The morning arrived with an unsettling kind of peace.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Kira's chambers, warming the floorboards as though the previous night's events had never happened. Somewhere beyond the eastern wing, servants were already preparing breakfast, sweeping courtyards, and carrying on with the routines of a household determined to pretend nothing had changed.
Only Kira's room remained silent.
House arrest suited her better than most people imagined. Locked doors kept foolish visitors away, leaving her alone with the questions that had refused to leave her mind since last night.
She sat beside the window with a cup of untouched tea, replaying every piece of the puzzle.
I thought this would be simple.
She had expected to return to the past, avoid the mistakes that led to her execution, and dismantle her enemies one by one.
Instead, every answer seemed to uncover another mystery.
This manor was far more dangerous than she had ever realized. Someone had been spying on her since she was thirteen. Someone had searched her room under Lyra's authority. Someone had stolen a diary they believed contained secrets.
And then there was the black flower seed.
Kira turned the tiny object over between her fingers.
It shouldn't exist.
Wildflower hadn't been established in this life. She hadn't recruited a single member, reopened the abandoned flower shop, or built the invisible network that would one day stretch across the Empire.
So how could someone send her a message using Wildflower's code?
More importantly...
How did they know Wildflower at all? when it didn't even exist in this life yet.
None of it felt like a coincidence anymore. The pieces were beginning to form the outline of something much larger, but she still couldn't see the complete picture. She had learned long ago that forcing scattered pieces together only produced the wrong answer.
A hurried conclusion was often more dangerous than ignorance.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
Before she could answer, the door opened just enough for breakfast to be placed on the small table near the fireplace. The maid never crossed the threshold. She lowered her head, set the tray down, and hurried away as though remaining in the room any longer might stain her reputation.
Kira almost smiled.
Yesterday, those same servants had competed for the chance to serve the future Crown Princess.
Today, they behaved as though she carried a plague.
She waited until the footsteps disappeared before rising from her chair.
As she reached for the teapot, raised voices drifted through the open window.
"...they're taking him out at noon."
"The mercenary?"
"Who else?"
Kira stilled.
The voices belonged to two stable hands crossing the courtyard below.
"I heard the execution order arrived before sunrise."
"They're wasting no time."
"Would you? After embarrassing the Crown Prince in front of half the capital?"
The men laughed uneasily before continuing toward the stables.
Their conversation faded, but the words remained.
Execution.
Today?
Kira frowned.
That isn't right.
In her previous life, Rowan hadn't been executed until nearly a month after the banquet. By then, the investigation had already concluded, and no one cared whether he lived or died.
So why had the execution been moved forward?
Someone was rushing.
Someone wanted him dead before the investigation could begin.
She slowly returned to her chair.
Rowan.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the exhausted mercenary she'd untied inside the ladies' lounge. He hadn't begged for mercy or desperately insisted on his innocence. More importantly, he hadn't acted like a man trying to deceive anyone.
A liar watched people's faces.
A guilty man searched for opportunities to escape.
Rowan had done neither.
He had looked just as confused as she had.
If Rowan died, there would be no witness left who had been inside that room without knowing the script.
Dead witnesses never contradicted carefully prepared lies.
She placed her teacup back onto its saucer.
No.
Someone wanted Rowan buried before he remembered anything useful... or before a proper investigation could uncover what had really happened.
I have to keep him alive.
Not rescue him.
Simply keep him alive.
Her mind immediately began sorting through possibilities.
She couldn't visit the prison. Every movement she made was being watched.
She couldn't send one of House Solis's servants. Anyone connected to the family would be questioned.
She certainly couldn't appeal to the court. Julian would ensure the request disappeared long before it reached a magistrate.
Which left only one option.
The people everyone else overlooked.
A prison physician.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Most nobles regarded prison physicians as little more than surgeons hired to patch criminals together before punishment was carried out. Their opinions were rarely sought, and their names were almost never remembered.
Yet they possessed one authority no judge could ignore.
Before any execution, the prison physician had to certify that the condemned prisoner was physically and mentally capable of understanding the sentence passed against him. Without that signature, the execution record remained incomplete.
Most physicians signed without asking questions.
Why wouldn't they?
Condemned prisoners were rarely worth the effort.
Then Kira remembered something she'd overlooked.
Rowan had been beaten.
His wrists had been cut raw by the ropes that bound him, and when she'd helped him stand in the lounge, he'd stumbled—not from fear, but because he could barely keep his balance.
At the time, she had assumed it was simple exhaustion.
Now she wasn't so sure.
What if Rowan had been drugged before arriving at the manor?
What if he'd suffered a concussion?
What if the confession had been forced from him while he was barely conscious?
An honest physician would never sign that execution warrant.
Not because of a bribe.
Because doing so would violate every principle he had sworn to uphold.
Kira reached for a fresh sheet of paper.
She didn't write a name.
Nor did she reveal her own.
Instead, she penned only a few neat lines.
Before you sign today's warrant, examine the prisoner's condition yourself.
If justice is to carry out the sentence, then justice should first know whether the condemned ever understood the crime he confessed to.
She folded the note before unlocking the false compartment beneath her writing desk and removing a small velvet pouch.
Gold.
Not enough to buy a man's conscience.
Enough to purchase medicine.
Bandages.
Time.
She wrapped the pouch together with the letter before ringing the small silver bell on her desk.
Several moments later, the elderly house steward appeared.
Unlike most servants, he still met her eyes.
"Miss."
"I have a charitable donation."
The steward blinked.
"There is a physician at Blackstone Prison," she said. "Deliver this anonymously."
His gaze dropped briefly to the heavy pouch.
"...May I ask why?"
"No."
The answer wasn't cold.
Only honest.
"If anyone asks, you found it outside the estate gates."
The old steward studied her for a long moment before bowing.
"As you wish."
He accepted the parcel without another question.
Only after he disappeared down the corridor did Kira allow herself to exhale.
Now...
Everything depended on whether one man still valued his oath more than convenience.
The hours crawled by.
By midday, even the birds seemed unusually quiet.
Kira stood beside the window, watching gardeners trim hedges that didn't need trimming while servants crossed the courtyard carrying baskets of fresh linen. The estate moved with its usual rhythm until shouting erupted near the front gate.
Several riders galloped through the entrance, their horses flecked with sweat.
A messenger leapt from the saddle before disappearing into the manor.
Within minutes, whispers spread through the household faster than wildfire.
Servants abandoned their work.
Maids gathered beneath the eastern colonnade.
Even the guards outside Kira's chambers forgot to lower their voices.
"I heard they stopped it."
"What?"
"The execution."
"That's impossible."
"The prison physician refused to sign the warrant."
Another servant scoffed.
"Why would he do that?"
"They say the prisoner showed signs of severe head trauma and traces of narcotics."
"Narcotics?"
"The physician questioned whether the confession had been given while the man was even aware of what he was saying."
Silence followed.
Then someone whispered the words everyone feared.
"The magistrate ordered the execution postponed until the examination is complete."
"But... the Crown Prince already approved it."
"I know."
The answer came in an anxious hush.
"That's why the entire prison has been thrown into chaos."
Their footsteps gradually faded as they hurried away in search of newer gossip.
Kira remained standing by the window.
She didn't smile.
She didn't celebrate.
She simply watched the sunlight dance across the pond beyond the gardens.
Rowan was still imprisoned.
Still accused.
Still facing death.
Nothing had truly changed.
Except one thing.
Yesterday, someone had been certain he would never speak again.
Today...
Someone would have to wait.
And in Kira's experience, time had a habit of making frightened people do very foolish things.