24. Rosalie
ROSALIE
Walking up the stone steps to House Vaerith feels different this time. No skulking through shadows, no fabricated errands about market trips. Lady Ardyn herself suggested I come help with wedding preparations, which should ease the knot of anxiety in my chest. Should, but doesn't entirely.
The zagfer who answers the door doesn't recognize me. His pale gray skin catches the afternoon light as he bows with mechanical precision. "You are expected. Lady Aurelia awaits in the sitting room."
"Thank you." I pause, glancing toward the corridor that leads to Caelric's study. "Is Lord Caelric available? I thought I might—"
"The young lord is working in his study and is not to be disturbed." The zagfer's tone carries no inflection, no hint of whether this is unusual or routine. Just flat statement of fact.
Something cold settles in my stomach. Caelric has never been unavailable to me before, not since we began working together. But perhaps he's simply busy with estate matters. The investigation has been consuming both our time.
"Of course. Lady Aurelia, then."
The zagfer leads me through familiar corridors, though they feel different in daylight. Less intimate, more formal. The magical sconces burn with steady white flame, casting everything in sharp relief rather than the warm amber glow I remember from evening visits.
The sitting room doors open to reveal Aurelia surrounded by chaos.
Fabric swatches cascade across every available surface—silk in deep emerald, brocade shot through with silver thread, delicate lace that must have cost more than most humans see in a lifetime.
Flower arrangements compete for space on side tables, their perfume heavy in the air.
A young human girl kneels beside Aurelia's chair, holding up two nearly identical samples of ivory silk.
The sight stops me short. Of course there are human servants here.
This is one of the Great Houses of Vhoig, with lands and wealth that require dozens of staff.
Why wouldn't there be humans among them?
But seeing her there—blonde hair braided simply, movements careful and deferential—reminds me exactly what I am in this world. What I've always been.
"Rosalie!" Aurelia's face brightens with genuine warmth. "Perfect timing. I'm drowning in choices and could use another opinion." She gestures toward the human girl. "Bridda, would you fetch tea for our guest?"
The girl rises gracefully. "Of course, my lady."
I watch her go, noting the quality of her simple cream dress, the way she moves through the room with confident familiarity. Well-treated, clearly, but still wearing the invisible collar of servitude that marks all of us.
"Please, sit." Aurelia indicates a chair beside hers. "I've been staring at these samples so long they're starting to blur together."
I settle into the offered seat, accepting the delicate porcelain cup Bridda brings moments later. The tea is perfectly brewed, fragrant steam rising in graceful spirals. Even their casual hospitality exceeds anything most nobles offer their own family members.
"The silver brocade is lovely," I venture, touching the edge of a particularly stunning sample. "The embroidery work is exquisite."
"Mm." Aurelia sets down her cup, then reaches for the emerald silk instead. "This one has more character."
The dismissal is so swift, so contrary to my actual suggestion, that I blink in confusion. She complimented the silver, then immediately chose its opposite. As if my opinion carried weight only in helping her decide what she didn't want.
"The green is beautiful too," I say carefully, watching her face for some clue about the strange interaction.
"Isn't it? Alaric mentioned preferring deeper colors." Her fingers smooth the fabric with absent attention. "Though I suppose it hardly matters what either of us prefers. Political marriages aren't about personal taste."
"Lady Aurelia, is everything—"
"Going well?" She interrupts, violet eyes studying me with uncomfortable intensity. "Yes, actually. Everything is going exactly as I'd hoped. Isn't it?"
"I—"
"Sister, I heard—"
Caelric's voice cuts off the moment his indigo eyes find me across the room.
He stands in the doorway holding a small leather-bound book, his tall frame filling the entrance with that commanding presence I've grown to love.
But something's wrong. The warmth that usually lights his face when he sees me has vanished completely.
"Rosalie. I didn't realize you would be here." The words fall from his lips like rocks into still water.
My brows furrow as confusion washes over me. "Well, yes. I'm helping with the wedding preparations and with the investigation. As I have been."
"Right." His response carries no inflection, no recognition of our shared history. Those beautiful indigo eyes stare through me as if I'm made of glass, as if the woman who confessed her love to him just days ago has become a stranger.
The fabric samples suddenly feel heavy in my hands. This is the man who whispered promises against my skin, who spoke of impossible futures with such tender hope. Now he regards me with the same distant politeness he might show any servant.
"What did you need, brother?" Aurelia prompts, her voice carefully neutral.
Caelric shifts his attention to his sister with visible relief. "The seamstress you requested for the additional alterations has been approved. The arrangements are finalized."
"Wonderful. Thank you for handling that."
"Of course." He steps back toward the doorway without sparing me another glance. "I'll leave you to your preparations."
The door closes behind him with a soft click that might as well be the sound of a tomb sealing shut. I stare at the polished wood, my heart thundering against my ribs like a caged bird.
"What's wrong with him?" The words tumble out before I can help it. I turn to Aurelia, searching her violet eyes for answers. "Did I do something wrong? He's never—"
Aurelia studies my face for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then understanding dawns in her features, followed immediately by something that looks almost like pity.
"Oh." She sets down the emerald silk with careful precision. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?" The sitting room suddenly feels too warm, the flower arrangements too cloying. "Aurelia, what's happened?"
She draws in a slow breath, as if gathering courage for an unpleasant task. "The night of the engagement party, Father discovered your... relationship with Caelric."
The world tilts sideways. My teacup rattles against its saucer as my hands begin to shake. "He knows?"
"They all know." Aurelia's voice carries gentle finality. "And Caelric has been instructed to end it."
The sitting room spins around me, fabric samples blurring into meaningless color.
My chest constricts as if someone has wrapped iron bands around my ribs and pulled them tight.
They know. The family I've grown to love, the people who welcomed me into their home with such warmth—they know exactly what I am to their heir.
And Caelric has made his choice.
The days blur together in a haze of silk and silver, of flower arrangements that need constant adjustment and seating charts that change with each political consideration. I move through House Vaerith like a ghost, helping where I can while avoiding the places where Caelric might appear.
It becomes impossible, of course. The estate isn't large enough for complete avoidance, and wedding preparations demand coordination between every family member.
I round corners to find him discussing security arrangements with Nikolai.
I enter the library to find him reviewing guest lists with Asterion.
Each encounter follows the same pattern—polite acknowledgment, careful distance, those indigo eyes skating past me as if I'm part of the furniture.
"The musicians need confirmation about the evening entertainment," Seralyth mentions during one of our planning sessions. "Caelric was supposed to approve the final selection."
"I'll handle it," I offer quickly, then catch myself. Why am I volunteering to seek him out? "Or perhaps Aurelia could—"
"Nonsense. You have excellent taste." Seralyth's smile carries no hint of the knowledge I'm certain she possesses. "He's in the east wing study."
The walk through familiar corridors feels like marching to an execution. My hands shake as I knock on the heavy oak door, and his voice calling "Enter" sends ice through my veins.
He doesn't look up from the documents spread across his desk. "The Melaniris quartet is acceptable. Approve their proposal."
"I—how did you know—"
"Seralyth mentioned the musicians needed confirmation." His pen continues moving across parchment, signing papers with mechanical precision. "Was there something else?"
The dismissal stings worse than outright cruelty would. This is what I am to him now—another task to be completed efficiently. Another responsibility to manage and set aside.
"No." My voice sounds hollow to my own ears. "Nothing else."
I turn to leave, but his voice stops me at the doorway.
"Rosalie."
Hope flares like a struck match. I face him, searching those beautiful indigo eyes for some trace of the man who whispered promises against my skin.
"Ensure you coordinate with Jen about the serving arrangements. We can't have any... confusion during the ceremony."
The match dies, leaving only cold ash. He's reminding me of my place. Making certain I understand that I'm staff, nothing more.
"Of course, my lord."
The formal address makes him flinch slightly, but he recovers quickly. "Thank you."
I flee before the tears can start.
Later that evening, I find myself arranging flowers in the main hall while Aurelia and Alaric review final details nearby.
Their quiet conversation carries notes of genuine affection despite the political nature of their union.
Watching them hurts—a reminder that some people can find happiness even within duty's constraints.
"The guest chambers are prepared," Caelric announces as he enters the hall. "Lord Thane's delegation arrives tomorrow."
"Excellent." Aurelia glances between her brother and me with careful neutrality. "Rosalie, could you ensure the blue suite has fresh linens?"
"Of course." I gather the remaining flower stems, acutely aware of Caelric's presence across the room. He stands near the window, reviewing papers by lamplight, and the familiar sight of him working makes my chest ache.
This is what I've become—another servant scurrying around the edges of his life.
Another human woman who dared to dream above her station.
I can practically hear the whispers that must follow me through the estate.
There goes Lord Ardyn's former favorite.
Now she's set her sights on young Lord Vaerith. Typical human behavior, really.
The shame burns hotter than anger. Every kindness the family showed me, every moment I felt like I belonged—it's all tainted now by the knowledge of what they think I am. A climbing, grasping creature using my body to secure better treatment.
Just like they probably assumed about Aethan.
That thought stops me cold. Aethan, who treated me with such careful respect. Aethan, who's still missing while I've been drowning in self-pity. Whatever pain Caelric's rejection has caused, finding the man who saved me from a life of horror matters more than my broken heart.
I straighten my shoulders and continue with the flowers. Let them think what they will about my relationship with Caelric. Let them assume I'm exactly what every other human woman in my position has been. I know the truth, even if it no longer matters to anyone else.
Aethan needs me to be stronger than this humiliation. And perhaps, when he's found and House Ardyn is secure, I can finally leave Vhoig behind entirely.
The wedding approaches like an inevitable storm, and I'll weather it with whatever dignity I can manage. Even if my heart breaks a little more each day.