The morning light spilled across the cobbled street as Colden stepped out of the inn, his coat still rumpled from sleep, his heart still full from the night before. Marco had smiled at him over breakfast, soft and sleepy, and Colden had felt something settle inside him — something like peace.
He didn't expect to see Francis waiting by the fountain.
The butler stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.
"Francis?" Colden asked, surprised.
"We need to talk," Francis said. "Now."
Colden hesitated. "Is something wrong?"
Francis turned and walked toward the carriage without answering.
Colden glanced back at the inn, at Marco watching from the doorway, then followed.
The ride was silent. The city faded behind them, replaced by winding roads and quiet hills. Colden watched the trees blur past, his chest tightening with unease.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Francis didn't respond.
Eventually, the carriage stopped near a stone bridge, old and moss-covered, the kind Colden had only seen in paintings. Francis stepped out. Colden followed.
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind stirring the leaves.
"You're irresponsible," Francis said finally.
Colden flinched. "I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't mean to disappear the day before your engagement?" Francis snapped. "You didn't mean to leave the castle in chaos? You didn't mean to humiliate your family?"
"I needed time," Colden said quietly.
Francis turned to him, eyes sharp. "Time is a luxury you don't have. Not when your name carries weight. Not when your choices affect more than just you."
Colden looked away. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"No," Francis said. "But you were born into it. And that means something."
They stood in silence again, the wind brushing past.
Then Francis spoke, softer now.
"I loved someone once."
Colden looked up.
"A noble," Francis said. "A man with a name that meant everything. A man who was kind, and brilliant, and impossible."
Colden's breath caught.
"His name was Noir," Francis said. "Your father."
Colden stared at him, stunned.
"I was just a servant," Francis continued. "Just a butler. But he saw me. He spoke to me like I mattered. He asked about my thoughts, my dreams. He made me feel… alive."
Colden's voice was barely a whisper. "Did he know?"
Francis nodded. "I think he did. But he never said it. And I never dared."
He looked away, eyes distant. "I watched him marry. I watched him rule. I watched him grow older. And I stayed. I served. I smiled."
Colden swallowed. "And when he died?"
Francis's voice broke. "I cried. I cried like I'd lost the only truth I'd ever known."
The wind was quiet now.
"I see you with Marco," Francis said. "I see the way you look at him. And I know what it means."
Colden didn't speak.
Francis turned to him. "Don't make my mistake. Don't let duty bury your heart."
Colden looked at the road ahead.
And knew what he had to do.