CHAPTER 45: BEYOND THE WINDOW

The chamber seemed quieter once Lady Cassia, Roslin, and Atticus had left — their absence leaving behind the lingering perfume and the fading hush of trailing silks. The seamstress lingered, her hands folded neatly before her, eyes resting on Anneliese with a consideration that felt more genuine than the scrutiny that had filled the room moments before.

"Lady Anneliese," Estelle began, her tone gentler now that the air had eased, "I could not help but notice your eyes do not wander toward the heavier brocades or gilded velvets." A faint smile curved her lips, warm yet professional. "You favor grace over weight — a beauty that does not hide behind excess."

Anneliese lowered her gaze once before meeting Estelle’s eyes again. With a quiet honesty, she confessed, "I have never worn royal gowns. To be truthful, I have never even seen them this closely. They feel more like armor than attire."

Estelle’s expression brightened, as though she had been waiting for such an admission. "Then I will see to it that several gowns are made to your measure — silks and light weaves, elegant without drowning in ornament. Dresses that will carry your presence, rather than smother it."

She dipped her head, sincerity threading her words. "For you, simplicity will shine brighter than any jewel — you yourself resemble the rarest stone."

A pause lingered before Estelle spoke again, her words more hesitant. "Forgive me if I overstep, my lady... but was it Sire Atticus who first sought your company? He is not one I have ever known to show such marked interest."

Anneliese blinked, caught off guard by the misunderstanding. Even now, she struggled to reconcile herself with the reality of Vincenzo—so to imagine his brother in his place felt both unsettling and distant from the truth, a thought too alien to grasp.

Her voice was soft when it came, careful not to sound defensive. "No... it was not Sire Atticus." She paused, her gaze lowering as if the memory had drawn her inward. A faint stillness passed over her expression, the memory of her first encounter with Vincenzo in the forest stirring something quieter, almost fragile. Then she said, as though even she could hardly believe it herself, "It was another... one who found me where I did not expect to be found."

Estelle tilted her head, a trace of confusion flickering across her face — she had noticed more than once how Sire Atticus’s gaze lingered on Anneliese, and the question had clearly been asked with genuine curiosity rather than malice. A faint flicker of realization passed across her features as she pieced together the truth, and she lowered herself into a deeper, more formal bow. "Forgive me, my Queen. I did not realize... Please overlook my supposed intrusion."

Anneliese observed the seamstress more closely — the way her hands rested lightly, the poised yet tentative posture, the keen attentiveness in her gaze. There was something honest and unpretentious in her manner, a sincerity that Anneliese found quietly comforting. Her lips curved in an understanding smile. "There is nothing to forgive, Lady Bloom." Her tone softened, carrying both warmth and reassurance. "I know your words came from care, not offense."

A smile lingered on Estelle’s face, the kind that carried both respect and a quiet, unspoken admiration. She dipped her head gracefully and said, "Versimoil has known its share of queens who wished to dazzle with weight and shine." She let some words go unspoken before continuing, "But never before has Versimoil seen a queen so gentle, and in all my years, I have not known one to carry such grace."

Anneliese’s face warmed, touched by the unexpected sincerity and respect. "Your kindness honors me, Lady Bloom," she said softly, her voice carrying both gratitude and humility.

Estelle’s answering smile deepened faintly before she excused herself, her departure leaving behind an atmosphere gentler than before, that felt almost sacred after the hours of tension that had unfolded. Anneliese remained still for a time, her hands folded loosely in her lap, Lucas standing quietly behind her, offering wordless patience.

Later, she found herself drawn to the library, its towering shelves and shadowed alcoves promising a kind of refuge. The weight of the day pressed at her temples, but the ink-dusted tomes called her as they always did. She spread the pages of old spellwork across the table, golden flames wavered over her bent form as she traced the looping script with careful eyes. Each line seemed to demand more than she could give, yet she persisted, searching for meaning in the delicate strokes of ink. The words began to swim in her vision after a while, her body weary though her mind clung stubbornly to its task.

Hours slipped unnoticed until the sound of distant bells marked the evening’s fall. At dinner she ate in silence, the murmur of others blurred against the hollow weight inside her chest. She forced herself through the motions, but fatigue tugged relentlessly, dragging at her bones.

By the time she returned to her chamber, exhaustion pressed too heavily to resist. The fabrics of her dress whispered as she loosened them, each simple motion slowed by the haze settling over her. The weight of everything lingered like a shadow at her back. Sleep crept over her the instant her head touched the pillow.

Vincenzo stood by the window, arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the forest stretching beyond the castle walls. The crescent moon cast a pale shimmer across the treetops, silvering the dark expanse. Shadows pooled where the light faltered, turning the wilderness into something both familiar and unknowable.

A glass of crimson rested on the bedside table, half-forgotten, the liquid catching the fire’s glow in muted flashes. Lucas had told him everything that had transpired in the dressing chamber — his stepmother’s imposing presence, the seamstress’s misstep, her mistaken assumption of Atticus, and the careful way Anneliese had corrected her. And afterward, how she had lingered in the library, stubbornly deciphering ancient spellwork long after weariness had begun to erode her strength.

The knowledge stirred something sharp inside him. It was not anger, nor even protectiveness alone, but a weight he could neither set down nor name. The storm of thoughts churned relentlessly, yet none pressed so heavily as the memory of her. Anneliese — with her quiet persistence, her hesitant smile at dinner, the way she seemed to carry both strength and vulnerability in equal measure.

He crossed the chamber with measured steps, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he lingered at the opposite window. The bed behind him remained untouched. Rest eluded him, as it often did. Night creatures like him rarely needed sleep, yet this night was different. Silence itself seemed to whisper her name, drawing her image into every shadow.

The urge to be near her took hold, and he moved toward her chamber. Yet, hearing the calm, steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept, he did not enter. He paused in the doorway, letting the soft quiet of her presence settle over him, before finally turning back.

Long into the night, Vincenzo remained at his chamber window, silent and watchful — not over the kingdom, but over the girl who had captured the heart of his otherwise relentless, heartless soul.