I don't know when I drifted off, but when I came to… it was all dark. Night had fallen. My head ached, and my eyes were tired, the grass clung damp to my sleeves and dress. I didn't move—tired, disoriented, eyes fixed on nothing.
"Why's all this happening…" My voice was too cracked, too low for anyone to hear.
(I'm certain Iris's mother was alive in the book. And those Werebeasts, sighs of the coming war, maybe. But doesn't explain why I was kidnapped tho?)I sighed heavily, dragging my hands down my face. (God!, this is frustrating, I didn't think trying to change the plot would cost a life. Who knew the Duchess's presence held that much weight in the story…)
My thoughts were a mess, and I just kept brushing hands over my face-sighing into the cold—until a hand clasped gently on my shoulder, grounding me back to the present.
"I—!!" I turned, startled.
Raymond. crouched beside me, his expression calm and soften. His breath came out shaky, misting faintly in the cold.
(How did I not hear him?)
"I never left," he explained. "Aren't you cold? Let's go inside."
"Is it cold?" I muttered, voice dry.
He gave a faint huff. "You're colder than I am."
My gaze dropped to the grass. "Oh." I murmured, drawing my knees close. "I don't mind it... I suppose, it's... actually nice. You don't have to wait for me your highness." I smiled. As much as I could at least.
"Iris." he called softly, "you're in no state to be out here, and definitely not by yourself." I didn't say anything, couldn't think of anything.
"I'll just… sit. Quietly." He said.
I still didn't answer.
And the silence returned—but gentler this time, less heavy–more comforting. The crickets hummed somewhere far off, and I realized my fingers were trembling. I wasn't used to this. The idea of having someone to fallback to.
After what felt like forever, Raymond spoke again.
"Neither of my parents died in my arms." His tone low—careful. " so I can't say I understand your grief. But... what helps me… is believing their final words meant well for me."
I blinked, slow and tired. "She told me to cry more." I felt like he was looking at me now.
"Did you?" He asked.
"Once." My voice was as light as a gasps, cracked. "Pointless. It didn't do much."
"Only because you're fighting it so hard."
I frowned. "I'm not—"
Before I could finish, he moved—closing the distance, pulling me into his arms. My breath caught. My head pressed against his chest before I could resist, and for a second, I froze.
"Your highness?" I questioned—a little bit flustered.
"Relax, it's something my Mother taught me. I want you to close your eyes" his tone was still.soft.comforting. and I hated that I like it.
"I'm fine, truly." I persisted, his hold didn't budge,
"Shuuuuush..., if that was true you wouldn't be holding my shirt as hard, now would you?" He said teasing.
And truly, I tugged tightly at his shirt. Resting against his strangely tuned chest. His heart throding soft–steady, his skin–warm. it all felt really nice. I didn't think I could be held like this. It had been so long since I let myself felt this. True comfort.
His hand rested lightly on my hair, firm not hard, reassuring. "Just breathe, just....breathe"
"Shut up." My voice choked–thin.
" Oh?"
Something inside me cracked.My vision blurred—not from dizziness this time—but tears. It came slow. One. Then another. Then more. Till I was -finally- wailing.
"Why'd she do that?!, I was never a good daughter to her. She deserved better! She did!, I–I never got to apologize, now I never will. She... She didn't even let me."
All the numbness dissolved into raw ache. I was left burning. Guilt. Anger. And actual sadness. Feelings I didn't even know I felt, bottled up. Now flowed in shaky tears.
And he didn't say anything. Just held me, letting me break apart quietly, until my cries turned shallow, uneven breaths, and my eyes too heavy. My body gave out.
He shifted slightly, glancing down.
"Lady Hampton?"
No answer.
She was asleep. " I guess the rumors were right about one thing." He stared at her smiling, then brushed her busy hair of her face, clearing part for the moon to look too. She was undeniably beautiful.
The garden was still. Dew glistened faintly on the grass where the two sat. Raymond remained unmoving for a while, head bowed, her sleeping form resting gently in his arms.
A faint breath escaped him—half sigh, half whisper. "Don't worry," he murmured, quiet enough that only the night would have heard. "It won't be your last."
He stood carefully, lifting her with slow precision. Her hair brushed against his arm, pale in the moonlight. She stirred faintly, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt before falling back again.
Lanterns flickered at the manor's edge as he carried her inside. Servants lingering by the hallway froze, whispering with glances, others with warm eyes, as he passed. Everything seemed to hush around them.
"She looks peaceful in her sleep"
"It's exactly as the Duchess said."
The walls whispered.
In the east annex, the Dowager Princess stood by the bedroom window—silent, her expression unreadable. She said nothing as Raymond ascended, only following his steps with a measured gaze.
When he disappeared around the corner, she turned away, her features softening just enough to betray a thought she didn't speak.
.><><><.
Dawn had barely broken over the Hampton estate.
The first blush of sunlight spilled across the dewy lawns, gilding the mist as it drifted between the hedges. The imperial carriage waited before the manor, lacquered wood gleaming faintly beneath the pale gold sky. As servants maid their final checks.
The Dowager Princess stood with poise, every movement elegant, practiced — yet there was softness in the way she drew Duke Sylvester into a brief embrace.
"I'm sure you'll well, Sylvester," she said, her voice gentle but sure. "Iris too. She's already on her way to be a fine heir I'm sure" as he pulled away politely gave a quiet. "Take care on the journey, Your Highness." smile measured, eyes showed fatigue and a bit of pride.
"Ever proper," she teased, amusement dancing in her eyes.
Raymond bowed beside them "Your Grace."
"Come, nephew. We'll lose the dawn if we linger."
Ray. followed her into the carriage. The door shut with a soft click, and the horses lurched forward, the gravel crunched beneath them.
Duke Sylvester retreated into the manor, fading slowly with the estate shrinking behind — its towers and gardens swallowed by the rising light.
The gentle clatter of wheels filled the distance between the two inside the carriage, the muted rustle of silk as the Dowager settled her skirts. Sneaking glances at Raymond, who sat across from her, posture straight, expression unreadable. Look out.
"She reminds you of someone," she said at last, voice light, string the waters.
Raymond didn't turn. His gaze remained fixed on the window, where mist curled along the treeline.
"Your mother, perhaps?"
That earned her a glance — brief — before he looked away again.
"Well," the Dowager murmured, lips curving faintly, "she reminds me of your mother. Always has."
He exhaled, a sound caught between a sigh and a scoff. "I was only comforting her."
"Oh, it was very obvious what you were do, no need to explain." she said smoothly. "Though you'll forgive me, I don't understand something." putting a hand on her chin, thoughtful.
He gave a quiet scoff—or something like it "You read too much into things."
"And you say too little," she replied, eyes glinting. "quiet and detached doesn't make you hard to read. Boy."
He turned his head toward her, just slightly. "And what do you think you've read, Aunty?"
"Oh," she said, feigning innocence, "only that you look at her as though she's sunlight after a storm. A little dazed, a little afraid it might vanish if you blink."
Raymond's fingers tightened against his knee, but his tone stayed level. "All that in one night?."
"Mm. Their family has a history of making minutes into days." She leaned back, considering him. "And I've lived long enough to know the look of a heart that's being stirred. Even now, you have that look in your eyes."
He smiled faintly — too faintly. "You see ghosts where there are none."
"Do I?" she murmured. "Strange. Your mother said the exact same when I asked of your father."
That silenced him. He turned back to the window, the reflection of dawn casting soft light across his face.
"She's a proud one tho," the Dowager went on, voice quieter now. "Careful with her feelings. Careful with everyone. That girl — Iris — she's much more than whatever you're seeing. Possibly Fire hidden under frost. Be careful."
Raymond's throat tightened before he could stop it. "She's… different, that's all."
"Oh, I don't doubt it." Her smile stayed teasing. "And that difference is precisely what's undoing you, isn't it?"
He turned toward her then, meeting her gaze for the first time. "You talk too much."
"I notice too much, dear" she corrected. "A curse of age."
He didn't answer, only leaned back, eyes tracing the fading mist outside.
After a moment, she said, "Raymond,I see your father's restraint in you, but it only hurts him. Your mother helped him change that." She leaned in, places a hand on his leg. "I don't want you to go through that."
Silence stretched again. Outside, the world was brightening — soft gold sweeping across the town fields, the first birds rising from the trees.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "Believe me Aunt, I won't repeat any of Father's mistakes"
The Dowager smiled to herself, folding her hands neatly on her lap.
Outside, dawn broke fully — light spilling through the carriage window.
And though his expression stayed composed, something in it had softened — as if the first the first traces of feeling had managed to break his calm.