“So… pride is a frightening thing. It blinds your eyes and stops your ears.” It took her only a few minutes to grasp the moral of the story.
Caleb nodded, his smile carrying the weight of quiet approval. “A fake noble lady and a murderer. No one would ever expect a woman bearing such notorious titles to brazenly appear in public. That gap in expectation became our shield, and it served us perfectly.”
Fake noble lady. Murderer. The words she had fought so desperately to silence struck her like physical blows. Shailoh’s hands trembled as she pressed them together, as though prayer might ward off the truth.
The warmth and elation that had coursed through her veins mere moments before drained away, replaced by a crushing weight that seemed to press against her chest. The very air grew thick and unforgiving. She gasped, doubling over as her hands flew to her throat.
“Sasha. Breathe slowly.”
Before the panic could consume her entirely, a blanket settled across her shoulders like a gentle anchor. Caleb knelt beside the couch, his hands enveloping hers with steady warmth.
“In through your nose, out through your mouth. Follow my rhythm.”
She obeyed, drawing air deep into her lungs before releasing it in measured exhales. Gradually, the invisible vice around her chest loosened its grip. Only when her breathing steadied did Caleb speak again, his voice barely above a whisper.
“When did this begin?”
“Pardon?” The word emerged as little more than a breath.
“This condition—when you’re overwhelmed or cornered. How long have they plagued you?”
“This was the first time.”
Frustration flickered across her features as she finally met his gaze properly. His hair fell in uncharacteristic waves across his forehead, freed from its usual pomade restraint. Those teal eyes held her captive, framed by lashes that seemed almost unfairly long for a man. His presence enveloped her senses like an intoxicating perfume she couldn’t resist.
“I know a doctor. You’ll see him tomorrow.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Isn’t it?”
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
“You’ve just triumphed in your debut, Sasha. Your name is on every tongue in the city. Playwrights will court you with their finest works, and the most influential patrons will pay handsomely for the privilege of your performance. As your star rises, the crowds will grow larger, and your every gesture will become fodder for the gossip sheets.”
“…So you’re saying I can’t show even the smallest weakness?”
Rather than answering, Caleb traced the bridge of her nose with infinite gentleness before rising to his feet. “This is just the beginning. Better to nip any problems in the bud right away.”
The words carried an edge she had never heard before, sharp and calculating. Shailoh rubbed her eyes, studying his profile as a sardonic smile played at the corners of his mouth. When she blinked and looked again, the familiar, gentle Caleb had returned. Relief flooded through her—surely it had been a trick of the lamplight—until he spoke again with that disarming smile.
“You look exhausted, Sasha.”
“Perhaps…”
“Tomorrow brings a parade of introductions. You’ll need your rest.”
“Are you saying I should sleep here tonight?”
“Where else would you venture at such an hour?”
The unexpected proposition left her speechless, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress. Unbidden memories surfaced: his lips claiming hers in the dressing room, his ragged breathing, his hands at her waist holding her captive against his will…
Caleb had always maintained the proper distance of a patron, sometimes protective as a brother, other times nurturing as a father figure. She had fought to see him as anything but a man. Yet it would be folly to deny the flutter of attraction she felt for someone so devastatingly handsome, someone who could eclipse most men without effort.
He had been her constant guardian, her unwavering support, never once demanding payment for his kindness. To Shailoh, he was a benefactor, mentor, and the only family she possessed. There was nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice for him. But what if… what if his feelings transcended mere guardianship? The thought stole her breath entirely.
“Ah, Sasha…”
A low chuckle rumbled above her head, as though he had plucked the very thoughts from her mind. When she lifted her gaze awkwardly, he brushed her burning ear with one finger before turning away.
“I cannot fathom what schemes that clever mind of yours has conjured, but I’ll be taking my rest elsewhere.”
“…”
“You’ll be busy from tomorrow, so get some good rest tonight.”
Without granting her the opportunity to protest, Caleb retrieved his coat from its hook and grasped the door handle. His retreating figure left her feeling hollow and bewildered, able only to stare in stunned silence as he disappeared into the night.
* * *
The moment Caleb departed, leaving Shailoh frozen like marble in the lamplight, he withdrew a cigar from his coat pocket with deliberate precision. The memory of her accepting that simple scone from his hand—the way she had gazed up at him with such guileless trust—sent a sharp ache through his chest. He could claim her now, possess everything his heart desired, yet the moment remained tantalizingly beyond his reach.
A carriage materialized from the shadows, its wheels grinding to a halt before him. As he settled into the velvet interior, Benjamin awaited—the royal chamberlain whose once-dark hair had surrendered to silver threads of time. The older man’s weathered features bore an expression of profound emotion as he cleared his throat.
“It begins at last, Your Highness.”
“Indeed. Your patience has been considerable.”
Caleb released a languid stream of smoke and pushed open the carriage window. The bitter night air invaded his lungs whilst memories cascaded through his mind like fragments of shattered glass—each one cutting deeper than the last.
At ten, death had stolen both mother and brother from him, forcing his flight to his maternal family’s distant shores, where exile stretched across ten merciless years. His return at twenty revealed a kingdom transformed beyond recognition. Queen Ingrid’s iron grip had tightened around every lever of power—Duke Perus commanded the southern territories whilst Duke Diponz held dominion over the west, both dancing to her tune like marionettes. The king, confined to his sickbed for a decade, had become little more than a breathing ornament upon the throne.
Fortune smiled upon him in one regard alone: the northern territory of Yesiol remained distant from the royal castle, its inhabitants naturally reclusive and therefore beyond the queen’s immediate reach. Yet even this small mercy could not disguise the harsh truth—circumstances conspired against him at every turn.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but Queen Ingrid’s ambitions grow bolder by the day. She schemes to seize absolute control by installing her son, Third Prince Albert, as her puppet once Your Highness… departs this world. Her methods grow increasingly brazen—bribes flow like wine, official positions are bartered like commodities, all to expand her web of influence. Satirical cartoons depicting her wrapped in petticoats now circulate openly through the capital’s back alleys.”
“Any provincial noble seeking to establish themselves within the capital’s corridors of power requires Ingrid’s blessing. They will bleed their subjects dry to fund such underhanded transactions.”
The inevitable consequence loomed before them like storm clouds—the poor and downtrodden would find their meagre footing swept away entirely whilst the wealthy gorged themselves on ever-greater excess.
“Have you established contact with the Duke Yesiol? Eric said there’s been no communication.”
“He remains unresponsive. Whatever friendship we shared in childhood has withered to dust.”
“If we could locate the woman he has sought these many years, securing the duke’s cooperation would prove far less arduous. The woman is rumored to have been the former duke’s lover.”
“Despite our most thorough investigations, she remains a ghost. Death has likely claimed her, though we shall continue the search as a precaution. For now, Duke Yesiol’s neutrality must suffice—we dare not hope for more.”
Caleb dismissed Benjamin’s inquiry with a casual gesture before continuing. “Establish discreet contact with the resistance movements opposing the queen’s tyranny. You must observe the palace’s every breath and stand ready to act upon my signal.”
“Of course, Your Highness. This old man desires nothing more than to witness the rightful king claim his throne.”
The carriage gradually slowed upon a deserted street, its occupants vanishing into the night as though they had never existed. Caleb reclined against the cushions, his expression one of profound ennui.
The climax he had awaited for so long drew near, yet excitement eluded him. Instead, those blue eyes haunted his thoughts—the way she had gazed at him like a nestling bird, innocent of the world’s cruelties.
“Where shall we go, Your Highness?”
I’m only human, so of course I have a conscience. Caleb abandoned his brooding and drew the carriage window closed against the night.
Caleb’s prediction that Shailoh would soon be too busy for a moment’s rest came true. She found herself swept into a relentless tempest of soirées, concerts, and literary salons that left her breathless and reeling. Invitations to prestigious social circles arrived daily, whilst renowned playwrights courted her favor with their finest works. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion, she could not suppress a sigh of pure delight.
“Are these mountainous piles of invitations insufficient to satisfy Milady? What kind of invitation are you looking for?”
“Doris, by any chance…” Shailoh caught herself mid-sentence, swiftly redirecting her thoughts. “Nothing of consequence. Whilst I cannot possibly accept every invitation, I confess I wish I possessed two bodies to manage them all.”
“Do not complain, Milady. Is this not a tremendous honor? Your popularity speaks volumes! You draw ever closer to your ultimate goal.”
“That’s true.”
Smiling at Doris’s teasing, Shailoh stared closely at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
