"Again?" she asked.
There was Dorian Alexei. On her terrace. And as usual, he stood against the railing, arms crossed, watching her through the glass like he had every right to be there. She should be used to it. He'd never cared about rules.
Or boundaries.
He laughed. Same deep voice. Same faint, wicked smile. The kind most people forgave, because the face attached to it was too pretty to stay angry at.
As she walked into the terrace, Dorian set down a small pot of red orchids on a side table and took out a pocket book from his dark coat. He put it down too.
"Rian, this isn't allowed. When will you start acting like a decent man—"
"You're aiming too high."
She sighed.
"Are you listening?"
"You know I've never been good at listening. Especially when it comes to you," he said, the corner of his dark eyes held a calm amusement.
She looked at him as he began placing the red orchids in the vase, muttering that she should have been the one doing this—standing in front of him as a sign of gratitude.
"Shameless," she muttered.
"Probably." He kept working on the flowers. "But you'll live long enough to get used to it."
"I won't."
"You will."
She almost smiled.
He was the only one who never looked at her like something was broken. She liked him for that. For never mentioning her illness. For never treating her like she was fragile glass.
"Brother says it's scandalous for a man climbing a girl's terrace."
"Your brother talks too much." His lips curved. "But he's not wrong. No other man sets foot here, Sia. I'll make sure of it."
Her breath caught.
"Except you?" she whispered.
"Only me." A pause as he leaned against the rails, then he looked at her. "Three months. Maybe beyond. I'll be away. Just don't dare miss me too much."
"What's going to happen?"
"Youʼll figure it out."
She stared at him, still wondering.
"You turn seventeen soon." A low voice, no teasing now. "Time to get you out of this place."
She blinked. Looked at him.
"So you've decided my future for me."
"I've secured it." His smile was slow, almost sleepy, but his eyes weren't. "Your father won't be giving you to anyone."
Her eyes fluttered.
She remembered the rumors. A noble family had come to propose marriage last summer and suddenly went bankrupt. Coincidence? She had never believed in coincidences. It was him. Dorian did it.
...
THREE MONTHS LATER
Nyasia's illness worsened, and she coughed blood for four days.
But she tried.
She tried because Father and Brother were still away. Because... Rian wasn't back yet.
"My lady, the marquis... he's still at the palace. We sent him a letter. He'll come soon. Please, hold on! The young masters are also coming back."
Nyasia's eyes opening a little to see the ceiling.
"D—does he know?"
"Young Master Varyn doesnʼt know you're very sick," Fay said in frantic voice. "You told me to keep quiet. But—"
"Don't."
Nyasia's voice barely came.
'He didnʼt have to know.'
Fay burst into tears, holding Nyasia's hand beside the bed.
'Poor Fay.'
Her thoughts returned to those amused dark eyes of a handsome man.
Rian and another woman.
Walking through sunlit meadows.
'Be a good man, Rian.'
This time, the heat within her was everywhere, and her body was so tired, and somewhere in the distance she heard her Fay scream.
"My lady!"
*