Caelith’s hand paused ever so slightly.

She sat down across from Rhaegar, picked up the embroidery frame resting upon the table, and lowered her head to thread the needle.

"What was the sentence?"

"Execution after autumn ends." His voice was languid, almost casual, as though speaking of something insignificant. "Three months from now."

Caelith kept her gaze lowered as she guided the thread through the eye of the needle.

Her hands were perfectly steady. "And what did you uncover during the interrogation?"

"Nothing." Rhaegar opened his eyes and looked at her. "His mouth is dead sealed. Accomplices, surviving remnants, the events of those years—he refused to utter a single word. That trail is dead now."

Caelith did not look up. The needle pierced the silk rhythmically, one stitch after another, calm and measured.

"That is unfortunate," she said softly. "After investigating for so long..."

Rhaegar watched her quietly. "You seem rather concerned about him."

Her hand paused for the briefest instant. Then she lifted her eyes and met his gaze directly.

"It was merely a passing remark," she replied evenly. "A man like that committed grave crimes. Being captured is no more than he deserves."

She lowered her head once more and continued embroidering. Rhaegar studied her for a long moment before closing his eyes again.

Silence settled over the chamber. Only the faint sound of needle and thread slipping through silk remained.

After a while, Caelith spoke again.

"Three months from now... winter will have arrived by then..."

"Mm." Rhaegar leaned back against the chair lazily. "Before the first snowfall."

Caelith said nothing further. The needle continued its path through the silk, stitch by stitch, flawless and steady.

No one could see the faint trembling hidden beneath the embroidery frame, where her fingers shook ever so slightly.

. . .

That night, Caelith lay awake upon the bed.

Moonlight filtered through the paper windows, spreading pale silver across the floor like frost.

She lay on her side facing the wall. Behind her came the steady, even sound of Rhaegar’s breathing.

Caelith slowly closed her eyes, but in the darkness, Osvald’s face surfaced once more within her mind.

That bloodstained face. Those reddened eyes gazing at her with desperate tenderness.

You are the last bloodline of the Grandien family.

Her eyes flew open abruptly.

Outside, the moonlight remained unbearably bright.

She did not sleep for the entire night.

***

At dawn the next morning, Rhaegar departed early.

Soon after, Caelith went to Lady Lian’s residence.

Florentine was in the courtyard enjoying a cup of tea on the terrace, beneath the autumn sun. Hearing the knock at the gate, she opened it and froze slightly upon seeing Caelith standing there.

"Miss Caelith? Why have you come so early?"

Caelith glanced inside the courtyard. "Where is Nareen?"

"Still asleep." Lady Lian stepped aside to let her enter. "That girl sleeps until midday every single day."

The two women entered the house together, and Caelith quietly shut the door behind them.

The moment Lady Lian saw her expression, her heart sank. "What happened?"

Caelith looked at her steadily. "Osvald has been sentenced to death."

Lady Lian’s hand trembled violently. "To... death?"

"Execution after autumn. Only three months remain."

Silence descended upon the room.

Lady Lian parted her lips, yet it took a long while before any sound emerged.

"Three months..." She looked at Caelith with careful concern. "What are you planning to do?"

Caelith did not answer. She merely looked back at her in silence.

But the moment Lady Lian met those eyes, understanding struck her all at once.

"You want to save him?"

Caelith nodded.

The color drained from the woman’s face. "He is a condemned prisoner! The sentence was passed by imperial decree! How could you possibly save him?"

Still, Caelith remained determined. She continued looking at her quietly.

And suddenly, Lady Lian was reminded of someone from many years ago.

Ayana.

Back then, Ayana had possessed the very same eyes. Even knowing the road ahead led only toward ruin and death, she had still walked forward without hesitation.

Lady Lian let out a long, weary sigh. "What do you need me to do?"

Caelith reached forward and clasped her hands tightly. "My lady... thank you."

A faint redness gathered in Florentine’s eyes. "Silly girl. Ayana’s child is my child as well."

***

When Caelith went to find Lucas, he was inside the accounting room sorting through ledgers.

The knock sounded against the door. Without lifting his head, he spoke calmly.

"Come in."

The door opened. Only then did he look up—and freeze.

Caelith stood quietly at the doorway, her face pale, her eyes dark.

"Lord Ostenton."

Lucas immediately rose to his feet. "Miss Caelith? What brings you here?"

Caelith stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "There is something I wish to ask of you."

Lucas looked at her in silence for a moment. Then, he gestured toward the chair nearby.

"Sit down first."

Caelith explained everything. After hearing her out, Lucas remained silent for a very long time.

The room was so quiet that one could hear the wind outside the window, along with the distant cries of street vendors drifting faintly from the marketplace.

At last, he spoke.

"You wish to save Osvald Grandien?"

"Yes."

Lucas stood and walked toward the window.

Beyond it lay the rear courtyard of Ostenton Embroidery House, where several embroiderers were hanging freshly dyed fabrics beneath the sunlight. Brilliant silks of crimson, emerald, and gold swayed in the autumn breeze, dazzling enough to sting the eyes.

"I’ll help you." His back remained turned toward her, his voice calm and distant. "When you saved my father, I did not yet know who you were."

He paused briefly. "Later, even after I learned the truth, I did not think much of it."

Then he turned around and looked at her.

"But every time you came to the embroidery house... every time you sat there quietly stitching embroidery..." A faint smile appeared upon his lips. "I could never stop myself from wanting to look at you a little longer."

Caelith froze.

Lucas laughed softly and walked back to sit across from her.

"Don’t be nervous," he said gently. "I know who already resides in your heart."

He poured himself a cup of tea before filling another for her.

"I am helping you because I owe you a debt for saving my father."

Caelith looked at him, and suddenly her eyes stung faintly with emotion.

"Thank you."

Lucas waved his hand dismissively. "There’s no need for that. Tell me first—how exactly do you plan to save him?"

***

One evening, half a month later, Lucas came once more.

The two stood together in the courtyard while Caelith lowered her head, studying the slip of paper in her hands. It contained news smuggled from inside the prison through Lucas’ connections. Osvald’s health had worsened these past few days, and the jailers had transferred him into a drier, cleaner cell.

"Remember this name." Lucas pointed toward a line written upon the paper. "He’s the guard I bribed. If anything happens in the future, you can go through him."

Caelith nodded and folded the paper carefully before slipping it into her sleeve.

"You’ve worked hard for this. Thank you."

Lucas looked at her steadily, his smile small, but kind. "It wasn’t hard."

He paused, as though wishing to say something more, but suddenly, the courtyard gate was pushed open.

Caelith instinctively lifted her head and saw Rhaegar standing at the entrance.

He wore a uniform of deep black, as though he had only just returned from outside. His expression appeared perfectly calm.

Too calm, even.

The kind of calmness that sent an inexplicable chill through the heart.

Slowly, his gaze moved from Caelith’s face... to Lucas standing beside her.