After the eting, Envoy Egnatius stord into the dungeon to transfer the girl into the High Conclave’s custody. He called for the Head Guard, who appeared quickly, bowed deeply, and stamred an apology.
"Forgive , Sir. A man ca with royal soldiers from the Kingdom of Versimoil and took one of the prisoners. I tried to stop them, but they killed a watch guard and were about to cause more commotion... I couldn’t stop them. Please forgive !"
Egnatius didn’t need to be told which prisoner had been taken. He gritted his teeth, rage simring beneath his skin. A flicker of fear lingered in his mind—he rembered all too well the state he’d left the girl in.
Far away, in the Royal Castle of Versimoil, Vincenzo arrived and was greeted by his butler, Lucas. Shrugging off his long coat, he ordered curtly, "Call Adomas. Now."
Vincenzo had made the girl his mystery—his possession—and his patience was wearing thin.
Monts later, Adomas entered, but before he could speak, Vincenzo demanded, "Where is the girl, Adomas?"
"In the dungeon, in a solitary compartnt," Adomas replied.
Vincenzo’s mood darkened further. His voice rose, sharp and cold. "Who told you to put her in the dungeon?"
Adomas blinked, confused. "Isn’t that where we place all prisoners brought from other lands, Milord?" Though their relationship was deeper than Lord and Courtier, Adomas never made it public.
"This one is different," Vincenzo said grimly, striding away.
As he approached the underground dungeon, the guards quickly opened the gate. One followed a few steps behind as Vincenzo made his way through the stone corridors.
In the solitary chamber, Anneliese heard sharp footsteps echoing closer but didn’t move. She remained curled in the corner, legs folded beneath her, head resting on her knees, hands clutching the hem of her dress.
The iron gate creaked open.
Vincenzo, who could see perfectly in the dark, spotted the girl imdiately. She hadn’t moved. Her bruises were visible even in the low light.
She looked up slowly, trying to see in the shadows. Her fists trembled—partly from fear, partly from cold. He saw it all.
Vincenzo stepped closer. The sight of her bloodied lip and the purple mark on her forehead made his jaw clench.
A small, cracking voice reached him. "P-please... don’t hurt . I... I have nothing to do with what happened in the town. Please believe ..."
The fear in her voice tore through him.
"No one will hurt you now. Let’s go," he said.
She blinked at the sound of his voice, then whispered, barely loud enough, "Enzo?"
He froze. Just for a second. No one had called him that in years.
Her voice cracked with disbelief. "Mr. Enzo? Is that... you?"
"Yes," he said softly. "Now get up. Let’s leave."
She didn’t need to be told twice. Pressing her hands to the wall for support, she slowly rose to her feet. Vincenzo watched her wince and tremble as she struggled to stand.
"Stay still," he commanded gently.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward, wrapped one arm around her waist and the other beneath her legs, and lifted her into his arms.
As they exited the dungeon, the guards averted their eyes. None dared to speak or look too long at their Lord—especially when his temper simred just beneath the surface.
At the entrance, Adomas had been speaking to the butler but stopped mid-sentence, jaw dropping. He turned and blinked in surprise.
Vincenzo was carrying the girl.
Adomas lifted a brow. This was... unusual.
"Lucas," Vincenzo said, "bring the physician."
"Right now, Milord?" the butler asked hesitantly.
Milord? Anneliese repeated the word in her mind.
Vincenzo didn’t need to answer. A single sharp look was enough. Lucas bowed quickly. "Yes, Milord. I’ll have him here right away."
"And send a maid," Vincenzo added. "With a nightdress."
"To which room, Milord?" Lucas asked.
"The one adjacent to mine," Vincenzo replied, still walking.
Adomas and the butler exchanged a look of stunned disbelief. No one—no one—was allowed to stay on the sa floor as the Lord. And yet here she was, being carried to the room right next to his chamber.
As they ascended the grand staircase, Anneliese broke the silence. "You... you don’t work for the Lord, do you?"
"You’re... the Lord," she whispered.
He didn’t answer, but the small curve of his lips was confirmation enough.
How could he be both? The stranger who offered her quiet safety... and the ruler who could destroy anything with a word?
Inside the guest room, he carried her straight to the adjoining dressing room and gently placed her on a chair before the mirror.
"I’ll have a maid bring so guest clothes," he said. "She’ll help you shower and change."
Anneliese hesitated. "There’s no need for a maid. I’ll manage."
"Suit yourself. The maid will be here... unless, of course, you’d rather prefer I stay?" he asked, voice laced with casual threat and teasing.
Heat rushed to her face. She shook her head furiously.
To change the subject, she asked, "Why did you lie about working for the Lord?"
He didn’t respond imdiately. Instead, he studied her under the warm candlelight.
She was still in the sa dress she’d worn at the river—torn, bloodstained. Her skin bore dark bruises, and dried blood clung to her temple and lower lip.
For a mont, sothing cold twisted in his chest. He had seen broken bodies before—but not hers. Not like this. He should have co sooner. His voice dropped. "What happened to your legs?"
Before she could answer, the maid arrived and bowed.
Vincenzo stood. "Help the lady shower and change," he instructed, then left the dressing room.
The maid helped Anneliese shower and change into an off white sleeveless nightdress with a long, sheer shrug over it. As she guided her toward the chair again, Anneliese stopped her gently.
"I’ll manage from here. Thank you."
The maid bowed and left.
Outside, Vincenzo sat by the fireplace, waiting.
When the maid erged, she said, "Milord, the lady has showered and changed."
He humd in acknowledgnt. "Leave."
The maid bowed again and exited quietly.
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