Caldrin offered a small, deliberate shrug. "I like to understand the places I negotiate with. And their people.
His glance returned to Liora for a brief mont, and Lucien noticed.
Liora stepped back quietly, unsure if she should stay.
Lucien’s voice was calm but cool. "She has nothing to do with politics. Nor with your interests."
Caldrin raised a brow. "We’ll see."
After he left, Rowan slipped in, looking between Lucien and the now-quiet hallway.
"He’s not from Petra," Rowan murmured under his breath. "He’s from Esrayne."
Lucien turned his head slightly. "That’s worse."
"Much."
Esrayne, wealthy, subtle, and known for playing both sides in politics. Their sudden envoy to the capital and now to Lucien’s estate was no coincidence. And Caldrin wasn’t just a face; he was a shadow sent walking.
Lucien looked to the corridor where Liora had disappeared. He didn’t like the way Caldrin had looked at her. And yet, he couldn’t place why it bothered him so much.
"She’s not involved," Lucien muttered again.
Rowan didn’t argue. He just raised a brow and said, "You’re the only one who believes that anymore."
The estate felt colder that evening, even though no storm threatened the skies. Liora sat by the small brazier in her chamber, pressing a warm cloth to her hands. Beatrice had given her an odd look earlier, one that lingered as if trying to solve a riddle. And Lucien hadn’t spoken to her since the envoy’s arrival.
She hadn’t ant to draw attention. She certainly didn’t want it from a foreign diplomat.
But Caldrin had that way about him, his smile asured, eyes always scanning. The kind of man who noticed too much and offered too little.
A knock at the door startled her.
"Enter," she said, standing.
To her surprise, it was Samuel, not one of the maids.
"Lord Lucien requests your presence in the side hall. He asked you to co quietly."
Liora’s heart skipped. "Did sothing happen?"
Samuel only shook his head. "Not yet."
She followed him through the dim corridors of the estate until they reached a small chamber, the kind used for informal etings. Lucien stood near the hearth, arms crossed, eyes sharp. A few maps were laid out on the table. Caldrin’s visit had stirred sothing, perhaps more than he let on.
"Sit," Lucien said without looking at her.
She obeyed, glancing at the table. One of the maps was of the western border Esrayne’s territory.
Lucien finally spoke. "Do you know who he is?"
"The envoy?"
"Caldrin of Esrayne. Third son of Lord Chancellor Marrick. Educated in Petra. Known for brokering trade deals laced with spies. And he noticed you before he noticed the map I showed him."
Liora flinched. "I didn’t speak to him, my lord. He approached ."
"I know," Lucien said. "That’s why I’m warning you."
She blinked. "Warning ?"
"Do not speak to him alone. Do not answer his questions unless I’m present. And do not think for a mont that his interest is harmless." His voice wasn’t raised, but it was firm.
Liora looked down at her hands. "I understand."
Lucien watched her, sothing unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"You’re not part of this war," he muttered. "But it doesn’t an they won’t try to use you in it."
A silence settled between them.
"I’ll be careful," Liora said, her voice soft but steady.
Lucien nodded once and turned away, as if that ended the matter.
But it hadn’t.
Outside that room, Rowan had already begun to dig into Caldrin’s reasons for arriving early. And Beatrice, quiet but ever watchful, had her own suspicions, especially when she saw Caldrin speaking with one of the upper servants who once worked in the capital.
Sothing was coming.
And in the middle of it all, Liora stood like a fla no one had expected, fragile but slowly burning brighter.
The next morning, the estate stirred earlier than usual.
Word had spread of Caldrin’s request to "explore the estate grounds for inspiration." The man was not a poet, nor a painter, nor a priest. And yet, he walked through Lucien’s territory with all the ease of one who owned it.
Lucien, standing by the inner balcony, watched the envoy from above. Rowan approached him quietly, nodding once as he ca to stand beside him.
"He’s t with Beatrice," Rowan said. "Or rather...she summoned him."
Lucien’s jaw twitched. "She did?"
"Yes. Said it was out of courtesy. But she’s been spending more ti in her prayer room lately."
"She’s not praying," Lucien muttered. "She’s trying to understand what that man wants."
Rowan hesitated. "Do you think he’s here for Liora?"
Lucien’s gaze didn’t waver. "I think he’s here for whatever lies between and the crown."
anwhile, Liora was busy arranging herbs in the infirmary. It was supposed to be quiet, but the arrival of Caldrin had shifted everything. Even the maids had begun to murmur about his foreign coat, his eyes, and the way he smiled just a little too kindly.
So when he arrived at the threshold of the infirmary, Liora nearly dropped the pestle in her hand.
"Lady Liora," Caldrin said, stepping in. "May I?"
She steadied herself. "This is the infirmary, Envoy. Do you need sothing?"
He walked slowly, inspecting the shelves, the curtains, and the neat linen bundles.
"I’ve seen many healing rooms. None so... modest." His tone was polite, but every word felt like a test.
Liora moved between him and the patients. "We do what we can. Was there sothing specific you needed?"
Caldrin offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Curiosity, perhaps. You interest ."
Liora’s stomach turned.
Before she could respond, another voice cut through the tension.
"She’s not here for your interest."
Lucien had arrived, his voice a low rumble.
Caldrin turned smoothly. "Ah, Lord Lucien. You honor us with your presence."
"I asked you not to enter the infirmary," Lucien said, stepping between them. "You seem to have misunderstood."
"I misunderstood nothing," Caldrin replied, still smiling. "But it seems the lady is more important to you than I thought."
Lucien didn’t answer that. His silence was colder than a threat.
Caldrin gave Liora a small bow. "Until next ti, Lady Liora."
Once he was gone, Lucien turned to her. "I told you not to speak to him alone."
"I didn’t invite him in," she said, her voice low but controlled.
Lucien looked at her for a long mont. Then his shoulders eased slightly.
"Next ti, call Samuel."
Liora nodded, then hesitated. "He asked strange questions."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "What kind?"
"He wanted to know where I studied... who trained . If I were close to anyone here."
Lucien exhaled slowly. "So it begins."
"Begins?" she echoed.
Lucien looked at the door Caldrin had exited from. "Spies don’t always wear black cloaks and carry poisoned rings. So carry soft words and borrowed smiles."
He turned back to her. "Stay close to the estate. Don’t wander off. And for now, no more treatnts. At least not where people can see."
"But..."
He shook his head. "I’ll explain later."
And with that, he left.
Liora watched the doorway for a long ti after he vanished.
Things were changing again.
And she had a feeling this change would be dangerous.
The next morning, with tension still crackling in the air after Caldrin’s unwelco visit to the infirmary, the estate was surprised by the arrival of soone entirely different.
A small carriage pulled up near the back gate, not the grand entrance, bearing no seal of nobility but rather a muddied cloth tied in a strange knot, possibly a baker’s failed attempt at a crest.
From it stepped a girl of barely nineteen, her hair an explosion of sun-gold curls beneath a half-dented bonnet. She wore a faded dress two sizes too big, sleeves rolled haphazardly and boots unlaced. She slipped the mont she landed on the cobblestone and fell on her back with a loud, mortified yelp.
"Gods, not again!" She squeaked, lifting herself and brushing the dirt from her knees. "That’s three carriages in a row now!"
A stable boy stared, blinking. "Do you...do you need help, miss?"
"No! I’m absolutely...ow...perfectly fine," she winced, rubbing her elbow. "Just a little fall. Happens all the ti."
Within minutes, a few of the maids had gathered, whispering as she stood tall, hands on hips, chin up as if she hadn’t just landed in horse droppings.
She introduced herself confidently, despite the hay stuck in her curls.
"My na is Marianne Alder. The Royal dic Academy sent for training; well, technically they sent to the southern barracks, but I may have gotten slightly lost and ended up here instead."
When no one responded, she added quickly, "It’s still in the sa kingdom, so I wasn’t that lost."
Word of her arrival reached Liora shortly after, and out of habit, she went to investigate, Lucien’s estate didn’t often receive unexpected guests, especially ones with a limp and a crooked grin.
In the side hall near the herb garden, she found Marianne trying to carry three crates of dried leaves, sneezing violently every few steps.
"Need help?" Liora asked, folding her arms.
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