The carriage jolted softly along the narrow road, its wooden frame creaking as the people inside swayed gently with every uneven turn. Dydra sat quietly beside Oryen, her gaze fixed on the scenery slipping past the small window. The world outside blurred into stretches of earth, distant stalls, and fading sunlight, but her thoughts were far from the road ahead.
The man—she still did not know his name—lingered heavily in her mind. He had insisted she accept the gift, his tone calm but unyielding, as though refusal was not an option he was accustomed to hearing. Yet she had refused him. Even now, her chest tightened at the memory of his midnight eyes resting on her, unreadable and intense. She wondered if she had offended him. Worse, she wondered if refusing an elite carried consequences she did not yet understand.
Lucky for her, Oryen had been too drained from her heated argument with the cabbage vendor to notice much of anything else. The old woman had grumbled about aching knees and unfair merchants before declaring it was time to leave. Dydra doubted she had even noticed the elite man standing by the jade kiosk, let alone sensed the strange tension between him and herself.
The three maids regrouped quickly, meeting the others at the edge of the market. Without delay, they climbed into the carriage that had brought them earlier, and the journey back to the royal castle began in relative silence.
Leonard, however, remained behind.
He had not come to Thrustborn for distractions, yet that was precisely what he had found. The girl's refusal gnawed at him more than it should have. Women did not refuse him—certainly not commoners. He reached into his coat, feeling the small jewellery box still tucked safely inside. His jaw tightened slightly before he forced the thought aside. There were matters far more important than wounded pride.
He turned his attention back to the vendor he had originally come to see.
The man already knew who he was.
The moment Leonard approached, the vendor stiffened, then bowed deeply, his voice trembling despite his attempt at politeness. "Prince Leonard," he murmured, lowering his head. "How may I be of service today?"
Leonard studied him in silence. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he listened—not with his ears alone, but with something deeper. The man's heartbeat was too fast. Uneven. Panicked. Fear pulsed through it like a warning drum.
He is hiding something.
"I need a medicine," Leonard said at last. His voice was calm, almost casual, but there was something beneath it—an edge sharp enough to cut. The vendor heard it, even if he did not fully understand it. His heartbeat faltered, then raced faster.
"M-medicine?" the man stammered. "For—for what? I don't sell medicine, my lord."
Leonard's lips curved into a faint, unsettling smile. He leaned back against a wooden plank, slipping both hands into his coat pockets with deliberate ease. "A cure for a wolf's bite," he said smoothly. "Do you happen to have one?"
The antidote to a werewolf's bite was rarer than legend itself. Rumours spoke of a single bottle, hidden away, changing hands in whispers and blood, but no one had ever truly seen it—nor lived long enough to prove its existence.
The vendor's eyes widened in horror. His body went rigid, as though the very bones beneath his skin had turned to stone.
Impossible.
Had the prince found out?
No. He couldn't have. No one knew. No one—
Leonard pushed himself off the plank, his gaze never leaving the man. Slowly, one of his hands slipped free from his pocket. Then he snapped his fingers.
The sound was sharp. Final.
From within the crowd, two towering guards appeared as if summoned from thin air. Before the vendor could react, they seized him roughly by the arms. Panic tore through him, and he screamed, his voice breaking as it echoed through the market.
"No! Wait—please!" he shouted. "I can explain! I wasn't involved! I swear, I had nothing to do with it!"
The noise drew attention instantly. Conversations died mid-sentence. Bargaining halted. All eyes turned toward the struggling man as he was dragged away.
"I have a family!" he cried desperately. "My wife is pregnant! Please—please spare me!"
He searched Leonard's face for mercy, for warmth, for any sign of hesitation.
There was none.
Leonard's midnight eyes were cold, void of emotion, void of pity. The guards shoved the vendor into a square cage made of thick bamboo, reinforced and locked tightly. The metal clasp snapped shut with a heavy finality.
Tears streamed down the man's face as the cage was hauled away by two horses, the guards mounted and expressionless. His sobs faded into the distance, swallowed by the restless hum of the market.
Leonard mounted his stallion without a backward glance. Turning the horse sharply, he rode in the opposite direction. There were other matters demanding his attention, and he intended to see them through.
By the time the sun began its descent, dragging warm hues of gold and crimson across the sky, the five maids had already returned to the royal castle. The kitchen buzzed with activity as they unpacked supplies, scrubbed counters, and washed dishes used by both themselves and the royal family.
Hours passed before Oryen and Dydra finally finished their work.
They sat together in a quiet corner, exhaustion weighing heavily on their shoulders. The old witch grew silent, her expression thoughtful, as though recalling something important.
"There is someone you must see today," Oryen said at last. "It's your first day here, and officially, you are not yet a maid of the royal household. If anyone finds out, both our heads will roll."
Dydra nodded quickly, unease curling in her stomach.
Oryen reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a small circular wooden plate. Etched into its surface was the image of a hummingbird, finely carved and unmistakable.
"This," Oryen explained, slipping it back into her pocket, "is what every official worker here owns. Anyone found working without one will be interrogated—and then beheaded in the town square."
A chill raced down Dydra's spine.
She swallowed. "Shall we go now?" she asked quietly. "I… I do not want to be beheaded."
Oryen chuckled softly and nodded. They stood and began walking through the winding corridors of the castle, passing busy maids and servants until they reached a long, deserted passageway. It was dark and narrow, with a single door at the far end.
Dydra slowed, skepticism creeping into her steps.
Oryen noticed immediately. "Don't be afraid," she reassured. "He's a friend of mine. He won't hurt you. We're doing this here so no one notices."
They reached the door. Oryen twisted the knob and stepped aside, giving Dydra a steady look.
"It's alright," she said. "I'll be right outside."
Taking a deep breath, Dydra stepped inside. The door closed gently behind her.
The room was pitch black.
A frown formed on her face. "Oryen?" she called cautiously. "Are you sure this is the place?"
"Yes," came the muffled reply through the door. "Don't worry."
Her heart settled—briefly.
Then a familiar voice sliced through the darkness, smooth and unmistakable.
"Hello there, beautiful."