The third night began with a most unexpected visitor.
Rosylin stood before the small, cracked mirror in her bedroom, attempting to tame her extraordinarily long burgundy hair.
She had already changed into her usual faded dress and carefully wrapped her familiar black shawl around her shoulders.
On her narrow bed lay the book Sylvan had lent her the previous evening.
She glanced at it and sighed.
Because you look handsome when you do.
The memory alone was enough to make her cheeks burn.
She had spent the entire day trying to forget those dreadful words.
Unfortunately, the harder she tried, the more vividly she remembered Sylvan’s amused expression.
She could still hear him asking whether she wished to repeat her compliment.
“Absolutely unbearable,” she muttered.
Nevertheless, she picked up the book and approached her bedroom door.
It was nearly time for their third meeting.
She opened the door cautiously, preparing to slip into the deserted corridor.
Then she froze.
Sylvan Ashford stood directly outside.
His tall figure nearly filled the narrow passage.
His black hair was slightly disheveled, and his piercing blue eyes rested calmly on her face.
“Hello there, Rosylin.”
For several seconds, she could only stare.
Then her eyes widened in absolute horror.
Before he could utter another word, she grabbed the front of his dark coat and dragged him into her bedroom.
The door slammed shut behind them.
“What are you doing here?!”
Sylvan glanced at the closed door.
“Visiting.”
“Visiting?!”
“Apparently.”
“How did you find my room?”
“You’re rather predictable when you run away.”
Rosylin stared at him.
Then understanding struck.
“You followed me?!”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow.
“Would you prefer that I discovered it by accident?”
“Sylvan!”
“Lower your voice.”
“How am I supposed to lower my voice when you’re standing inside my bedroom?!”
“You’re the one who dragged me inside.”
Rosylin opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
“Because someone might have seen you!”
“An understandable concern.”
“Don’t act so calm!
Do you have any idea what would happen if someone discovered you here?”
Sylvan’s gaze lowered.
Rosylin was still gripping his coat with both hands.
She had pulled him so close that barely any space remained between them.
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Rosylin.”
“What?”
“Are you planning to keep holding me like this?”
She blinked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your hands.”
Rosylin glanced down.
Her entire face turned crimson.
She immediately released his coat and stumbled backward.
“I—that wasn’t—”
Sylvan caught her wrist before she could trip over the leg of her little wooden chair.
“Careful.”
Rosylin froze again.
His hand was warm around her wrist, and he was standing close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his blue eyes.
For a moment, she forgot what she had been shouting about.
Sylvan noticed.
Naturally, he noticed.
A mischievous smile appeared on his lips.
“You dragged me into your bedroom, held me rather tightly, and now you’re blushing.”
“Sylvan!”
“Should I be concerned?”
Rosylin covered her burning face with her free hand.
“Please stop talking!”
He laughed quietly and released her wrist.
“Very well.”
But when she cautiously lowered her hand, she discovered that he was still smiling.
And somehow, that was even worse.
Sylvan glanced around the tiny bedroom.
Then he casually pulled out the old wooden Big chair beside Rosylin’s desk.
He sat down, crossed one leg over the other and made himself comfortable.
Rosylin stared at him in horror.
“What are you doing?!”
“Sitting.”
“I can see that!”
“Then why did you ask?”
She hurried toward him.
“No, no!
Get up!
You can’t sit here!”
Sylvan leaned back in the chair.
“Why not?”
“What if someone comes?!”
“Then I suppose we’ll have a visitor.”
“Sylvan!”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Must you shout my name every time you speak?”
Rosylin immediately lowered her voice.
“Please!
What if a maid sees you here?
What if someone tells Lord Valemont?”
Sylvan studied her panicked expression.
“Are you afraid of being seen with me?”
“Yes!”
He placed a hand over his chest.
“How devastating.”
Rosylin stared at him.
“This is not funny!”
“You’re right.
I should be terribly offended.”
She looked as though she might actually start crying from frustration.
Sylvan finally stopped smiling.
“Rosylin, come here.”
“No!
You come here!
Get up!”
He glanced at the chair.
“I rather like it.”
“It’s an old, broken chair!”
“Quite comfortable, actually.”
Rosylin covered her face with both hands.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
He looked up at her, amusement returning to his blue eyes.
“Yesterday, you ran away before I could finish our conversation.
Today, you dragged me into your room.
I thought perhaps you’d finally decided to invite me somewhere.”
“I did not invite you!”
“Then your hospitality is rather confusing.”
She marched toward him and grabbed his sleeve, attempting to pull him out of the chair.
Sylvan barely moved.
“You’re very heavy!” she complained.
“I’m not particularly surprised.”
“Get up!”
He looked at her hands gripping his sleeve.
“Rosylin.”
“What now?!”
“You’re holding me again.”
She immediately released him.
Sylvan laughed.
And Rosylin realized, with absolute despair, that this man was enjoying every second of her suffering.
After Rosylin finally managed to persuade him to stand, she hurried toward the door.
“Good.
Now, please go to the garden.
I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
Sylvan looked at her.
Then, without saying a word, he pulled the wooden chair toward the window and sat down again.
Rosylin froze.
Her mouth fell open.
“Sylvan!”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you sitting again?!”
He comfortably crossed his legs.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?!”
“The garden.”
Rosylin stared at him.
“What about the garden?”
Sylvan rested one elbow on the arm of the chair and looked at her with a perfectly serious expression.
“Let’s spend tonight talking here.”
For several seconds, Rosylin couldn’t move.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“In my room?”
“Unless you have another room hidden somewhere.”
“Are you out of your mind?!”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow.
“That’s rather rude to say to a guest.”
“You are not my guest!”
“Then why did you invite me inside?”
“I dragged you inside so nobody would see you!”
“An unusual invitation, admittedly.”
Rosylin pressed both hands against her burning cheeks.
“What if someone comes?
What if a maid opens the door?
What if Lord Valemont finds out?
What if—”
“Rosylin.”
“What?!”
“You’re going to wake the entire mansion before anyone even thinks of coming here.”
She immediately covered her mouth.
Sylvan smiled.
Then he glanced at the little bed beside the window.
“Are you going to stand there all night, or will you sit down?”
Rosylin looked at him as though he had suggested setting the mansion on fire.
“You want me to sit down?!”
“Preferably.
You’re making me nervous.”
“You’re making me nervous!”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
She marched toward the chair, determined to pull him out of it again.
But Sylvan looked up at her and spoke before she could grab his sleeve.
“Besides, you seem much less likely to run away when we’re already in your room.”
Rosylin stopped.
Her brown eyes widened.
He smiled faintly.
“Unless you’re planning to escape through the window.”
She glanced at the window.
Sylvan followed her gaze.
“Rosylin.”
She looked back at him.
“Don’t even think about it.”
For the first time that evening, she realized she had absolutely no idea how to get rid of this extraordinarily stubborn prince.
And judging by the amusement in his blue eyes, he knew it.
Sylvan watched Rosylin pacing anxiously around her tiny bedroom.
Then, with an amused smile, he extended one hand toward her.
“Come here.”
Rosylin stopped.
“What?”
“Sit beside me.”
She stared at his outstretched hand, then at the chair he was occupying.
“Beside you?
Where?”
Sylvan glanced at the small amount of space remaining on the chair.
“Here.”
Her brown eyes widened.
“Sylvan!
That chair is barely big enough for you!”
“Then we’ll have to sit rather close.”
Rosylin’s face turned crimson.
“You’re doing this deliberately!”
“Doing what?”
“Making me embarrassed!”
He smiled, keeping his hand extended.
“Are you going to leave me waiting all night?”
Rosylin glanced nervously at the door.
“What if someone comes?”
“Then we’ll hear them approaching.”
“And if they open the door?”
“You’re asking a remarkable number of questions for someone who hasn’t answered my invitation.”
She looked at his hand again.
Sylvan’s smile softened.
“Come, Rosylin.
I won’t bite.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about!”
“Then what are you worried about?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
How was she supposed to explain that the imperial prince was sitting in her miserable little bedroom, smiling at her as though he had every right to be there, and inviting her to sit so close to him that she could hardly imagine breathing normally?
Sylvan tilted his head.
“Still frightened of me?”
Rosylin frowned.
“No!”
“Then come here.”
She hesitated before placing her hand in his.
His fingers closed gently around hers.
With a small, careful pull, he guided her toward him.
Rosylin sat stiffly beside him on the narrow chair, her black shawl slipping slightly from one shoulder.
She immediately straightened it, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.
Sylvan looked down at her.
“Comfortable?”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughed softly.
“How unfortunate.
I find this arrangement rather pleasant.”
Rosylin turned toward him in disbelief.
Their faces were suddenly much closer than she expected.
She froze.
Sylvan’s blue eyes met hers, and his teasing smile slowly returned.
“You’re blushing again.”
Rosylin immediately looked away.
“Please stop looking at me!”
“That may be difficult when you’re sitting beside me.”
She covered her face with her free hand.
Only then did she realize something even more embarrassing.
Sylvan was still holding her other hand.
Rosylin suddenly stood, pulling her hand free from Sylvan’s.
“I think I’ll sit on my bed.”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow but made no attempt to stop her.
She hurried across the tiny room and sat at the farthest corner of her narrow bed, pulling her black shawl tightly around herself.
Sylvan watched her settle against the wall.
“Are you comfortable now?”
“Very.”
“Excellent.
I was beginning to worry that my presence was unbearable.”
“It is!”
He placed a hand over his chest.
“How cruel.
And after you called me handsome.”
Rosylin immediately grabbed her pillow and buried her face in it.
“Please forget that!”
Sylvan laughed.
“I’m afraid my memory is rather good.”
She lowered the pillow just enough to glare at him.
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Always teasing me!”
He leaned back in the old wooden chair, looking entirely too comfortable.
“Because your reactions are entertaining.”
Rosylin hugged her pillow.
“Well, I’m staying here.
You can sit over there.”
Sylvan glanced at the distance between them.
“That’s quite far.”
“Good!”
“Are you certain you can hear me from there?”
“Unfortunately!”
He smiled.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to speak louder.”
Rosylin immediately sat upright.
“No!
Someone will hear you!”
“Then perhaps you should sit closer.”
She stared at him.
“You planned that!”
“Did I?”
“Yes!”
Sylvan laughed quietly, thoroughly enjoying her outrage.
Rosylin pointed toward the door.
“You should be in the garden!”
“And yet here I am.”
“In my bedroom!”
“An observation you’ve made several times tonight.”
She threw her pillow at him.
Sylvan caught it effortlessly.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other.
Then he examined the pillow.
“Is this how you treat all your guests?”
“Only the uninvited ones!”
He stood.
Rosylin immediately froze.
“Why are you standing?”
Sylvan glanced at the pillow in his hand.
“Returning your weapon.”
He took a few steps toward her bed.
Rosylin scrambled backward until her shoulders touched the wall.
“You can throw it from there!”
“How inhospitable.”
He stopped beside the bed and held out the pillow.
She snatched it from his hand.
Sylvan looked at the enormous distance she had tried to create between them.
Then a mischievous smile appeared on his face.
“Rosylin, if you wanted me to follow you to your bed, you could simply have asked.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Sylvan!”
He laughed and stepped back before she could throw the pillow again.
Rosylin buried her burning face in it.
She had survived nineteen years in Valemont Mansion.
But she was beginning to suspect that surviving one evening with Sylvan Ashford might be considerably more difficult.
Sylvan returned to the wooden chair and sat down, watching Rosylin hide behind her pillow at the far end of the bed.
“Rosylin.”
She refused to look at him.
“What now?”
“I’ve been wondering about something.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Do you always become this nervous when you’re alone with a handsome man?”
Rosylin’s head shot up.
“Sylvan!”
He smiled.
“Your words, not mine.”
“That was an accident!”
“An unusually sincere accident.”
She immediately covered both ears with her hands.
“I’m not listening!”
Sylvan leaned back comfortably, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
“How unfortunate.
I was about to tell you something rather important.”
Rosylin shook her head.
“No!”
“Something about a certain young woman I’ve been thinking about.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I can’t hear you!”
“She has extraordinarily beautiful burgundy hair.”
Rosylin pressed her hands harder against her ears.
“Stop!”
“And brown eyes that become particularly lovely when she’s angry.”
Her entire face turned crimson.
Sylvan tilted his head, smiling.
“Unfortunately, she seems determined to run away whenever I get close to her.”
Rosylin grabbed her pillow and pulled it over her head.
“I’m not listening!”
Sylvan laughed softly.
“She also has a rather unfortunate habit of shouting my name.”
“Sylvan!”
“Precisely.”
She groaned into the pillow.
He watched her for a moment, then lowered his voice.
“But I must admit, I rather like the way she says it.”
Rosylin went completely still.
She slowly lowered the pillow, her hands still covering her ears.
Sylvan met her eyes.
“Especially when she forgets to call me Your Highness.”
Rosylin immediately hid her face again.
“Please go away!”
His smile widened.
“From the room or from your thoughts?”
She stared at him in utter disbelief.
Then she pulled the blanket over her head.
Sylvan chuckled, resting his elbow against the arm of the chair.
“Very well.
I’ll stop.”
A moment passed.
Then he added, almost thoughtfully,
“Although I do wonder whether you’ll dream about me tonight.”
From beneath the blanket came a muffled, thoroughly scandalized scream.
Sylvan laughed again.
For a man who rarely found anything amusing, he was discovering that teasing Rosylin was rapidly becoming his favorite pastime.
Rosylin finally threw off her blanket, her cheeks burning.
“That’s enough!
Sylvan, you have to leave!”
Sylvan remained comfortably seated in her old wooden chair, looking entirely untroubled.
“Very well.”
She blinked, surprised by his sudden agreement.
“Really?”
“On one condition.”
Her expression immediately changed.
“What condition?”
He smiled and extended his hand toward her.
“Come sit close to me and talk for a while.
Then I’ll leave.”
Rosylin stared at him in disbelief.
“What?!”
“Must I repeat myself?”
“No!
Absolutely not!”
“Then I suppose I’ll stay here.”
He casually reached for the book on her little desk and opened it.
Rosylin’s mouth fell open.
“You can’t just decide to stay in my bedroom!”
“Apparently, I can.”
“What if someone comes?”
“Then I suggest you stop shouting.”
She immediately lowered her voice and glanced anxiously at the door.
“Sylvan, please!”
He looked up from the book.
“Come here, Rosylin.”
She hugged her pillow tighter.
“Why do I have to sit close to you?
We can talk like this!”
“Because you’ve spent the entire night hiding behind that pillow.”
“It’s protecting me!”
“From what?”
“You!”
Sylvan laughed.
“How devastating.”
Rosylin buried her face in the pillow again.
He closed the book and placed it on the desk.
“Very well.
I’ll make you another offer.”
She cautiously peeked over the pillow.
“What?”
“Come sit beside me for a little while.
No teasing, no questions about your identity.
Just a conversation.”
Rosylin narrowed her eyes.
“Promise?”
Sylvan considered her for a moment.
“I promise to try.”
“That’s not a promise!”
“It’s the most generous offer I’ve made all evening.”
She glared at him.
He extended his hand again.
“Come here.”
Rosylin hesitated, then reluctantly climbed off the bed.
Keeping her black shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, she approached him.
Sylvan watched her stop several steps away.
“Closer.”
She took one tiny step.
“Rosylin.”
“What?”
“I’m not asking you to cross an entire kingdom.”
She gave him an offended look before moving beside his chair.
“Happy now?”
He glanced at the empty space beside him.
“Not quite.”
She stared at him.
“You’re impossible!”
“So I’ve heard.”
Rosylin finally sat beside him, carefully leaving as much space as the narrow chair allowed.
Sylvan smiled.
“There.
Was that so difficult?”
“Yes!”
He laughed quietly.
Then, instead of teasing her again, he turned toward her and asked in a gentler voice,
“Now, tell me.
What did you think of the book I brought you yesterday?”
Rosylin blinked.
“The book?”
“Yes.
I’d rather hear you talk about something you enjoy than watch you worry about the door all night.”
Her expression gradually softened.
She looked at him for a moment, then began telling him about her favorite part of the story.
And Sylvan listened, his attention resting entirely on her.
For the first time that evening, Rosylin almost forgot that she was sitting so close to him.
Rosylin sat beside Sylvan, still clutching the edge of her black shawl.
The book he had brought her lay open on her lap.
“So,” Sylvan asked, “what did you think of the prince?”
She immediately frowned.
“I didn’t like him.”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow.
“That was quick.”
“He was foolish.
He abandoned everything for a woman he barely knew.
And after all that trouble, he expected her to love him simply because he had fallen in love with her.”
“Perhaps he believed she was worth the risk.”
“Perhaps he should have used his brain.”
Sylvan laughed quietly.
“You’re remarkably unforgiving toward fictional princes.”
“I don’t like love stories anyway.”
“Not even one?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Rosylin opened her mouth to answer, but the words did not come immediately.
She looked down at the book, running her fingers along the worn edge of its cover.
Her earlier irritation slowly disappeared.
“Because they always make love seem like something wonderful,” she murmured.
“As though finding one person will suddenly make everything in your life beautiful.”
Sylvan’s smile faded.
Rosylin continued looking down.
“But people always end up alone, don’t they?”
He turned slightly toward her.
She gave a small, humorless smile.
“Even when they’re surrounded by people, they can still be completely alone.”
Her fingers tightened around the book.
“So why do they keep searching for love?
Why do they try so hard to reach something that might never belong to them?”
Sylvan remained silent for a moment.
He had expected another argument about the foolish prince in her book.
Instead, he found himself listening to a question that seemed to come from somewhere much deeper.
“Do you believe everyone ends up alone?” he asked.
Rosylin shrugged.
“Don’t they?”
“Not necessarily.”
She finally glanced at him.
“You’re a prince.
People have probably loved you since the day you were born.”
Sylvan’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.
His mother had died bringing Rizel into the world.
His father had raised him to understand duty long before he understood affection.
He had spent three years surrounded by soldiers, yet there had been nights when even their company had done little to ease his loneliness.
“Being surrounded by people,” he said quietly, “doesn’t mean you’re loved by them.”
Rosylin looked at him in surprise.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she lowered her eyes again.
“I think it’s better not to expect anything from anyone.
That way, when they leave, you won’t be disappointed.”
Sylvan studied her face.
He wanted to ask who had taught her to think that way.
But he remembered his promise.
Instead, he leaned back in the chair.
“Perhaps people search for love because they don’t want to spend their entire lives believing that.”
Rosylin gave him a doubtful look.
“And what if they never find it?”
“Then at least they haven’t decided the ending before the story has begun.”
She stared at him.
“That sounds suspiciously like something from a love story.”
“An unfortunate consequence of reading the book you disliked.”
A faint smile touched her lips, but it disappeared almost immediately.
“What if someone finds love and loses it?”
Sylvan was quiet for a moment.
“Then I imagine it hurts.”
“Wouldn’t it be better never to love anyone at all?”
He looked at her.
“Would you stop reading books because some of them have unhappy endings?”
Rosylin blinked.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Sylvan’s lips curved slightly.
“At last.
A question you can’t answer.”
Ordinarily, she would have protested.
This time, however, she merely looked down at the book resting on her lap.
After a while, she whispered, “I still don’t think love stories are meant for everyone.”
Sylvan watched her lowered face, the long burgundy hair falling across her cheek and the familiar black shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“Perhaps not,” he answered.
Then, a little more softly, he added, “But you don’t have to decide tonight whether one could ever be meant for you.”
Rosylin raised her eyes to his.
For once, Sylvan wasn’t teasing her.
And somehow, his seriousness made it even harder for her to look away.
A cool breeze slipped through the narrow opening of Rosylin’s bedroom window, stirring the faded curtains.
The moon had risen high enough for its pale light to fall across her face.
Sylvan turned toward her again.
Rosylin was still looking down at the book in her lap, unaware of his gaze.
Her extraordinarily long burgundy hair spilled over her shoulders, and the moonlight illuminated her pale skin and rose-colored lips.
Her brown eyes, so lively whenever she argued with him, had become strangely sorrowful.
People always end up alone.
Her words echoed in his mind.
He had heard soldiers speak about death with less resignation than she had spoken about love.
What had happened to this girl?
Who had taught her, at nineteen, to expect so little from the world?
His gaze drifted toward the faint scars visible beneath the sleeve of her worn dress.
An ugly thought entered his mind.
Whoever made her believe she deserves nothing should suffer for it.
His expression remained perfectly calm, but the thought grew darker.
He imagined finding the people responsible for those scars.
He imagined confronting them, stripping away whatever position or protection allowed them to hurt someone who could not defend herself.
And if they had continued hurting her after he arrived—
His jaw tightened.
I would make them regret ever laying a hand on her.
Sylvan lowered his eyes for a moment.
He had spent three years in the Imperial Legion.
He knew what cruelty looked like.
He knew how easily anger could turn into something merciless.
But Rosylin knew none of that.
She was sitting beside him in her tiny bedroom, trusting him enough to speak about loneliness, unaware that his thoughts had become considerably less gentle than his expression.
He could not let her see them.
Not when she already had so many reasons to be afraid.
“Why are you so quiet?”
Her voice interrupted him.
Sylvan looked up.
Rosylin was watching him curiously.
“Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re lying.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Am I?”
“Yes.
You’ve been staring at me.”
“Have I?”
“For quite a while!”
A faint smile returned to his lips.
“Perhaps I’m admiring the moonlight.”
Rosylin glanced toward the window.
“Then look at the moon!”
Sylvan’s gaze remained on her.
“I believe I have a better view from here.”
Her cheeks immediately turned pink.
“Sylvan!”
He laughed softly.
Rosylin covered her face with the book.
And Sylvan allowed her to believe that he was simply teasing her again.
She did not need to know that, only moments earlier, he had been thinking of the people who had hurt her.
Nor did she need to know how much he wanted to ensure that no one ever hurt her again.
He leaned back in the narrow chair, concealing the last traces of his anger behind an easy smile.
For tonight, he would listen to her talk about books.
He would make her laugh.
And he would keep the darker thoughts to himself.
Sylvan watched Rosylin lower the book from her face.
The moonlight rested on her cheeks, and a few strands of her long burgundy hair had fallen across her lips.
She was sitting so close that he could hear her quiet breathing.
For the first time that night, Sylvan regretted asking her to sit beside him.
Not because he disliked her closeness.
Quite the opposite.
This is becoming dangerous.
He had spent three years learning discipline in the Imperial Legion.
He could endure sleepless nights, withstand pain and remain composed when men twice his age lost their courage.
Yet here he was, in a tiny bedroom, struggling to concentrate because a young woman was sitting beside him.
His gaze briefly fell to her lips.
He immediately looked away.
Enough.
Rosylin tilted her head.
“Sylvan?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you listening?”
“Of course.”
“Then what did I just say?”
He looked at her.
Silence.
Rosylin’s eyes widened triumphantly.
“You weren’t listening!”
“An unfortunate accusation.”
“It’s true!”
Sylvan stood abruptly.
Rosylin flinched in surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.
I should leave.”
She blinked.
“Now?”
He glanced toward the window.
“It’s late.”
Rosylin stared at him.
Only a little while earlier, she had practically begged him to leave.
Now that he was finally standing, his sudden decision confused her.
“But you said you wanted to talk.”
“And we have.”
She looked down at the book in her lap.
“Oh.”
Something about her quiet response made him hesitate.
Don’t look at her again.
He looked anyway.
The moonlight illuminated her face as she raised her brown eyes toward him.
Damn it.
He could feel his carefully maintained composure beginning to slip.
He wanted to move closer, brush the loose hair away from her face and discover whether she would still look at him with those trusting eyes if he admitted how desperately he wanted to kiss her.
The thought was enough to make him straighten.
Leave, Sylvan.
Now.
He had no intention of frightening her or taking advantage of the privacy she had reluctantly allowed him.
And he certainly wasn’t going to make his first kiss with her happen in a room she had dragged him into out of sheer panic.
Sylvan reached the bedroom door, his hand resting on the old brass handle.
Rosylin hurried after him, still clutching her black shawl.
“Wait!
Make sure nobody is outside!”
He glanced at her anxious face, then quietly opened the door.
The narrow corridor was empty.
But before stepping out, he turned toward her one last time.
The moonlight fell across her long burgundy hair, illuminating her pale face and those beautiful brown eyes that had troubled his thoughts all evening.
Leave.
Before you forget why you decided to.
“Rosylin.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
His blue eyes remained fixed on hers.
“Tomorrow will be our last night.”
Her expression changed.
For a moment, she simply stared at him.
Sylvan continued, his voice quiet and controlled.
“I want to meet you here again.
In your room.”
Rosylin’s eyes widened.
“Here?
But—”
“Goodnight, Rosylin.”
Before she could answer, he stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
She stood motionless.
Then she looked around her tiny bedroom, at the old wooden chair where he had sat, the book resting on her bed and the moonlight spilling across the worn floor.
Tomorrow would be their last night.
And he wanted to spend it here.
She slowly pressed a hand against her chest.
Outside, Sylvan walked away without looking back.
He had left before she could refuse him.
But as he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, one thought remained with him.
One more night.
And after that?