CHAPTER 32: THE MYSTERY MAN

Morning light slanted through the gauzy curtains of the Gilded Lily House, turning the air gold and soft. The high-end courtesan quarters still hummed with the remnants of pleasure and secrets, cloaked in satin sheets and whispered names.

Elandra stepped barefoot across the silk carpets, her robe barely holding on to her shoulders, her every step a dance of ease and allure. She moved toward the man sprawled across her bed, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. His eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the light before falling on her with languid appreciation.

"Truly, your beauty ought to be outlawed," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and desire.

Elandra laughed softly, taking a seat beside him. She held a folded parchment in her hands and read it with a pleased smile.

"Lovely are your words, milord," she said, though the letter had not been meant for her. She tucked it neatly into the drawer of her carved vanity, careful as always.

"I still cannot fathom why you’d write such honeyed lines to another woman, when I—" he reached out, pulling her against him, his head nestling in her bosom with a sigh of contentment "—when I am already here."

Elandra tilted her head, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"Would you like to know the truth?" she whispered against his ear.

He hummed lazily, nodding.

"But then," she added with a sultry chuckle, "I would have to kill you."

The man laughed, thinking it a jest, and pushed her back into the cushions, murmuring about wanting another night in her arms.

Elandra surrendered to his embrace with laughter still on her lips. Her task was done. The letter had been written and would reach its destination by noon.

And indeed, by midday, it was placed into Vivienne’s waiting hands.

Her job: to obtain a seal.

Vivienne grinned. She would get it that very night. Anything to rise further in Lazira’s good graces. The woman had saved her once. Vivienne would do anything to repay that debt.

-----

Sylvia watched quietly as Lorraine lay curled upon her bed, her form barely shifting throughout the day. She had not stepped outside, not even for lunch. That, in itself, was troubling. The Princess rarely stayed confined to her chambers for long. Even when struck by pain or grief, she usually found her footing quickly by choosing instead to lose herself in a quiet walk through the garden.

But now even that small comfort was lost to her.

The garden had been ruined.

Her precious hydrangeas, the ones she had tended with care, were nothing but broken stems and scattered petals. Whether out of thoughtlessness or cruelty, the prince had destroyed her one sanctuary.

Sylvia’s fingers tightened against her skirts. She hated the Prince. With every breath in her body, she hated him.

And yet this morning, he had the gall to knock on the Princess’s door, claiming he had come "to check on her." Emma, ever the soft heart, had nearly opened it. But Sylvia had stepped in swiftly, a calm hand on Emma’s shoulder, a firmer voice in her place.

"Her Highness wishes to be left alone."

Thankfully, he did not push further. He left without protest. At least he had that much sense.

Since then, he had not bothered her again. Lorraine had been resting, and Sylvia told herself that was what mattered. Rest was a balm Lorraine seldom allowed herself.

Now Lorraine sat up slightly, a small bowl of fresh berries cradled in her hands. Emma had brought them from the kitchen, knowing that during her monthlies, Lorraine preferred light food—berries and meat, nothing more.

"The mourning bells have rung," Emma said softly, smoothing out the hem of Lorraine’s blanket. "Viscount Norton’s daughter passed this morning. In her father’s house."

Lorraine’s hand stilled mid-reach. Just for a heartbeat. Then, with quiet resolve, she resumed eating.

"The Viscountess refused Lord Adrien Tareth at the door," Emma continued. "Blamed him for her daughter’s death. Quite the commotion, apparently. Now there’s talk that the Tareth family will not even be permitted to join the funeral rites."

Lorraine let out a low hum, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

There was a time she might have scorned such dramatics. But now, a strange ache settled in her chest. Not for the Norton girl, but for the fierce protection of her parents. Even in death, they held her close and fought for her name.

Lorraine had never known such love.

Her father offered only pain. Authority, if that, was all she ever received. Never affection.

Emma shifted her tone. "His Highness is attending Lord Cassian’s funeral today. And word is spreading... that Lord Cassian had a hidden fondness for dressing as a woman. That’s why, they say, he was found that way."

Lorraine gave a sigh, barely hiding her weariness. "Can the shinobis identify the one who took Cassian from them?"

Emma’s eyes darkened with caution. "They tried."

Lorraine remembered. The shinobis had done exactly as instructed—drug Cassian, dress him in women’s attire, and leave him to his fate, confused and exposed. It was meant to humiliate him, nothing more. A clean, silent disgrace.

But then, a cloaked man had appeared. Unseen, swift, and strong. He had taken Cassian from them. The shinobis fought back, but the man had outmatched them, disarming even their most skilled with nothing but a piece of wood.

Her orders had been clear: if the mission was compromised, abandon it. Their lives were more valuable than any single task. They had obeyed. And Cassian had fallen. Hard. Bloody. Dead.

Lorraine didn’t mourn him. One less piece of filth in the world.

But the man...

That unknown man stirred unease in her chest.

Was he an enemy? Or... an unseen ally?

"Did they see anything else?" she asked.

"Only his build. Tall. Quick. Covered in a mask and hood," Emma said. "He moved like a man used to killing. And he was calm. Very calm."

Lorraine leaned back against her pillow, brows furrowed in thought. A man who fought like that, barehanded. Calm. Deadly.

Her mind strayed, unbidden, to Leroy.

Her husband could fight without steel. She had heard the soldiers speak in awe, how he once killed twelve men with his bare hands during the battle of Velron.

But no. He had stood beside her when she saw the figure on the rooftop. He could not be in two places at once.

Besides, Leroy had no reason to harm Cassian. None that she knew of.

"Are you attending Lady Norton’s funeral?" Emma asked gently, breaking her thoughts.

Lorraine blinked, pulling herself back to the present.

"Ask Sir Al what the rites involve," she said. "If my plan works correctly, House Arvand will be excluded from the ceremony."

Emma nodded. "I’ll speak to Sir Aldric," she replied, then stepped out of the chamber, her quiet footsteps fading down the corridor.

Lorraine waited until the door had clicked softly behind her. Then she turned, her gaze falling on Sylvia, who had been far too silent.

"You’re awfully quiet," Lorraine said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Sylvia stiffened.

She should speak.

She had to speak.