The room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock by the window. A single candle flickered on the desk, its flame swaying with the gentle breeze that slipped through the half-open curtains.
Catalina sat before her mirror, her posture straight but her expression unusually uncertain. The reflection that stared back at her was calm—too calm for the storm of thoughts running through her head.
"…Why did I agree to that?" she murmured under her breath.
She could still recall it clearly—the faint sunlight spilling through the hall, the way Lady Heather's red hair danced with the wind, and that look she had when she asked the question.
"My lady… would you like to go outside together? In secret, perhaps?"
Catalina had turned before she could think, hoping the motion would hide her flustered expression.
And yet, for reasons she still couldn't explain, her mouth had said yes before her mind could protest.
"She only asked me to go out together in secret…" Catalina muttered to her reflection, resting her chin lightly on her palm.
"Even though I've done that before—slipping out unseen… this feels different."
Her reflection tilted her head back at her as if mocking her uncertainty.
"This will be my first time… going out with lady Heather," she whispered, blinking at her own words. Her cheeks warmed slightly.
"What do noble ladies usually talk about, I wonder?"
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, her brow furrowing as if she were analyzing a battle strategy.
"It's been a while since any noble lady wished to accompany me," she mused. "Other than Amber, of course—and all we ever discuss are sword forms and dueling technique."
A soft chuckle escaped her lips, breaking the still air.
For a brief moment, she imagined what such an outing might look like—Heather's curious eyes wandering through the market stalls, the sound of laughter among the crowd, and the unfamiliar feeling of being seen not as a noble lady, but simply as Catalina.
She quickly shook the thought away. "No, that's absurd," she whispered. "It's just a harmless outing. Nothing more."
But when she caught her reflection again, the faintest smile lingered at the corner of her lips—betraying her own attempt at denial.
A sudden knock broke Catalina's thoughts. She blinked at her reflection, half-startled.
"My lady," came a voice from the other side of the door.
"Marquess Castell… is here."
Catalina froze. Then her expression fell flat, brows knitting in faint irritation.
"Of course," she muttered under her breath, "That man doesn't stop even after being told off once…" pushing herself up from the chair.
By the time she reached the grand staircase, the echo of her steps carried through the dim corridor. The glow of wall sconces painted long shadows across the floor.
Halfway down the stairs, she stopped.
There he was — Roland Lievan Castell — standing in the middle of the marble foyer, dressed in his usual dark finery. In his hands, a bouquet of lavender and marigolds.
He looked up, smiling faintly.
"I was just passing through," he said lightly. "Thought I'd drop these off. Hopefully, you won't drag me out into the middle of the night because of it… Cath."
Catalina sighed softly, descending the rest of the stairs with slow, deliberate steps.
When she reached him, she eyed the flowers briefly.
"At least you remember to bring flowers now," she said coolly.
"How kind." she said expressionless.
She took the bouquet from his hand, her tone flat. "What are you doing here at this hour—" She stopped herself, her voice cooling further.
"Ah, no, never mind. I don't really care."
Turning sharply, she started to walk away.
But before she could take another step, Roland reached out and caught her hand. His touch was firm but not rough, his voice lower — almost pleading.
"Catalina," he said quietly. "A walk. Just a short one… in the gardens. After that, I'll leave."
She glanced back over her shoulder, expression unreadable.
"I only ask for a moment," he continued, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "Just… be with me, this once."
Catalina frowned faintly, her lips parting as if to argue — but she knew that tone. Roland could be insufferably persistent when he wanted something. And despite everything, she had no energy left for a quarrel tonight.
Finally, she sighed. "…Fine. Just a walk."
A small, almost relieved smile crossed his lips.
As they stepped into the quiet garden, the night air brushed against her skin, scented faintly with pine and rain. She held the bouquet lightly in one hand, not looking at him.
The garden was quiet that night. Moonlight spilled over the cobblestone paths, turning the roses silver and the air faintly perfumed with dew.
Catalina walked ahead, keeping her pace steady. The bouquet still rested loosely in her hand — lavender and marigolds brushing against her cloak.
Roland followed beside her. For a long while, neither spoke. Only the faint sound of crickets filled the silence between them.
Finally, he broke it.
"It's been some time since we walked like this," he said, trying for a smile. "You used to drag me out every night just to watch the sunrise."
Catalina didn't look at him. "That was years ago."
He gave a faint chuckle, though it didn't reach his eyes. "And you'd scold me for falling asleep halfway through."
"I still should." Her reply came sharp, but tired.
Roland's steps slowed. He looked at her — truly looked — and for a moment to imagine, the same woman he remembered smiling at him with love, but now those same eyes no longer carried warmth nor smile.
"I've missed this," he admitted quietly. "Missed you."
Catalina's steps slowed, her gaze fixed on the moonlit pond ahead. The reflection of the lilies shimmered, disturbed only by the faint ripples of wind.
After a moment, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You used to smile more, you know. Back then, even when you were angry, your eyes—"
Catalina stopped walking. "Don't."
He blinked.
"Whatever you try to reminisce about," she continued, "keep it there. Don't bring the things that cannot be brought back."
"And don't pretend you miss me." Her tone was flat, but there was a tremor underneath. "You were never there when it mattered. You stayed away when… things were hard."
Roland's expression faltered. "I was on duty. You know I couldn't—"
"You could have." Catalina turned to face him, her green eyes glinting under the moonlight.
"You always could have. But you chose not to."
The air grew heavier.
Roland took a small step forward. "You think I didn't suffer too? When I heard what happened—"
"Then why didn't you come home, Roland?!" The words burst out before she could stop them.
"You left me there alone—alone with servants whispering, and a house full of empty rooms—and you knew I was—"
Her voice broke. She turned away sharply, gripping the bouquet tight enough for the stems to snap.
Roland's voice softened. "I didn't know how to face you, Catalina. I thought maybe—if I stayed away—you'd have time to heal."
Catalina gave a bitter laugh, low and cold. "Heal? You thought silence would heal me?"
Roland's eyes softened. "I never stopped caring," he said, voice low. "Even when I… wasn't there."
Catalina closed her eyes.
"And I stopped waiting."
He said nothing.
"You weren't gone because it was better for me. You were gone because it was easier for you." Her voice cracked slightly. She turned, gripping the bouquet in her hand as if it could anchor her.
Catalina exhaled slowly, letting the words hang in the air. She didn't answer, only stared at the crushed petals in her hand. The lavender and marigolds felt suddenly fragile, like her patience had been.
The silence stretched. The only sound was the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the fountain.
The wind blew between them, carrying the scent of marigolds and lavender — both fading fast.
She stepped back. "You should go, Roland."
He nodded faintly, but before he turned away, he said quietly, "For what it's worth… I'm sorry."
Catalina didn't answer.
When she finally looked up, he was already walking away, leaving only the crushed bouquet in her hand. Her eyes drifted from the crushed bouquet to another flower nearby—a single rose, its deep red petals glowing softly in the moonlight.
For a moment, it reminded her of warm sunlight, of flowing red hair, and a gentle voice. — and suddenly, the garden no longer smelled of marigolds and lavender.
Only the fragrance of roses.