Alice Draken watched Emma's carriage vanish beyond the iron gates, the crisp northern air finally easing the tension that had coiled around her shoulders.

'Julies was innocent. I almost lost a loyal person because of my misjudgment.'

The thought sat heavy in her chest. The incident with Emma might have ended cleanly, but the bitter aftertaste of doubt remained. She had allowed her own suspicion to place someone faithful in unnecessary danger.

When she returned to the quiet of her study, Julies was already waiting, standing with the poise of a man who served without flaw. His presence, so steady and unshaken, made the guilt twist a little deeper.

"Julies," she said softly—too softly for a duchess addressing her servant. "I owe you an apology."

His eyes widened, just for a heartbeat, before he quickly bowed. "What are you talking about, Lady Alice? An apology?"

Unlike with Emma moments before, there was no game in his tone, only earnest respect.

"Rather," he continued, lowering his head even further, "you helped me when I was in trouble. It would be improper for me to receive such words from you."

"But still—"

"Those in high positions," he interrupted gently, "must weigh their words carefully. Those below… we do not always know how to take them."

The quiet rebuke landed like a stone in her stomach. He wasn't scolding her, not exactly, but the meaning was clear. Her earlier suspicion had wounded him, whether he admitted it or not.

'Did I… disappoint him?'

Before she could search for another word, Julies straightened and stepped closer. Something small and cool was pressed into her palm.

"What's this?" she asked, startled.

"Your birthday," he said simply. "I prepared a small gift."

Alice looked down. Resting in her hand was a delicate glass box, no larger than a ring case. Inside, a single rose glowed faintly blue, petals catching the light like frozen moonlight.

"It's carved from a return magic stone," Julies explained, his voice carrying a quiet pride. "I know you don't care for lavish jewels like other ladies. I wanted something… meaningful. Something useful."

Her breath caught. Of all things, a return stone—rare, valuable, and practical. He had thought of her habits, her distaste for frivolity, her love of subtle beauty.

"This morning, I saw you in the garden," he added with a faint, almost shy smile. "You paused to smell the roses. It gave me the idea."

Alice stared at the blue rose, its faint magical light dancing over her fingers. Words tangled in her throat, emotions she hadn't expected tightening around her heart.

"…Thank you," she managed at last, the words escaping as a whisper.

Julies's smile widened just enough to reach his eyes. "I'm glad it pleases you. Please, keep it with you always. A return stone isn't just for show. If you're ever in danger, it will bring you home."

"Alright," she murmured, closing her fingers carefully around the tiny box.

But as she felt the faint hum of magic against her skin, another thought surfaced—one she did not voice.

A return stone could only be used once. The moment it fulfilled its purpose, it would crumble to ash, its glow gone forever.

And for some reason she couldn't name, Alice wanted this imperfect, hand-carved rose to last forever. The petals bore tiny nicks where the carving knife had slipped, the symmetry was slightly off, but each flaw only deepened its quiet beauty.

Her heart thudded once, sharp and unwanted.

"Damn it…" she muttered under her breath, gripping the box a little tighter.

Julies tilted his head. "My lady?"

"…Nothing," Alice said quickly, masking the strange warmth rising in her chest with a cool smile. "Just thinking how troublesome you are, Julies."

His soft chuckle followed her as she turned away—an echo that lingered longer than it should have.

"Troublesome, perhaps. But if it keeps you safe, I'll gladly accept the title."

Alice didn't answer. Instead, she set the glass box gently on her desk, careful not to let it clink against the polished wood. The faint blue glow of the rose lit the room like a captured star.

Outside, the faint sounds of preparation for her birthday banquet drifted in—the rhythmic clatter of pans, the rustle of fabric as servants dressed the halls, distant laughter carried by the cold northern wind. Yet in her study, the world felt strangely quiet.

Too quiet.

Julies remained where he stood, hands folded neatly behind his back, waiting. He always waited—unmoving, unreadable. Loyal to the bone.

Alice glanced at him, catching the faint reflection of the glowing rose in his eyes. For a fleeting second, the light made him look… different. Softer.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

'What am I thinking?' she scolded herself, tearing her gaze away. 'He's my steward. Nothing more.'

But the warmth in her palm betrayed her. Even though she'd set the box down, her skin still remembered its cool weight, the subtle pulse of magic humming beneath the carved petals.

"Julies," she said at last, her tone more composed than she felt, "where did you find the time to craft something like this? With the preparations, I hardly see you stop to breathe."

He shrugged lightly. "The night is long in the north. Sleep is a luxury when duty calls."

"A dangerous habit," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Even for someone as capable as you."

His smile returned—faint, infuriatingly calm. "I only follow the example my lady sets."

Alice blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "…Is that supposed to be flattery?"

"Merely observation."

The way he said it—simple, unadorned—made it worse.

Before she could reply, a knock came at the door.

"My lady," a servant called from outside, "the final arrangements for the banquet are ready for your inspection."

Alice exhaled, the sudden interruption grounding her. "Understood. I'll be there shortly."

Julies stepped back, bowing once more. "Shall I accompany you?"

For a heartbeat, she considered refusing. But something in the way the blue rose gleamed beside her—like a quiet promise—changed her mind.

"Yes," she said finally. "Come with me."

As they left the study, the faint hum of the return stone lingered behind them, its gentle light casting long, fragile shadows across the room.

And though Alice didn't look back, she felt it all the same—the silent pull of the glass rose, and the man who had carved it, following just a step behind.

------

30 minutes later....

Inside the carriage rattling away from the Draken estate, a low curse slipped from Emma's lips—sharp, venomous, and laced with frustration.

For a daughter of House Voss, failure was rare. To have the criminal within her grasp and still walk away empty-handed was a humiliation she hadn't tasted in years.

"Damn it…" Her voice was a whisper of steel, almost lost beneath the clatter of wheels.

More than the botched capture, it was his eyes that haunted her.

The thief's mocking gaze, that infuriating half-smile as he turned his back on her, burned like a brand in her memory.

Emma's fingers tightened around the polished wood of the armrest until her knuckles turned white.

This northern expedition… a complete failure.

At least the worst had been avoided. By retreating first, she'd prevented Alice Draken from sending an official letter of protest that might spiral into a political skirmish.

But that small relief was like a single candle against a mountain of ice.

Rumors in the empire's salons would spread with the speed of wildfire. Her rivals within House Voss—her ambitious siblings most of all—would seize upon this misstep like wolves scenting blood.

"…Revenge can wait," she muttered, forcing her jaw to unclench. "First, I need to contain the damage."

Her nails tapped a restless rhythm against the armrest.

'A personal letter of apology to Baron Evans… yes. A carefully worded claim that an amicable settlement was reached. That will dull the teeth of the gossips.'

Her strategy was already forming when the carriage suddenly lurched hard to one side.

THUD!

The impact rattled the windows and sent Emma sliding across the padded seat.

"Driver!" she snapped, voice sharp as a whip. "What in the hells are you doing?!"

No answer.

Only the relentless clatter of the wheels—and an eerie, unnatural silence beyond the walls.

"…What?"

A bead of cold sweat traced down her temple. The guards she had handpicked for this journey were not men who ignored orders. They were loyal to a fault, trained to respond instantly to her every command.

Especially out here, beyond the safety of Voss territory.

Which meant only one thing.

Something had already taken them.

Monsters? Bandits?

—or something far worse.

Emma drew a slow, deliberate breath, forcing her heartbeat into a steadier rhythm even as her instincts screamed.

Demons.

Her hand slid toward the dagger hidden beneath her cloak.

The once-ordinary carriage ride had shifted into a deadly silence, the kind that comes before a predator strikes.

---

Author Note:

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