2. Rosalie
ROSALIE
The door to my chambers crashes open with enough force to rattle the simple wooden frame. Dawn hasn't yet touched the narrow window, but Lady Sylvareth Ardyn sweeps into my private space as though she owns it—which, technically, she does.
Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders instead of arranged in its usual elaborate style, and her lavender eyes blaze with something between fury and desperation. The silk nightrobe she wears costs more than most servants see in a year.
"Where is he?"
I sit up in bed, instinctively pulling the thin blanket higher. Years of service have trained me to wake instantly when summoned, but this feels different. Dangerous.
"My lady?"
"Don't play innocent with me." Her voice carries the sharp edge that appears whenever she suspects I've overstepped some invisible boundary. "My husband didn't come to bed last night. So tell me—where is Lord Aethan?"
The accusation hangs between us like smoke from a dying fire.
I've heard this tone before, seen this expression countless times over the years.
The assumption that follows me through every corridor of this estate, whispered behind fans at noble gatherings, muttered by servants who resent the privileges Lord Aethan has granted me.
"I don't know, my lady."
"Liar." She steps closer, and I catch the scent of expensive perfume mixed with something sharper—fear, perhaps, or sleepless anxiety. "He tells you everything. Don't pretend otherwise."
"Lord Aethan left for his meeting yesterday afternoon. I haven't seen him since."
Her laugh carries no warmth. "His meeting. Of course. And I suppose you don't know who he was meeting with either?"
"He didn't share those details with me."
"How convenient." She moves to my small window, her fingers drumming against the stone sill. "The favored little human who somehow knows nothing when it matters."
The familiar sting of her words settles in my chest. I've grown accustomed to the jealousy that colors every interaction between us, but understanding it doesn't make it easier to bear.
"Perhaps he returned late and chose not to disturb your rest?"
"I would have heard him." She whirls to face me, her nightrobe billowing dramatically. "And the servants would have noticed. Don't insult my intelligence."
The implication in her words—that I would know because I share his bed—sits unspoken but obvious. After all these years, she still believes I'm her husband's lover rather than his trusted assistant.
If only she knew how wrong she is.
Lord Aethan has never touched me with anything but respectful kindness. Never looked at me with desire or treated me as property to be used. When he elevated me from common servant to personal attendant, he made it clear that my value lay in my intelligence and discretion, not my body.
But explaining that to Lady Ardyn would be pointless. Her jealousy runs too deep, fed by years of whispered speculation and her own insecurities about their childless marriage.
"Check his study," I suggest carefully. "Perhaps he fell asleep at his desk."
"I've already searched everywhere." Her composure cracks slightly, revealing genuine worry beneath the anger. "His bed wasn't slept in. His formal robes are missing. Even his traveling cloak."
That detail sends unease crawling up my spine. Lord Aethan rarely travels without informing the household staff, and never without telling me his expected return.
"When did you last see him?" I ask.
"Yesterday morning at breakfast. He mentioned the meeting but said nothing else." Her fingers twist in the silk of her robe. "You must know something. He trusts you with everything—more than he trusts his own wife."
The bitter accusation stings because it carries a grain of truth that neither of us wants to acknowledge.
"I swear to you, my lady, I haven't seen Lord Aethan since he departed yesterday."
Her eyes narrow, searching my face for any hint of deception. "Get up."
"My lady?"
"You heard me." She crosses the small room in three swift strides and yanks the blanket from my hands. "Get dressed. Now."
Cold morning air bites at my skin through the thin nightshift. I reach for my day dress hanging on its wooden peg, but her fingers close around my wrist like iron shackles.
"Since you and my husband are so wonderfully close, you can help me find him."
The venom in her voice makes me flinch, but I don't argue. Years of service have taught me when resistance will only make things worse.
Within minutes, she's dragging me through corridors that echo with hushed conversations and nervous footsteps. The usual morning routine has dissolved into something resembling controlled chaos.
"Search the wine cellars again," Lady Ardyn commands a group of zagfer servants near the main staircase. "And the library archives. Everywhere."
"Yes, my lady," they chorus, but their violet eyes carry the weight of futile repetition. They've already combed through every room twice.
In the great hall, I spot Cousin Therovar lounging near the massive fireplace, examining his fingernails with peculiar interest. When our eyes meet, his expression remains perfectly neutral—too neutral for someone whose family patriarch has vanished without explanation.
"Any luck?" he asks Lady Ardyn, his tone carrying just enough concern to sound appropriate.
"None." She paces past him without stopping. "But we'll keep searching."
"Of course." He returns to studying his manicured nails. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon."
The casual dismissal in his voice raises the hair on my arms. Lord Aethan's disappearance should alarm his extended family, yet Therovar acts as though discussing missing livestock rather than the head of House Ardyn.
Near the kitchens, I catch sight of Velryssa speaking in low tones with the head cook. When she notices my approach, she immediately shifts the conversation to mundane breakfast preparations, but not before I glimpse something calculating in her amber eyes.
This is nothing new to me. Aethan's trust in me has only ever resulted in hatred from everyone else—envy.
"Rosalie!" A zagfer maid named Kira hurries toward me, wringing her hands. "Have you heard anything? The staff quarters are buzzing with whispers, but no one dares say what we're all thinking."
"What are we all thinking?" I ask quietly.
She glances around nervously. "That something's happened to him."
The words crystallize the fear that's been growing in my chest since Lady Ardyn burst into my room. Lord Aethan doesn't simply vanish. He's responsible, considerate of his household's concerns.
More importantly, he's the only thing standing between me and the wolves circling this estate.
"Keep searching," I tell Kira. "Check the gardens again. The stables. Anywhere he might have stopped."
She nods and scurries away, but her worried expression mirrors my own growing dread.