Morning arrived without ceremony.
Grey light crept into Calderne House, filtering through tall windows and settling on stone floors that had seen centuries of beginnings and endings. The house did not stir in greeting. It simply acknowledged the day, as it acknowledged everything—with quiet endurance.
Eirlys woke before the clock struck seven.
For a moment, she lay still beneath unfamiliar sheets, listening. The house breathed around her. Pipes murmured. Somewhere far below, a door opened and closed. Footsteps followed, measured and distant.
She sat up slowly.
The east room looked different in daylight. Less theatrical. More honest. Pale walls. Heavy furniture placed with intention rather than comfort. Nothing here asked her who she was. It only asked that she fit.
She rose, crossed to the window, and parted the curtains.
The garden lay below, neat and restrained. Gravel paths curved around winter-bare hedges. A fountain stood silent at the center, water stilled for the season. Beyond the iron fence, Valenmoor moved on—people heading to work, traffic easing into routine, the city already forgetting yesterday's spectacle.
So quickly, she thought.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Yes," she said, turning.
Elowen entered with a folded garment over one arm and a careful expression. "Good morning."
"Good morning."
"You slept?"
Eirlys considered the question. "Enough."
Elowen nodded as if that were the only acceptable answer. "Breakfast will be served in the small dining room. Sir Calderne has already gone."
Eirlys's hand paused on the curtain. "Gone where?"
"To the offices. He left before dawn."
Of course he did.
"Thank you," Eirlys said.
Elowen hesitated. "Will you take breakfast alone?"
"Yes."
Elowen inclined her head and withdrew.
Eirlys dressed slowly. The clothing laid out for her was tasteful, understated, chosen to offend no one. She adjusted the cuffs, smoothed the fabric, then stopped.
She left the top button undone.
It was a small rebellion. One no one would likely notice. Still, it steadied her.
The small dining room was bright compared to the rest of the house. Sunlight reached the table and lingered there, as if uncertain whether it was allowed to stay. A single place was set. Fresh fruit. Bread still warm. Tea steaming gently.
Eirlys sat and poured herself a cup.
She had taken two sips when footsteps approached.
Maëlle appeared in the doorway, coat draped over her arm, eyes already scanning the room.
"You look like you're about to negotiate a treaty," she said.
Eirlys smiled despite herself. "It feels similar."
Maëlle pulled out a chair and sat. "He's gone."
"Yes."
"Before you woke?"
"Yes."
Maëlle shook her head. "Coward."
"No," Eirlys said quietly. "Consistent."
Maëlle studied her. "How do you feel?"
Eirlys reached for the bread, broke it carefully in half. "Ask me tomorrow."
Maëlle sighed. "You always do this. Delay the truth."
"It doesn't change if I name it now."
Maëlle leaned back. "People are already talking."
"That didn't take long."
"Nothing ever does here." Maëlle's mouth tightened. "They're calling you patient. Sensible. Lucky."
Eirlys's fingers stilled. "Lucky."
"Yes."
"They said the same thing about my mother," Eirlys replied. "Right up until she stopped speaking at all."
Maëlle's gaze softened. "You won't."
Eirlys met her eyes. "I won't if I'm allowed to be heard."
A pause followed.
Maëlle stood. "I'll walk with you today."
"Where?"
"Anywhere that isn't this house."
Eirlys nodded. "Give me a moment."
They walked through Valenmoor side by side an hour later, coats drawn close against the cold. The city looked unchanged, yet Eirlys felt exposed, as if her name had been written on her face overnight.
People noticed.
Some smiled too brightly. Others nodded with careful respect. A few looked past her entirely.
"That one," Maëlle murmured as they passed a woman near the apothecary. "She's already decided you're temporary."
Eirlys didn't look back. "Temporary things can still matter."
"Only if someone remembers them."
They crossed the river bridge, fog rising off the water. Bells rang again, marking the hour.
Maëlle slowed. "You don't belong to him yet," she said. "Not in the ways that count."
Eirlys stopped walking.
Across the bridge, at the far end of the street, a familiar car waited at the curb. Dark. Immaculate. Sebastian stood beside it, speaking to a man Eirlys did not recognize.
He looked composed. Untroubled. Exactly as the city preferred him.
Maëlle followed her gaze. "You didn't expect to see him, did you?"
"No," Eirlys said.
Sebastian glanced up.
For a brief moment, their eyes met across the distance.
The man beside him spoke again, leaning closer. Sebastian's attention shifted away.
The car door opened.
Eirlys exhaled slowly.
"Come on," Maëlle said. "Let him go."
But as they turned back toward the city, Eirlys felt it—the quiet certainty that whatever had begun yesterday was already tightening its hold.
And that Sebastian Calderne had noticed her far more than he meant to.