The rain had finally stopped, leaving the world washed clean but colourless. Dawn broke over Mickelson Manor in a pale hush — no birdsong, only the drip of water from the gutters and the faint rustle of servants beginning their day.
Hakeem had not slept. His eyes burned from the long night, his mind running circles around a single thought: Hyacinth must not go.
He stood by his window, watching the courtyard as the household stirred. Somewhere below, she was likely folding linens, unaware that her time there was counted in days. The thought cut deeper than any wound.
He dressed quickly, his reflection in the mirror that of a man divided between duty and desire. When he fastened the crest pin to his coat, it felt more like a shackle than an emblem.
There was only one person who could change the Duchess's command — his father.
---
The Duke of Mickelson was a man of few words and fewer affections. The years had carved stillness into him, as if he had turned to stone beside his throne of ledgers and maps.
Hakeem found him in the library, seated near the fire with correspondence spread across the desk. The air smelled of ink, old paper, and power.
"Father," Hakeem said, bowing slightly.
The Duke did not look up immediately. "You are awake early."
"I came to ask something of you."
"Ask, then."
Hakeem drew a breath. "Mother intends to send Hyacinth away — the maid who serves in the west wing. I beg you to reconsider."
The Duke's quill paused, but his expression remained unreadable. "And why should I concern myself with a servant's posting?"
"Because she matters to me."
At last, the Duke lifted his gaze. His eyes were clear grey, sharp as winter glass. "You are the heir to this house. Your concern should be inheritance, not infatuation."
"It's not infatuation," Hakeem said quietly. "It's—"
"Love?" The Duke's tone was dry. "A dangerous word for one in your position."
"Then what of Selene?" Hakeem demanded. "Is her engagement also just politics? She's dying a little more each day, and none of you see it."
The Duke leaned back. "Your sister understands duty. You would do well to learn the same. The world does not reward the heart, Hakeem; it rewards restraint."
Hakeem clenched his fists. "If restraint means living without feeling, then perhaps I want no reward."
For the first time, something like pity flickered in the Duke's eyes. "You sound like I once did," he said softly. "And I assure you, the lesson is not worth learning twice."
He turned back to his papers. "The matter is settled. The girl will go. And so will you — to Holloway, to oversee our trade agreement there. A month's absence will clear your mind."
Hakeem's throat tightened. "You would exile me to make me forget her."
"I would preserve your future," the Duke corrected. "That is my duty — as yours will be, one day."
There was nothing more to say. Hakeem bowed stiffly and left, the echo of the closing door the only sound between them.
---
Hyacinth worked quietly that afternoon, her heart heavy with unspoken farewells. Word of her transfer had spread through the servants' quarters, and every smile offered to her carried sorrow.
In the greenhouse — the place where she had once dared to dream — she paused, touching the petals of a white rose. They were smooth, perfect, scentless. The Duchess's favourite.
She whispered, "Even beauty can be a prison."
A rustle behind her made her turn. Hakeem stood there, his coat still damp from the morning.
"My lord," she said, startled. "You shouldn't—"
"I know," he interrupted softly. "But I had to see you before it's too late."
Her voice trembled. "Please don't make this harder."
"They're sending me away, too," he said. "To Holloway."
She froze. "To where I'm going?"
He nodded. "Perhaps fate isn't as cruel as we thought."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Or perhaps it's crueler still — letting us be near, yet never free."
He reached out, his hand brushing hers. "Then let us be free, Hyacinth. Just once."
She shook her head, eyes wide. "You'd lose everything."
"Then let me lose it," he whispered. "I'd rather be ruined with truth than safe in a lie."
For a heartbeat, the world held still. The rain dripped from the glass roof like slow tears.
Then she pulled her hand away. "You don't understand. If we run, they will destroy you — your name, your family, everything. I won't be the reason for that."
"Hyacinth—"
"Promise me," she said, voice breaking. "Promise you'll let me go."
He couldn't speak. The promise lodged in his throat like a blade.
When she left the greenhouse, he remained behind, staring at the door she had closed between them.
---
That night, as the manor slept, Hakeem stood again at his window. The moon was thin and pale, a sliver of hope in the dark.
He thought of his father's warning, his mother's command, and Hyacinth's plea. Each pulled at him like a tide, and he knew one truth above all: if he did nothing, he would lose himself forever.
He turned from the window, jaw set.
> "Then let them call it ruin," he whispered.
"I will call it freedom."
Outside, the first wind of another storm rose, whispering through the trees like a secret shared between lovers and ghosts.