Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Order had been restored.
Otto was in chains, Princess Adelina’s name had been cleared, and Princess Marianne had returned to her rightful place three days after the arrest. For the first time in weeks, the shackling weight of dread loosened from Cedric’s shoulders, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment.
Moving with a newfound lightness, he went to Nin’s newly assigned room close to the servants’ dormitory.
He no longer had to sneak into secret corridors to reach her, a freedom he relished with every step.
The door, tucked in the corner by the service stairwell, was slightly ajar when he approached, but he rapped on the wood three times before entering.
The walls were bare stone instead of decorated with painted murals, golden decals, and velvet curtains.
A narrow bed sat against the wall by a small window looking out over the stables instead of the gardens, a simple quilt folded neatly over a single pillow.
The scent of lye and damp wool replaced the floral perfumed airs.
It was clean and quiet, nothing like the decadent chambers she had slept in for the past month and a half.
Cedric’s hand lingered on the door handle. Nin folded a familiar, tattered coat, a stained men’s shirt, and ratty trousers into a small bag—the very outfit she had first arrived in. As Nin fastened the bag, Bijou lay on the bed, her big, brown eyes fixed on her new mistress.
A lump formed in Cedric’s throat as he took a step closer.
Nin turned, meeting his confused stare, and shrugged. “I don’t know how Bijou found me, but she did. Don’t tell the princess I kidnapped her, because I didn’t.” She reached over to pat the dog’s head. “She just… showed up.”
“I won’t tell on you,” Cedric said softly.
He had been too busy with his duties since Otto’s arrest to see her for the past three days, yet the emptiness of her absence weighed on him more than he cared to admit.
“Good, because I was going to fetch someone to return her to her rightful owner. I couldn’t well leave her here after I left.” She spoke nonchalantly, but her eyes darted away.
An unexpected pang pricked in his chest. “You’re leaving.”
“Yes,” she said, her grip tightening over the bag. “I figured my job here was done. The princess has returned, and my brother awaits me.”
“But the king and queen wish to have an audience with you,” he said, daring to step closer to bridge the gap between them.
“They’ve rewarded me plenty,” she said, folding her arms around herself—like a shield.
“But—”
“I just wish to see my brother. That’s all I ask,” she said quickly, cutting off the words he wished to reassure her.
Cedric caught the urgency beneath it—the longing for familiarity she’d been denied for too long. He couldn’t blame her, not when she wasn’t allowed to visit her brother during their facade, but the realization settled heavily in his chest.
After everything they had been through, the fear, the close calls with death, and all the vulnerable moments when the world had narrowed to just the two of them, he had thought perhaps…
“You don’t wish to hear them out?” he asked, but the question sat weak on his tongue.
“I don’t need praise,” she said, her mouth pinching.
He swallowed, trying to catch the unspoken message she wouldn’t say out loud. He studied her face, the way she still refused to meet his gaze. This wasn't pride—it was something more visceral.
“You feel you don’t deserve it,” he murmured.
Her frown tightened, her eyes fixed on the floor. The silence that followed was confirmation enough.
“Why?” he asked, taking another step. Close enough to see her shoulders stiffen—but not too close.
His pocket watch ticked down the tentative silence, marking seconds slipping through his fingers.
“I fell for the lie,” she said.
“What lie?”
Her fingers curled around the bag. “Otto used Adelina… and I believed it.”
Cedric frowned. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have. I should have seen through the lies like everything else in this blasted place.”
Her blue eyes met his, and the shame they held unsettled him more than any anger ever could.
“I saw her jealousy, her anger,” she went on, “and I called it proof. It’s how the court works.
Any shred of human emotion is used against you, and I fell for it.
And I don’t want to stay a moment longer in a place where it’s too easy to be blinded.
This place—these ridiculous rules—” She paused, her voice breaking. “It’s suffocating.”
Cedric drew a slow breath. Though he’d lived by those rules throughout his life, he was aware of the gilded bars they used to cage his heart.
Court life was not meant for freedom, it was a life curated for appearances, veiled intentions, and a stage where true feelings were liabilities.
He understood her yearning for reprieve—the longing for the autonomy she had lost the moment she stepped through the gilded threshold.
He knew because he secretly desired it himself.
“You’re right,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped up, surprised.
“This place is filled with ugliness disguised with glamor… and true beauty will only wilt in these halls.”
Silence, heavy and unyielding, settled over them.
“It’s best then,” he went on, his voice tight, “that you leave before you can no longer recognize yourself.”
She nodded, her chin quivering as if relieved he understood. Then she reached behind her and handed him two notes.
“One is for Their Majesties, and the other is for Princess Adelina.”
Cedric reached for them, but once his skin brushed against hers, he didn’t wish to let go.
His breath caught. The pads of her fingers grazed against his palm—a fleeting touch that held all his secret hopes for their future.
One that could never be. The chasm between their worlds was far too great.
She pulled away too quickly. The thrill of all the unspoken possibilities died when she rushed past him.
Beyond the door, Lucille waited in the corridor, frowning as Nin disappeared down the service stairs. Cedric came to her side, the notes burning against his palm.
“I’m going to miss her,” Lucille whispered, her eyes red-rimmed.
Cedric did not trust his voice—his throat clamped, thick with emotions he couldn’t force away. Bijou whined, leaping from the bed to sit beside him.
“They’re ready for you,” Lucille said, wiping a tear from her cheek and gathering the pup in her arms.
Cedric nodded, following her down the hall and leaving the small room behind.
Instead of a formal hall, Cedric was summoned to a private chamber, where the king and queen awaited him. Princess Marianne stood with them beside the crown prince.
His heart gave a sudden, traitorous lurch. As sunlight slanted through the curtains, his breath caught at the resemblance—the same shade of hair, the same intelligence in her eyes. But the mole at the corner of her lip was missing, the faint scar on her forehead absent.
He missed the features that made her unmistakably Nin.
He bowed low, waiting to be addressed.
“We wish to thank you for your service,” the king said. “What you did for this kingdom will not be forgotten.”
“You saved our daughter,” the queen added.
“It was my honor and my duty,” Cedric replied.
“And the woman who stood in her place?” the king asked, his gaze flicking to the empty space next to Cedric. “We wished to thank her as well.”
“She left this morning,” Cedric said, his tone formal despite the pang of regret piercing his heart. He handed one of the letters to the king. “Her brother could no longer bear to be without her.”
The king scanned the contents of the note and passed it to the queen. Her expression softened before settling on her daughter beside her. “I understand that sentiment.”
“It is a shame she is not here,” Princess Marianne said. “I wished to thank her in person. I owe her my life.”
“Yes,” the queen agreed. “She is a remarkable woman.”
“Is there something she would desire?” the king asked. “A gift we might send after her, besides what she was already granted?”
Cedric hesitated. “She doesn’t want for more, Your Majesty. All she wanted was a home and security.”
“So little?” the queen said more as a statement.
“It is everything and more to her, Your Majesty,” he said.
The king studied him. “And what would you desire, Captain Duval?”
That question pierced him deeper than any blade. The answer was not in riches, rank, or praise.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said carefully, “but I fear it is not something you can grant.”
A knowing sparkle passed between the queen and the king.
“We may yet surprise you,” the queen said gently.
Cedric stilled, his thoughts racing. What could they know?
“Love is the rarest treasure of all,” she continued. “And sometimes it only requires permission to cross boundaries.”
His face warmed despite himself. Had it truly been so obvious?
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, unsure of her meaning.
“What if I told you there may be a way for you to be with what your heart desires?” the queen asked.
His breath caught. Hope surged within him, uninvited but unstoppable.