Kaydence rested his cheek against her hair, his hold firm but tender. "You're here now. You're safe. Let it out."
And she did.
For the first time all day, she let herself fall apart—because she knew he would catch every piece.
Kaydence didn't loosen his hold when Meisha tried to speak. Her face was still buried in his chest, her breaths uneven, her body trembling from everything she had held in all day. She tried again, voice catching in her throat.
"Kaydence… something happened—"
He shook his head gently, the hand at the back of her head tightening just enough to steady her. His other hand stayed firm at the small of her back, anchoring her.
"No," he murmured, his voice low and warm, a grounding hum against her ear. "You don't need to explain."
Meisha blinked up at him, confusion flickering through her tears. "But… how could you—?"
Kaydence met her gaze, his expression soft but certain.
"I witnessed everything that happened when you returned to your duties."
Her breath hitched. "How?"
He brushed his thumb along the back of her head, a soothing gesture that made her shoulders finally sag.
"My name is Kaydence for a reason," he said, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. "My ability is tied to rhythm. To vibration."
Meisha's brows knit, her tears slowing as she listened.
"I can feel the vibrations within a certain radius of me," he continued. "Footsteps. Movement. Voices. Even the tension in the air when someone lies or raises their voice."
He exhaled softly, his forehead lowering to hers for a moment.
"When people speak, their words create patterns—subtle, but distinct. I can sense them. Follow them. Interpret them."
Meisha's eyes widened, realization dawning.
"You… heard everything," she whispered.
Kaydence nodded, his jaw tightening with a quiet, controlled anger that wasn't directed at her.
"Every word spoken in Varrick's lounge," he confirmed. "Every threat. Every intention. Every time you were forced to stand there and endure them."
His hand at her back slid upward, resting between her shoulder blades as if shielding her from the memory.
"You were not alone in that room," he said softly. "Even if they thought you were."
Meisha's breath trembled, but this time it wasn't from fear.
It was from relief.
From being seen.
From not having to carry the weight of that moment by herself.
Kaydence held her closer, his voice a steady pulse against her ear.
"I'm here, Meisha. I felt every vibration of your fear… and every ounce of your strength."
Meisha's breathing had steadied, though her face was still pressed lightly against Kaydence's chest. The warmth of him, the steadiness of his hands, the grounding rhythm of his voice — all of it helped her find her center again.
After a long moment, she whispered, "Did you… hear the exchange between Silas and the soldier? The one who brought the message?"
Kaydence didn't hesitate.
"I did."
Meisha pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes searching his. He held her gaze, calm and certain.
"I know my father is already en route," he continued. "If not already inside this kingdom's borders."
A shadow crossed his expression — not fear, but a solemn acknowledgment of what was coming.
"And Meisha…" His voice softened, deepened. "None of this would have unfolded without your sacrifice. Without your courage."
He brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his knuckles, gentle as a whisper.
"You've given me a chance I didn't think I'd ever have again. And what you've done for me… will be returned to you tenfold."
Meisha shook her head, her voice quiet but firm. "I would have helped you regardless. Whether you were friend or foe."
Kaydence's expression shifted — something warm, something reverent, something that saw her more clearly than anyone ever had. He exhaled slowly, releasing the last of his tension.
Then, with a tenderness that felt like a promise, he loosened his embrace.
"Come," he murmured.
He guided her toward the bed, their hands brushing but not fully parting until they reached the edge. They sat side by side, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight.
For the first time all day, Meisha felt the world slow down.
The room was quiet. The danger was outside. And here, beside him, she could finally breathe.
Kaydence rested his forearms on his knees, leaning slightly toward her — close enough to feel his presence, but giving her space to settle.
"Whatever comes next," he said softly, "you won't face it alone."
Meisha sat beside Kaydence on the edge of her bed, her hands resting loosely in her lap. The room felt smaller now — not suffocating, but intimate, the air thick with everything she'd endured and everything still ahead.
She drew in a steadying breath. "Do we need to change anything about the plan Nichelle and I made?"
Kaydence shook his head. "No. The plan remains the same."
His voice was calm, but there was a new sharpness beneath it — the kind that came from seeing the path ahead more clearly than before.
"With my father on the way," he continued, "it actually works in our favor. It means I can rendezvous with Nichelle sooner. And it puts pressure on the Hennis family — pressure that benefits us."
Meisha nodded slowly, relief flickering through her chest.
But Kaydence wasn't finished.
"There is one problem we might run into."
Her breath caught. "What would that be?"
Kaydence turned toward her fully, his expression shifting — not fearful, but deeply concerned.
"Warren," he said quietly. "When he leaned in… when he took in your scent."
Meisha's stomach tightened.
Kaydence's jaw flexed, the memory clearly unsettling him. "I'm wondering if the sage and lavender were strong enough to mask mine."
The room seemed to still around them.
Meisha swallowed. "You think he might have sensed something?"
Kaydence didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his hands, then back at her, his gaze steady and honest.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But Warren is perceptive in all the wrong ways. And if he caught even a hint of something unfamiliar on you…" His voice dropped, low and protective. "He'll start looking for the source."
Meisha felt a cold ripple move through her.
Kaydence reached out, placing his hand gently over hers — grounding her again.
"We'll adjust if we have to," he said. "But for now, we stay the course. Nichelle will return tomorrow night. And I'll be ready."
His thumb brushed the back of her hand, a small gesture of reassurance.
Meisha sat beside Kaydence on the edge of her bed, her fingers loosely intertwined in her lap. The danger of Warren's suspicion still lingered between them, but now there was something else too — a quiet, shared determination.
Kaydence leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "We'll need to be careful until the rendezvous," he said. "Especially with Warren sniffing around — literally."
Meisha grimaced, remembering the way Warren had leaned in, inhaling her scent like he had a right to it.
Kaydence continued, voice low and thoughtful. "I've been thinking. Tomorrow morning, when you wake for your duties… we should take turns showering."
Meisha blinked. "Showering?"
He nodded. "You go first. Leave the water running. I'll swap in right after you. It'll wash away most of the lingering scent on both of us — at least briefly."
Meisha considered it. It was simple. Practical. Smart.
"But," Kaydence added, "to make the masking last longer, you could brew a sage oil. Something strong enough to override anything Warren might pick up on."
A small smile tugged at Meisha's lips before she could stop it.
Kaydence noticed immediately. "What?" he asked, a teasing edge slipping into his voice. "You don't think it's a good plan?"
Meisha shook her head, still smiling softly. "It's not that."
He raised a brow.
"It's just…" She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. "What you just said — the showering, the masking — that was exactly what I intended to do when I relayed to Nichelle about me being able to have you here for this last night. This was my next move to keep them from discovering us."
Kaydence's expression shifted from curiosity to something warm and impressed.
"The only difference," Meisha added, "was that I planned to use lavender along with the sage."
Kaydence let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. "I guess we're vibrating on the same wavelength."
Meisha's smile deepened, softer now. "I guess we are."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't heavy — it was aligned. Harmonized. Two people thinking the same thought before it was spoken.
Kaydence leaned back slightly, his shoulder brushing hers. "Then we move forward with it. Your sage and lavender. The showers. The plan with Nichelle. Everything stays in motion."
Meisha nodded, feeling steadier than she had all day.
Together, they were beginning to move like a single rhythm.
Kaydence nodded once, the agreement between them settling like a shared breath. "Then it's decided," he said. "We follow the plan — and the additions."
His voice shifted, taking on that unmistakable command he carried as a general. "Meisha. Shower. Then get ready for bed."
She blinked, startled. "But I—"
Kaydence cut her off gently but firmly. "No excuses." His tone softened, though the authority remained. "I'll handle the sage. You've done enough today. Take as long as you need."
Something in her chest loosened at that — the permission, the care, the certainty. She didn't argue. She couldn't. Not when her body felt like it was made of frayed nerves and exhaustion.
Meisha rose from the bed and walked toward the small shower stall. She turned the knobs, adjusting the water until it ran warmer than she usually allowed herself — warm enough to soothe the ache in her muscles. Steam began to fill the room.
When she glanced back, Kaydence was already at her desk-shelf, his back to her, grinding herbs with steady, practiced movements. Just as he said he would.
She removed her apron, then her maid's dress, folding them neatly before stepping behind the curtain. She sat on the closed lid of the latrine, letting the warm water rain over her.
And the day replayed itself.
The bracelet leaking toxins into her veins — twice. Her mother's amulet resurfacing in her memory. Meeting Nichelle and forming a plan to return Kaydence to his squadron. Learning her mother's death was being investigated. Discovering the Hennis family had erased her entire existence. And finally… Warren Hennis. His unwanted touch. His breath too close. His hands where they never should have been.
Her hand flew to her mouth as a whimper escaped — small, broken, impossible to hold back. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the water.
Across the room, Kaydence sat at her desk, giving her the privacy she needed. He heard the faint whimpers through the sound of the shower — each one like a vibration against his ribs. He wanted to go to her. To hold her again. To tell her she was safe.
But he stayed where he was, jaw tight, hands steady. Comforting her now, while she was vulnerable and unclothed, would only complicate things. And she deserved dignity.
So he focused on the task.
He ground the lavender and sage together, mixing them into a glass vial and sealing it with a wooden cork. Then another. And another. Eight vials in total — enough for the next few days if needed. He placed them on the shelf near the window, letting the cold settle the mixture.
When he finished, he moved through the room with quiet purpose — changing the sheets on her bed and his cot, adding wood to the burner to keep the room warm through the night.
By the time he was done, the water had stopped.
Kaydence immediately turned his back, facing the opposite wall.
Meisha stepped out with a towel wrapped around her, drying her skin. She reached for her usual nightly oil… then paused. Her hand shifted mid‑air.
"Kaydence," she said softly. "Could you pass me one of the vials?"
He didn't turn. He simply reached for a vial on the shelf, stepped back, and extended it behind him with his face turned away.
She took it gently. "Thank you."
She oiled her skin with the lavender‑sage mixture, the scent calming her nerves, then dressed in her night garb. Kaydence waited until she said, "I'm done," before moving to his cot.
Meisha slipped into her bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. The room was warm, quiet, safe.
A few minutes passed before she whispered, "Kaydence… are you asleep?"
His voice came low, steady. "What's on your mind?"
Meisha stared at the ceiling. "For the first time in a long time… I'm afraid of what tomorrow brings."
Kaydence shifted slightly, not to rise — but to let his voice reach her more clearly. "Do not worry," he said. "Whatever happens tomorrow, know this — you will soon be free from here. No matter what."
Her breath caught.
"Put your trust in me," he added. "Can you do that?"
Meisha closed her eyes. "Yes."
"Then rest," he said softly. "Regain your strength. Tomorrow will demand it from both of us."
The worry in her chest eased, replaced by something warm and steady. She let out a small, sleepy "Okay…" followed by a yawn.
And slowly, the two of them drifted toward rest — the room quiet, the burner crackling softly, the lavender‑sage scent settling over them like a protective veil.