"Your highness, forgive . I didn’t an to speak out of turn," Nieah rushed to add when Circe’s silence stretched on. The princess’s brows had furrowed, her expression turning inward in a way that made it clear her thoughts were spiraling.
"No." Circe shook her head, as though physically trying to scatter the worries forming in her mind. She refocused on Nieah. "No, you are right."
But even as she said it, the words sounded fragile to her own ears.
Nieah did not look convinced. Her gaze remained steady, quietly assessing Circe. She drifted closer to where the princess was crouching, lowering her voice so no one lingering nearby would overhear. Her next words were ant for Circe alone.
"There are ways to prevent it," she murmured. "So of the maids... they sotis choose to beco intimate with a guard or another servant. Those won have no intention of becoming with child, so they take certain herbs to prevent it. I’m usually the one they co to for such things."
Circe’s eyes snapped up, surprise flashing through them. Her thoughts whirled, suddenly sharp.
"I never knew you were knowledgeable with herbs."
"My grandfather made and sold herbal tinctures until he passed. Afterward, my father took over the trade. I grew up watching them and learning from both."
It was a part of Nieah’s past she did not often share. Since leaving her ho and coming to Lamora, she had learned to tuck away those pieces of herself.
Life had not allowed her the luxury of finishing her lessons under her father or even reading through the nurous notebooks her family kept, pages of formulas, cures, and old wisdom scrawled in ink. When her father fell ill, she abandoned all her studies to care for him and her younger siblings. And the responsibility she shouldered had nearly swallowed her whole.
When she finally did try to use her inherited skills to make a living after his passing, she quickly learned how unforgiving the world was to soone who was both young and a woman. The two worst things, she often believed, a person could be.
"You could give so," Circe said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "And no one would even have to know, if you don’t want them to. It could just be between us."
There was a note of plea in her words.
Nieah’s expression tightened, concern pinching the corners of her eyes as she searched Circe’s face for the right way to respond.
"Herbs are only effective for that sort of thing if they are taken imdiately after the act," Nieah said gently.
Circe’s brows drew downward, confusion shifting slowly into dawning realization.
The implication settled between them like a cold fog.
Circe’s lips parted, but for a mont no sound ca out, as though the words were too heavy. When she finally forced them out, her voice was barely more than breath.
"I... could be pregnant right now."
Saying it aloud made the possibility feel alarmingly real, heavy and impossible to ignore.
Nieah moved even closer, kneeling to place a steadying hand on Circe’s shoulder.
"You can’t know for certain yet," she murmured. "Not until your next monthly bleed. I’ll give you so herbs for afterward, just in case it cos. You can start taking them imdiately."
She hesitated for only a mont before adding softly, "And for what it’s worth, I believe his highness would make a wonderful father. Nothing like the one he grew up with."
She did not care that she had spoken about the king in such a callous manner. It didn’t change the truth.
Circe didn’t respond. She simply returned to her task of harvesting, moving with a chanical calm. The possibility hovered over her like a storm cloud, threatening to unravel her life for the second ti in the span of just a few months.
***
A deafening crash shattered the suffocating silence of the dungeons, a thunderous sound that echoed through the stone corridors and rattled the iron bars.
Gerard jerked upright at once. The noises were so jarring against the monotonous and oppressive silence of the dungeons, shattering the stillness so completely that the sound hung in the air even seconds after the sudden crash.
It was followed by shouts for the guards. Multiple footsteps thundering down the hall at once.
Gerard pushed himself toward the front of his cell, favoring his injured leg. He gripped the cold bars, straining to see anything beyond the flicker of distant torchlight. No matter how he squinted or craned his neck, he could discern what was happening or what had caused the commotion.
Then, without warning, a figure cloaked in black appeared before his cell.
Gerard stumbled back in shock, landing hard on one knee. His pulse hamred violently in his throat. He regained his composure as quickly as he could, but the figure remained silent.
The king had already sent nurous people to interrogate him since his arrest. They all asked the sa questions about the rebellion, trying to get him to confess the identities of whoever else was involved in the act of treason. Their thods were anything but rciful. Pain had beco a constant companion, gnawing at him in every waking mont.
Yet he had said nothing. Not a single word.
But he knew that he could not endure this forever. If the torture continued, if the beatings worsened, he did not know how long his silence would hold.
Now, with this new intruder standing outside his cell, Gerard felt a different kind of terror coil in his gut.
This visit did not feel like another interrogation.
His first instinct was that this person might be one of those n the king sent to torture the truth out of him. But he quickly pushed the thought away. The king’s interrogators were always well dressed, never cloaked in heavy fabric that hid their faces so completely. And the king’s n carried themselves with absolute confidence, never quick or frantic like soone afraid of being caught.
A sharp flare of pain shot through Gerard’s injured leg, bright and searing, and he tightened his grip around the cold iron bars of the cell.
The newcor withdrew a key from sowhere within his cloak and shoved it into the lock. The click as it turned sounded impossibly loud despite the chaos echoing through the dungeons.
The king had thrown Gerard into one of the smallest, most suffocating cells in the entire dungeon, a punishnt usually reserved for the vilest criminals. There were typically five guards stationed just down the row at all tis, yet this cloaked stranger had slipped past them all. Had he caused the commotion raging through the halls? Was the uproar a diversion ant for this mont?
The cell door swung open, and for the first ti in weeks, Gerard stepped beyond the boundary of his confinent.
"Follow ," the stranger ordered, his voice low before he slipped ahead without another word.
Gerard tried to keep up, but every movent sent waves of pain radiating from his still-healing leg. It felt like fire had seeped into his bones. Still, this agony was nothing compared to what the king’s n had already done or what they would do once he got recaptured again.
He didn’t know who this savior was or what motives lay behind such a rescue, but he had no ti to question it.
They broke into a full sprint as they weaved through deserted corridors. After a while, Gerard realized with confusion that he did not recognize the route. He had not been brought in through any of these halls. This must be one of the hidden passageways, a route only the most trusted castle personnel knew existed. It explained the absence of guards.
Whoever this man was, he possessed an intimate knowledge of the dungeon’s layout.
A guard spotted them as they rounded another corner, but before the man could draw breath to alert the other guards, Gerard’s rescuer already had a weapon in hand, a small throwing knife balanced effortlessly between his fingers. In one swift motion, he sent it flying.
It struck the guard in the throat with deadly precision.
Two more guards crossed their path, and both fell just as quickly. Knife after knife was drawn and thrown with terrifying accuracy. Bodies dropped in the stranger’s wake, and Gerard remained silent, biting the inside of his cheek as he fought to stay upright despite the burning in his leg.
Dread weighed heavy on his chest with every step. He knew that even if they escaped the stone walls of the dungeon, the courtyard outside was always lined with archers, ready to fire the mont a prisoner attempted to flee.
But the stranger did not lead him toward the main exit.
Instead, he veered sharply into an even darker passageway, one Gerard had never seen before. They plunged through a maze of tunnel-like pathways until at last they erged into a vast, empty arena.
Several gates lined the circular space, but only one stood unlocked. Outside it, another cloaked figure waited beside two saddled horses.
Gerard was already gasping for breath, every exhale feeling strained and tight. The throbbing in his leg had intensified into a blinding, stabbing agony with each step. Still, despite the dizziness creeping in around the edges of his vision, he managed to et the second stranger’s gaze.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice ragged. "Why did you rescue ?"
"We cannot linger here," the man replied calmly. "But consider your freedom a gift from the queen."
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