Chapter 42
I was brooding over a collection of entirely unwanted thoughts while lying on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
At some point, my brain had shifted from existential dread to replaying several unfinished arguments, dutifully inventing an alarming number of imaginary conversations in which I won every single time. Naturally.
Then the door clicked open. Martha walked in with her usual calm efficiency, carrying a breakfast tray like a woman immune to chaos.
"Good morning, my lady," she said, setting it down neatly on the bedside table.
I turned my head an inch. "...Is it?"
She paused, gave me a single, assessing glance, and continued arranging the cutlery as though she hadn't heard the question at all.
"Didn't sleep well, my lady?" she asked, gliding smoothly toward the heavy velvet curtains and letting in enough sunlight to offend my delicate retinas.
"I was unconscious for a reasonable number of hours," I replied, dragging a hand down my face. "That counts."
She looked back at me. Then sighed-softly, professionally, and with deep disappointment.
I pushed myself upright, rubbing my eyes. "Martha, you don't talk much, do you?"
"No, my lady."
"Do you judge?"
"Not externally."
I considered that for a moment. "...Good," I muttered, nodding once as though that offered profound spiritual reassurance. "Sit."
She blinked, quietly crossed the room, and sat on the edge of the couch.
I immediately collapsed backward onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling like an ancient philosopher about to deliver a world-altering verdict.
"So, hypothetically," I began, folding my hands over my chest, "if a person were to get into a stupid argument, and then decide that actively avoiding the other person is the most efficient solution... that would be considered reasonable, right?"
"Mmhmm."
"And if that same person also feels slightly justified, slightly offended, and entirely unwilling to apologize despite-hypothetically-overreacting, that would still fall within acceptable human behavior?"
"Mmhmm."
"And if that person also doesn't want to deal with complicated emotions, uncomfortable conversations, or consequences, and would rather pretend none of it happened... that would be healthy, yes?"
"Mmhmm."
I slowly turned my head. "...You're not being helpful."
She looked entirely unimpressed.
I sat up, crossing my arms defensively. "Well? What do you think?"
Martha was quiet for a long beat, sounding as though she had reached the absolute, terminal limits of her patience. "I think you should eat your breakfast before it goes cold, my lady."
I stared at her. Useless. Completely, wonderfully useless.
As she stood to smooth down her apron, she dropped the real bomb. "You should probably get ready anyway. The palace has announced that Her Highness Princess Lysenne and His Highness Prince Lucien will be visiting the Tower today. They should arrive shortly."
I closed my eyes. For the love of all the fictional gods.
I leaned back against the headboard and felt what little patience I had left evaporate into the ether.
"I am not meeting them," I declared to the ceiling.
"Today, I am officially unavailable for social interactions, emotional conversations, political discussions, or anything else that requires me to behave like a functional member of society."
Martha gave me a look that clearly suggested she didn't believe I had ever been a functional member of society to begin with.
"I see," she murmured.
And then she left me to my misery.
I avoided the main wings of the Tower entirely. If I stayed in my room, someone would inevitably come knocking, and if I wandered the corridors normally, I would undoubtedly run into the exact people I was trying to dodge-namely, a certain tall, brooding master mage.
Which left my only viable option: tactical retreat within the Tower's botanical realm.
The garden near my quarters was quiet and slightly elevated. A narrow stone path wound through clusters of flowers that looked far too delicate for someone with my level of exhaustion to stand near, centered around a modest, bubbling fountain.
I settled onto a low stone ledge, pulling my knees up, and stared down at the rippling water. For once, I just needed silence. No expectations. No loaded questions. No one watching.
I exhaled a long, shaky breath. "This is fine," I muttered to myself, adjusting my sleeves. "I am taking a calculated break. This is a controlled decision, not cowardice."
I paused. "...Mostly."
"You do realize that hiding behind a decorative bush is still just avoidance, right?"
I squeezed my eyes shut. Of course. Of course it was him.
Slowly, I turned my head. "Prince Lucien Viremont," I said flatly. "Do you make it a habit to track down people who are actively, desperately trying not to be found?"
He smiled with infuriating ease. "Yes. It's one of my many hidden talents."
He strolled over and sat right beside me on the ledge, acting as though this were a casual afternoon stroll rather than a direct breach of my quarantine zone. "You didn't come to see us."
"I made a conscious choice."
"To avoid us?"
"To prioritize my mental stability."
"Same thing."
"Different branding."
He chuckled softly, the sound rich and far too bright for my current mood. Then, without a word of warning, he reached behind the sweep of his cloak and held something out.
I blinked, my brain momentarily stalling. "...Is that-"
A tiny, scruffy brown puppy with white patches shifted in his hands, blinking up at me with large, dark, innocent eyes. For a brief, ridiculous second, the heavy lead weight in my chest simply dissolved.
"You left in a hurry yesterday," Lucien said casually. "I thought you might want this back."
I stared at the puppy, then up at him. "...You went back for it?"
"Naturally. You strike me as someone who shouldn't be separated from something that small and defenseless."
"That is a remarkably bold assumption about my character."
"Am I wrong?"
I hesitated, then slowly reached out and took the puppy into my arms.
It immediately burrowed against my robes, warm and trusting in a way that felt dangerously easy to accept.
A reluctant smile broke through my defenses.
"Glad you're safe, little guy," I murmured, gently scratching behind its soft ears.
I glanced up at the prince. "Thank you."
"You should keep it," he suggested smoothly.
I nodded softly, my resolve crumbling entirely. "...Fine. I'll keep it. I'm calling you Cookie," I whispered to the ball of fur. "You look like a pastry."
Lucien laughed outright. "You really are in love with food."
"It's a reliable, honest love," I shot back, though the edge was gone from my voice.
His smile faded just a fraction, turning more thoughtful as he leaned back against the cold stone. "I was genuinely worried when I lost track of you in the crowd yesterday," he admitted quietly. "That was easily the most reckless-and the most courageous-thing I've ever seen someone pull off."
I looked back down at Cookie, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. "I don't even know what to say. The fallout wasn't exactly remarkable... and I'm pretty sure I accidentally showcased my magic in front of half the courtyard."
"I'm fairly certain the Tower can handle a little impromptu light show," Lucien offered easily.
"Hopefully," I muttered, though Rhaevan's furious, echoing voice still rang faintly in my memory.
We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. It wasn't suffocating. Adjusting Cookie in my lap, I decided to test the waters, speaking without looking directly at him.
"So," I began casually. "You and Princess Lysenne seem... close."
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his gaze. "That's one way to frame it."
"Close as in political allies?" I glanced sideways at him. "Or something more colorful?"
He looked at me intently, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Are you asking if we're romantically involved?"
"I am inquiring about general narrative -I mean, diplomatic alignment."
"Cass," he said, sounding thoroughly amused, "you are genuinely terrible at being subtle." He shook his head. "No, we aren't involved. We've known each other since we were children, and our kingdoms coordinate closely, but that's the extent of it."
That piece of information collided with the original plot of the book.
In the novel, Lucien and Lysenne were probably married and had kids by this point in the timeline.
I never knew. The story ended at their marriage.
A cold knot of unease twisted in my gut, but I kept my expression carefully blank.
"Why do you ask?" he pressed, leaning in just an inch. "Does the thought bother you?"
"No" I snapped a little too quickly. "I am simply updating my informations."
"Of course you are." He tilted his head, his eyes glinting playfully. "Tell me, do you like me?"
I nearly inhaled my own tongue. "What? Absolutely not!"
He burst out laughing, throwing his head back. "I didn't mean it that way! Relax, it was a joke." He leaned back again, resting his weight on his hands. "Though... I wouldn't mind having someone as sharp as you by my side."
He offered a smooth, practiced wink.
I stared at him, entirely deadpan. Was this man a lunatic?
"Joking," he added quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. Then, his tone softened into something genuinely sincere. "Though I would genuinely like to be your friend. You strike me as a person who could use one in this place. I volunteer."
A reluctant, quiet smile pulled at my lips. "You certainly have a silver tongue, Mister. Careful-you're treading on very thin ice."
"I'll take my chances."
I hesitated, weighing the pros and cons. There was no pressure here. No heavy expectations, no lectures about dangerous powers, no political traps. Just a prince, a small dog, and a quiet garden.
"...Fine," I relented. "But this is a strictly limited arrangement."
"Naturally."
"Controlled boundaries."
"Obviously."
"And the moment this becomes even mildly inconvenient, I reserve the absolute right to withdraw."
Lucien smiled, looking entirely unbothered. "I would expect nothing less."
I nodded once, satisfied, as Cookie let out a tiny, contented squeak against my lap.