The morning air was crisp when Cael stepped out of the Winter estate, the faint scent of wet earth clinging to the breeze.
Two horses snorted clouds of vapor, and Sebastian sat atop the driver's seat, reins in hand, posture impeccable as always.
Cael paused before climbing in. His muscles still ached from last night's spar — every step reminded him that this body, while improving, was still far from what he once had.
He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders, muttering under his breath.
"Seems like this body still doesn't appreciate midnight duels."
When he pulled the door open, he was met with a pair of eyes — one gentle, the other assessing.
Celeste sat inside, already dressed in a simple cream-colored gown that somehow made her look effortlessly graceful.
Beside her sat her maid — a girl with black hair tied neatly at the back and eyes like cold sapphires, quietly observing everything.
Cael blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You're here early."
Celeste arched a brow, voice calm but carrying an edge. "Why did you do that?"
Cael tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Do what?"
She frowned.
"Why did you lie about me wanting to go? You invited me and I didn't even agree yet."
He gave her a lazy grin and leaned back into his seat. "And yet here you are, even before me."
Her expression stiffened in irritation, lips parting as if to reply, but she merely exhaled and shook her head.
"You're impossible."
"Relax," he said with a teasing smile. "Everything worked out in the end."
Celeste looked away, pretending to be interested in the view through the window.
Cael caught the faintest hint of color on her cheeks — though whether from irritation or embarrassment, he couldn't tell.
He turned his gaze to the maid, Iris.
She sat straight-backed, composed, hands folded neatly on her lap. Her face was calm, but her eyes… they lingered.
Silent, sharp, measuring.
For a moment, their gazes met — and Cael caught the flicker of curiosity, perhaps suspicion, in her expression.
He smiled faintly, then looked away.
Just then, the door swung open again. "Brother! Wait for me!"
Lily's cheerful voice cut through the air as she climbed aboard, clutching a small pouch in both hands. Her blonde curls bounced as she plopped down opposite Cael, her face glowing with excitement.
"Alright, everyone's here," Sebastian called from outside, and the carriage lurched forward.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestone filled the silence.
Lily leaned halfway out the window, eyes wide as the forests blurred past.
"It's been so long since I went to Westford! They say the food there is amazing!"
Cael chuckled softly. "Food, huh? I thought you wanted new dresses."
Lily turned back with a pout. "I can want both!"
Celeste smiled faintly at that, her earlier irritation fading a little. "You're growing more like your brother every day."
"Hey," Cael said, pretending to sound offended. "That's a compliment, right?"
Celeste gave a small, amused sigh. "Depends on the day."
For a while, the conversation drifted easily — Lily chatting about sweets, Celeste occasionally responding, and Cael mostly listening with a relaxed smile.
But beneath that casual air, his mind was far from idle.
Hours passed before Sebastian's voice rang out from the front. "We've reached Westford!"
The carriage rolled into the heart of the bustling town. The smell of roasted meat, perfume, and spices flooded the air.
Stalls lined the streets in vivid colors, hawkers shouting their wares — silks, jewelry, weapons, charms, and everything between. The marketplace square was a living organism — noisy, vibrant, and full of movement.
Lily pressed her face to the window. "Wow! Look at all that!"
"Let's not get lost," Celeste said gently, though even she couldn't hide her interest as she looked around.
The air here was different — freer, less restrained than the noble estates.
As they stepped out, Sebastian followed close behind, a quiet sentinel. Iris trailed Celeste like a shadow, scanning every face, every movement.
She was calm, but her eyes missed nothing.
Cael walked leisurely, hands in pockets, smiling faintly as his sister darted from one shop to another, dragging Celeste along.
From an outside view, it was a wholesome family outing.
But beneath the surface — two pairs of eyes were studying each other.
✧✧✧
Iris's POV
The young master… had changed.
Iris kept her distance, pretending to browse through trinkets as she watched Cael out of the corner of her eye.
He looked the same — black hair, calm expression, that easy smile nobles practiced so well. But his aura was different now.
It wasn't the sluggish, spoiled laziness she had once grown accustomed to. His eyes moved too deliberately. His words held weight.
She had lived her life in shadows.
Born an orphan, Iris's earliest memories were not of lullabies or warmth, but of steel and silence.
She didn't remember her parents — only the cold hands that dragged her from the streets and into the Blackthorne estate's underground training facility.
The Blackthornes — Celeste's noble house — had many servants, but among them were those who didn't exist on paper.
Shadows trained to serve, to kill, to vanish. Iris was one of them.
From the moment she could stand, she was taught to obey.
From the moment she could hold a knife, she was told to kill.
Mistakes were punished with hunger, or pain. Success was rewarded with survival.
Names didn't matter there — only ranks and results.
She was useful. Efficient. Replaceable.
That was what they told her. That was what she believed.
Until the day she met Celeste.
It was supposed to be a simple assignment.
She was barely twelve, still more shadow than girl, when she was told to protect a young lady of the house — a girl with violet hair and eyes of the same shade.
Celeste had been fifteen at the time, bright yet soft, the kind of noble who smiled even at servants.
When Iris was introduced, she bowed mechanically, eyes to the floor, repeating the phrase she'd been drilled to say:
"I exist to serve. My life is yours to command."
But instead of nodding in approval, Celeste had frowned.
"You make it sound like you're not a person," she said. "What's your name?"
Iris had hesitated, unsure how to answer something so… unnecessary. "Iris," she'd said quietly.
Celeste smiled. "Then I'll call you that. And you'll call me Celeste, not 'my lady'. Is that clear?"
The girl's simple kindness had felt wrong. Dangerous.
No one had ever looked at her that way — like she was someone worth looking at.
Days turned into weeks.
Celeste would insist Iris eat with her whenever possible, even if it meant sneaking food from the kitchen.
When Iris stood guard at night, Celeste would bring her a blanket. When Iris bowed, Celeste would sigh and tell her to stop doing that.
At first, Iris resisted. She thought it was a trick — nobles didn't care about shadows.
But Celeste never stopped being kind. She treated her not like a weapon, but like a sister she never had.
Sometimes, Celeste would talk about her dreams — of seeing the world beyond the county walls, of finding her own path.
Other times, she'd simply listen, asking Iris small things about her life, her thoughts, her feelings — things Iris didn't even know how to answer.
Over the years, that kindness carved away the emptiness inside her. For the first time, Iris began to feel human.
Celeste had become her light.
So when the marriage proposal came — a union between the Blackthorne and the Winters — Iris followed her without hesitation.
She was assigned to continue her duty as Celeste's personal maid and secret protector.
At first, she had thought it a blessing. But soon, the light began to dim.
Aldric Winter — Celeste's husband — was distant, indifferent. He never shouted, never struck her, but that made it worse.
His coldness wasn't cruelty; it was absence. And absence, Iris learned, could hurt more than any wound.
She watched her lady force smiles at dinners, watched her cry silently when she thought no one saw.
The Celeste who once filled rooms with warmth now moved like a ghost within the mansion walls.
Iris had wanted to tell Count Blackthorne everything — to reveal how the man he trusted with his daughter's happiness had turned her into a porcelain doll behind glass.
But Celeste had stopped her, tears trembling on her lashes.
"Please don't," she'd said. "I'll fix this. I can make him love me."
And so Iris obeyed. Because for all her training, all her skill, she could never disobey Celeste's wishes.
But with each passing day, guilt piled higher. She had been trained to kill, yet she couldn't protect the one person who made her human.
Then came Cael Winter.
The useless, lazy young master everyone whispered about. But the man Iris saw these past few days was anything but that.
She'd noticed it first in the subtle things — how he moved, how he watched, how he thought. His steps were measured, his gaze sharper than a blade.
Then last night, she saw him in the garden — talking to Celeste beneath the moonlight.
The words he spoke had been gentle, almost comforting, but Iris had heard the undertone: a quiet, cunning edge.
He'd made her mistress smile again — truly smile — for the first time in months.
And Iris didn't know whether to be grateful… or afraid.
Because she could feel it — beneath his calm demeanor, beneath the warmth of his words — there was danger.
An awareness far too deep for his age, an intent too deliberate to ignore.
Even during the carriage ride, when his gaze met hers, she'd felt it like a blade grazing her throat.
He'd looked at her not as a maid… but as if he knew.
And now, as she watched him move through the crowded streets of Westford, that feeling only grew stronger.
Her instincts whispered one thing — clear and absolute.
He is dangerous.
And yet, she followed. Silent. Composed. Unblinking.
Cael eventually drifted closer, pretending to examine a rack of trinkets beside her. Without looking her way, he murmured softly,
"Iris. I have a job for you."
Her eyes flickered, though her voice stayed calm. "What can I do for you, Young Master?"
"Nothing much," he said lightly. "Just look for a person."
She froze. "I think you mistake me for someone suited to that kind of work."
Cael finally turned his head, meeting her gaze.
His smile was gentle — but his eyes were cold, sharp as glass.
"I'm pretty sure," he said softly, "you're the most suitable person in the entire Winter estate."
Her heart skipped. For the first time in years, she felt fear claw at her chest. He knows.
When? How? Had he been watching her too?
She quickly masked her reaction, forcing a calm tone. "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." His smile didn't waver. "And don't worry — your secret's safe with me. For now."
Her fingers twitched slightly. "You know I could kill you."
Cael chuckled, low and amused. "Oh, could you?"
It wasn't arrogance — it was certainty. And that certainty unsettled her more than any blade could.
She swallowed the urge to draw her dagger right there.
Killing him would destroy everything — her cover, her mistress's fragile peace.
And deep down, she knew… Cael wasn't bluffing, he knew she can't lay a finger on him.
She was strictly ordered to keep her identity a secret in the Winters estate.
Finally, she exhaled through her nose. "Who am I looking for?"
Cael leaned slightly closer, whispering a name — a quiet, almost careless tone.
But his gaze stayed locked on hers the entire time, ensuring she understood: this was not a request.When he finished, Iris hesitated.
"Why should I help you?"
"You don't have to," Cael said, straightening his sleeves. "But I may or may not mention a few words to the Baron or your mistress about a certain assassin hiding in plain sight… well, that might complicate things, don't you think?"
Iris's face turned pale, but she said nothing.
He smiled faintly. "Don't worry. I'm not your enemy, Iris. Just a man with… plans."
A moment of silence stretched between them before Iris finally said, "I'll be back soon."
"I know," he said simply.
And then she was gone, melting into the crowd like smoke.
Cael watched her disappear, then turned back to where Lily and Celeste were admiring fabrics. Celeste glanced around, noticing the absence of her maid.
"Where's Iris?"
Cael smiled easily. "She's out on an errand. Don't worry, she'll be back soon."
Celeste raised a brow but didn't press. She trusted too easily.
Cael turned to Lily. "I'll be back in a bit. Need to… find a restroom." He looked toward Sebastian. "Sebas, keep an eye on them while I'm gone."
Sebastian nodded, though there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Of course, Young Master."
Cael waved casually and slipped into the crowd.
But his path didn't lead anywhere near a restroom.
✧✧✧
The further he walked, the darker the alleys became — laughter fading into murmurs, clean cobblestones giving way to dirt and grime.
He asked a few merchants for directions, and eventually, saw it
A wooden sign hung loosely above a reinforced door, the paint chipped and letters barely legible:
The Mercenary Guild.
Inside, the air was thick with sweat and smoke.
Men in leather armor and tattered cloaks filled the hall — drinking, gambling, sharpening blades.
A few glanced up when he entered but quickly lost interest.
Cael's eyes scanned the room, precise and calm.
It didn't take long to find his target — a man sitting in the far corner, slouched over a cup of ale.
Unshaven, scar across his chin, eyes like dull iron.
Around him sat a few others, pretending not to watch but very much alert.
Cael approached quietly and sat opposite him. For a moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Cael said, "I have a job for you."
The man didn't look up. "What kind of job?"
"I want you and your group to follow me. For four months."
That earned him a scoff. The man lifted his eyes, and they were tired, guarded. "Let me guess. You're a noble's son."
Cael smiled faintly. "Yeah."
"Listen here, brat," the man said, voice low and rough.
"If you're looking to play your noble games, find someone else. We don't do bodyguard work for spoiled heirs."
Cael leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. His tone stayed calm, almost casual.
"I know the truth behind the Bleak Town incident."
The man froze.
For a heartbeat, the entire table seemed to stop breathing. The lazy, dull eyes turned sharp — dangerous.
"What… did you just say?"
"I said," Cael repeated, voice soft but clear, "I know the truth."
The man's chair scraped against the floor as he leaned forward, tension rippling through his body.
Around them, several of his men subtly shifted, hands moving toward weapons.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "And how do you know about that?"
Cael stood, straightening his shirt with deliberate calm.
"Take some time to think about my offer," he said smoothly.
"Meet me at the local den tonight, when you make your decision."
And with that, he walked out — leaving behind a room full of silent, confused mercenaries, and a man whose world had just tilted off its axis.
Outside, as he stepped back into the daylight, Cael's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
'And now, he thought, 'the real pieces begin to move.'