The fourth night had arrived.
For Sylvan Ashford, it was supposed to be the final evening of his stay at the Valemont estate.
By tomorrow, he would return to the imperial palace, leaving behind the magnificent mansion, its endless corridors, its carefully maintained appearances—and the young woman who had somehow become the most important reason he wished to remain.
Rosylin…
He stood beside the table in his guest room, examining everything he had prepared for her.
There was a generous dinner: roasted chicken, freshly baked bread, vegetables, cheese, fruit and several delicate pastries.
Beside it lay a collection of books he had selected from the library.
Among them was a burgundy-covered novel about two people who had loved each other deeply but never confessed their feelings before circumstances separated them.
He had also arranged several small containers of healing ointment, clean bandages and medicine for the injuries he had seen on Rosylin’s arms.
Sylvan picked up one of the containers and turned it slowly between his fingers.
He remembered the scars on her wrists, the bruises she had tried to conceal and the way she had trembled when he asked who had hurt her.
Then he remembered the conversation he had overheard that afternoon.
Stella Valemont’s cruel voice still echoed in his mind.
Her contempt for Rosylin, her daughters’ accusations and the casual manner in which she had spoken about throwing the girl out of the mansion had nearly exhausted his patience.
And Cedric Valemont—the wealthy lord who could provide an extravagant banquet for hundreds of guests—couldn’t even ensure that his own daughter had enough food.
Sylvan’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to confront them all.
But Rosylin had asked him not to question her identity or expose her circumstances.
She had trusted him with that request, and he intended to honor it.
Tonight, at least, he could make sure she had a proper dinner.
He glanced at the clock.
It was nearly time.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
“Enter.”
A servant stepped inside and bowed.
“Your Highness, Lord Cedric and Lord Noah request your presence in the private study.
They wish to discuss an important military matter.”
Sylvan’s expression cooled.
“Now?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
For a moment, he considered refusing.
Then he looked toward the dinner waiting on his table.
“Tell them I’ll be there shortly.”
The servant bowed and withdrew.
Sylvan exhaled slowly.
“Of all the nights…”
He straightened his dark coat and left the room.
Cedric Valemont and his eldest son, Noah, were waiting beside an enormous table covered with military maps.
“Your Highness,” Cedric greeted him warmly.
“Thank you for coming.”
Sylvan acknowledged him with a restrained nod.
“What is the matter you wished to discuss?”
Noah immediately unfolded another map.
“We’ve been considering a strategic route for transporting newly recruited soldiers to the northern frontier.”
He pointed toward a pathway crossing Ashford territory.
“If we can use this road, we could considerably reduce the time required to move our troops.”
Cedric stepped forward.
“We intend to transport soldiers, horses, weapons and supplies for the upcoming campaign.
This route would be extremely valuable.”
Sylvan studied the map.
“How many soldiers?”
Noah supplied the estimated number.
“And their training?
Have they completed the necessary instruction?”
“Most have,” Noah replied.
“The remaining recruits will finish before the movement begins.”
Sylvan traced the marked route with one finger.
“What arrangements have you made for security?
And how do you intend to supply such a large force while crossing imperial territory?”
The discussion continued.
Cedric explained his plans.
Noah presented additional documents.
Sylvan questioned their estimates, examined the proposed supply arrangements and identified several sections of the route that would require additional protection.
Throughout the meeting, he remained professional.
He gave no indication of the anger he felt toward the man standing across from him.
Finally, he straightened.
“I’ll review the proposal and present it to Emperor Lucien.
Until proper authorization is granted, no military movement through Ashford territory should be considered approved.”
Cedric nodded.
“Of course, Your Highness.
We appreciate your consideration.”
Sylvan glanced toward the clock.
The discussion had continued far longer than he had anticipated.
“I’ll take my leave.”
He offered a brief farewell and departed before either man could introduce another subject.
By the time Sylvan returned to his guest room, the night was already well advanced.
He immediately gathered the dinner, books and medical supplies.
She must be waiting.
The thought made him quicken his pace.
He avoided the mansion’s busier corridors, carrying everything discreetly toward the neglected section where Rosylin lived.
When he finally reached her bedroom, the corridor was silent.
He knocked gently.
No answer.
He waited a moment before knocking again.
“Rosylin?”
Still nothing.
Sylvan sighed.
“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep.”
He reached for the handle.
The door opened.
He stared at it.
“Idiot.”
After everything she had told him about the people living in this mansion, she had fallen asleep without locking her door.
He stepped inside and quietly locked it behind him.
The little bedroom was illuminated by a dying candle and the silver moonlight entering through the window.
Rosylin was asleep on her narrow bed.
Her extraordinarily long burgundy hair lay scattered across the pillow, with several loose strands resting against her pale cheeks.
And she was wearing red.
Sylvan stopped.
It was an old, faded deep-red dress, carefully repaired along the sleeves and hem.
It was nothing like the expensive gowns worn by the noblewomen he encountered at imperial gatherings.
Yet it suited her so beautifully that he found himself staring.
He quietly placed the food, books and medicine on her little wooden table.
Then he pulled the old chair beside her bed and sat down.
“How can such a beautiful girl fall asleep without locking her door?” he murmured.
Rosylin didn’t stir.
He gently moved a strand of burgundy hair away from her cheek.
His gaze wandered over her sleeping face before settling on her naturally rose-petal pink lips.
For a moment, he imagined leaning down and kissing her.
He stopped himself.
“It isn’t a gentleman’s behavior to take advantage of a sleeping woman,” he whispered.
He withdrew his hand and leaned back, running his fingers through his black hair.
“And here I thought three years in the Imperial Legion had taught me self-control.”
His blue eyes returned to her face.
“Sleep, Rosylin.
I can wait until you wake up.”
He picked up one of the books and began reading.
For a while, the room remained peaceful.
Then Rosylin suddenly stirred.
She opened her eyes slowly.
For several moments, she lay still, blinking at the dim candlelight.
Then she remembered.
Sylvan!
She sat upright.
“Oh, no!”
Sylvan looked up from his book.
Rosylin glanced toward the little clock.
“He’s late!”
A smile slowly appeared on his face.
She hurried out of bed and approached her cracked mirror, completely unaware that the man she was complaining about was sitting only a few steps away.
“That arrogant prince!
He made me promise to meet him tonight, and now he doesn’t even bother to come!”
Sylvan pressed his lips together to suppress his laughter.
“Perhaps he forgot.
Of course he forgot!
He probably has hundreds of important things to do.”
She searched for her comb.
“And here I was, waiting like an idiot!”
Sylvan quietly closed his book.
“An idiot who forgot to lock her bedroom door.”
Rosylin froze.
Her eyes slowly moved toward the mirror.
There, reflected behind her, sat Sylvan Ashford.
She turned around.
“Sylvan?!”
He leaned comfortably against the back of his chair.
“Hello, Rosylin.
Did you sleep well?”
She stared at him.
Then an awkward smile slowly spread across her face.
“Oh!
You’re here!”
“Apparently.”
“When did you arrive?”
“Long enough to discover that I’m an arrogant prince.”
Her smile stiffened.
“Oh…”
“And that I have hundreds of important things to do.”
Rosylin glanced desperately toward the window.
“What a beautiful night!”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow.
“Is it?”
“Look at the moon!”
“Rosylin.”
“Oh!
You brought books!”
She hurried toward the table.
Sylvan laughed.
“Are we going to pretend you didn’t just insult me?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Shall I repeat your little speech?”
“No!”
She snatched up the nearest book.
“You’re holding it upside down,” he observed.
Rosylin immediately turned it around.
“I was examining the binding!”
His laughter filled the little room.
Then, as he watched her, his attention settled on her dress.
For a moment, he forgot what he had been about to say.
“You’re wearing red.”
Rosylin glanced down.
“Oh.
Yes.”
“Is it new?”
“No.
I found it in my wardrobe.”
She nervously smoothed the skirt.
“I repaired it a little.”
Sylvan noticed the small stitches along her sleeve.
He remembered Stella’s cruel remarks about discarded clothing, and his smile faded briefly.
But Rosylin was watching him anxiously.
He refused to let the memory spoil this moment.
“It suits you.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“Red suits you, Rosylin.”
Her cheeks immediately turned pink.
“Oh.
Thank you.”
Sylvan tilted his head.
“Although I’m rather disappointed.”
“Why?”
“I was hoping you’d wear that charming old dress you always use to run away from me.”
“Sylvan!”
She grabbed a pillow.
He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“All right.
Before you attack me, I brought you something.”
Rosylin lowered the pillow suspiciously.
“What?”
“Dinner.”
Sylvan uncovered the dishes on her little table.
The delicious aroma of roasted chicken and warm bread filled the bedroom.
Rosylin stared at the generous meal.
“All of this?”
“Unless you’ve already eaten.”
She shook her head.
Sylvan pulled out her chair.
“Then sit.”
Rosylin approached the table, looking almost afraid to touch anything.
“Did you really bring all this for me?”
“No.
I brought it for the ghost in your wardrobe.”
She glared at him.
“Sylvan!”
“Sit down, Rosylin.”
She obeyed but initially reached only for a small piece of bread.
Sylvan watched her.
“Why are you eating so little?”
“I’m eating!”
“You’re eating bread when there’s an entire dinner in front of you.”
“Perhaps I like bread.”
“Perhaps you’re stubborn.”
He pulled his chair closer, picked up her plate and separated a tender piece of roasted chicken.
Then he held a fork toward her.
Rosylin stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Feeding you.”
“I can feed myself!”
“I’m aware.”
“Then give me the fork!”
“Will you eat properly?”
“Yes!”
He offered her the chicken.
After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it.
“Well?” he asked.
“It’s delicious!”
“Good.”
He prepared another bite, this time adding vegetables.
Rosylin’s embarrassment gradually gave way to amusement.
“Your Highness, do you always feed people like this?”
“No.”
“Then why me?”
Sylvan paused.
He remembered her eating bread alone in the kitchen at midnight.
He remembered everything he had heard that afternoon.
But he couldn’t explain without revealing that he knew her identity.
Instead, he offered her another bite.
“Because you seem determined to argue with your dinner.”
She laughed.
For the rest of the meal, Sylvan didn’t eat.
He was content to sit beside her, offering her one bite after another and watching her brown eyes brighten whenever she tasted something she liked.
Eventually, Rosylin noticed.
“You haven’t eaten anything!”
“I’ve already had dinner.”
She picked up a pastry and held it toward him.
“Your turn.”
Sylvan blinked.
“Rosylin—”
“Open your mouth.”
He stared at her.
Then, despite himself, he laughed and accepted a bite.
“There,” she declared triumphantly.
“Now we’re even.”
“Not remotely.”
After dinner, Rosylin discovered the books.
“Are these all for me?”
Sylvan leaned back.
“Unless you’d prefer I take them back.”
“No!”
She immediately gathered them into her arms.
He chuckled.
“Then I suppose they’re yours.”
She examined each one with growing excitement.
There were stories of ancient legends, forgotten kingdoms and distant lands she had only dreamed of visiting.
Then she picked up the burgundy-covered novel.
“A love story?”
“A tragic one.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“You brought me a love story after everything I told you yesterday?”
“Precisely.”
“You’re trying to annoy me.”
“I thought you might enjoy proving the author wrong.”
Rosylin laughed and opened the book.
Sylvan fell silent.
Only now, with her sitting beneath the candlelight and happily turning the pages, did he have the opportunity to look at her properly.
Her red dress was old.
Her hair was untidy from sleeping, falling loosely over her shoulders and nearly blending into the fabric.
A faint crease remained on her cheek from her pillow.
Yet he found her breathtaking.
He had seen noblewomen dressed in the finest silk and adorned with priceless jewels.
None had ever held his attention the way Rosylin did now.
Her brown eyes brightened whenever she found something interesting.
Her rose-petal lips moved faintly as she read.
How can someone look this beautiful without even trying?
“Sylvan?”
He blinked.
“Hm?”
“Are you listening?”
“Of course.”
“Then what did I just say?”
He glanced at the cover.
“Something about a tragic love story.”
“You weren’t listening at all!”
“Perhaps I was distracted.”
“By what?”
He reached toward her and gently freed a strand of burgundy hair caught beneath her collar.
“Your hair.”
She immediately gathered it.
“I know!
It’s a mess.
I fell asleep before I could arrange it properly.”
“Leave it.”
“Why?”
He let the strand fall over her shoulder.
“Because it looks beautiful like this.”
Rosylin stared at him.
Then she quickly hid behind her book.
“You’re teasing me again.”
Sylvan smiled faintly.
“Not this time.”
A little later, Sylvan gently took her free hand, drawing her attention away from the book.
“Tell me something.
Why was your door unlocked when you fell asleep?”
Rosylin blinked.
“Oh…
I forgot.”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow.
“You forgot?”
“Yes!
I was tired.”
He leaned a little closer.
“Did you also forget that you’re a woman?”
Rosylin stared at him.
“What?!”
“A beautiful young woman, sleeping alone in a room with an unlocked door.”
“You’re the only person who walked inside!”
“Exactly.
And you didn’t even notice me.”
She tried to pull her hand away in embarrassment, but he held it gently for another moment.
“There’s something else you shouldn’t forget, Rosylin.”
“What now?”
His blue eyes held hers.
“Men can be scary.”
She blinked.
“Are you trying to scare me?”
“Perhaps.”
He leaned closer, a mischievous smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
“Imagine waking up to find a man sitting beside your bed.
A man who walked straight through your unlocked door while you were sleeping.”
“But that man was you!”
“And what makes you so certain I’m harmless?”
“Sylvan!”
She placed her free hand against his chest.
“You’re doing this deliberately!”
He glanced at her hand, then back at her flustered face.
“Then perhaps you should stop letting frightening men into your bedroom.”
“I didn’t let you in!
You invited yourself!”
“Because you forgot to lock the door.”
She opened her mouth, searching for an argument.
Sylvan’s smile softened.
He released her hand and leaned back, giving her space.
“Seriously, Rosylin.
Not every man who finds your door unlocked will be someone you can trust.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
“Promise me you’ll lock it every night.”
She nodded.
“I promise.”
“Good.”
Then his mischievous expression returned.
“Although I must ask…
did you leave it unlocked because you were expecting me?”
“No!”
“How unfortunate.
Here I was, thinking you’d prepared a special welcome.”
“A special welcome?”
“Of course.
A red dress, your hair left loose and an unlocked bedroom door.
A gentleman might misunderstand.”
Rosylin’s face turned scarlet.
“Sylvan!”
“And you were sleeping so peacefully that you didn’t even hear me enter.
Were you dreaming about me, too?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Such a quick answer.
Suspicious.”
She snatched up her book.
“You’re impossible!”
“Did you spend the entire afternoon choosing that dress?”
“No!”
“Then perhaps the entire morning?”
“I found it in my wardrobe!”
“Ah.
And you just happened to find it on the night of our last meeting.”
Rosylin looked away.
“There’s nothing unusual about wearing a dress.”
“Certainly not.
Although you did threaten me with a pillow when I noticed how beautiful you looked.”
She covered her burning cheeks.
“Please stop talking!”
“But I’ve barely begun.”
“Sylvan!”
He laughed.
“All right.
One final question.”
She peered at him through her fingers.
“What?”
“Since you were so upset that I arrived late, were you planning to stay awake all night waiting for me?”
“I wasn’t upset!”
“Really?
I seem to remember a rather passionate speech about an arrogant prince who doesn’t keep his promises.”
“I thought you weren’t coming!”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Sylvan fell quiet for a moment.
Then his smile returned, softer than before.
“So you would have missed me.”
“No!”
“Not even a little?”
She refused to answer.
“Perhaps you repaired that pretty red dress for someone else, then.”
Rosylin glared at him.
“There’s no one else!”
Sylvan raised both eyebrows.
“Oh?”
She froze.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Rosylin, you really must stop telling me such interesting things.”
She struck his shoulder with the pillow.
Sylvan burst into laughter.
“Such violence!
And after all the trouble I went through to bring you dinner.”
“You deserved it!”
“Perhaps.
But you really do look beautiful tonight.”
Her grip on the pillow loosened.
For once, she couldn’t think of a reply.
Sylvan smiled at her stunned expression.
“There.
I’ve finally found a way to make you quiet.”
She promptly hit him with the pillow again.
The night stretched on.
They talked about the books, argued over their favorite characters and laughed until Rosylin could barely remember why she had been nervous about meeting him.
Eventually, the candle burned low.
Rosylin sat on the edge of her bed, reading, while Sylvan occupied the chair beside her.
His gaze drifted toward the faint scars visible on her wrist.
His smile slowly disappeared.
“Rosylin, put your book down for a moment.”
She looked up suspiciously.
“Are you going to tease me again?”
“Not this time.”
He retrieved a small parcel from the table.
Inside were healing ointments, clean bandages and medicine.
Rosylin’s smile faded.
“What’s all this?”
“Something for your injuries.”
She instinctively pulled down her sleeves.
“My injuries are almost healed.”
“Almost isn’t completely.”
He placed a little container in her hand.
“This ointment is for your arms.
Follow the instructions carefully.
And I brought clean bandages if you need them.”
Rosylin stared at the container.
“You brought medicine for me?”
“Who else would I bring it for?”
“But you already brought dinner and all those books…”
“And?”
“Isn’t this too much?”
Sylvan’s expression softened.
“Rosylin, it’s medicine.
You’re allowed to have medicine.”
She lowered her eyes.
For several moments, she said nothing.
Then she carefully examined the little jars.
“Did you remember all those injuries I showed you?”
“Of course I remembered.”
He gently turned her hand over and examined the marks near her wrist.
“Do they still hurt?”
“Only sometimes.”
“Then use the ointment as directed.”
She nodded.
He arranged the supplies neatly on her bedside table.
“And don’t hide them somewhere you’ll forget about them.”
“You’re giving me orders again.”
“Someone has to.
Apparently, you can’t even remember to lock a door.”
“Sylvan!”
He smiled.
But when she looked down at the medicine again, her voice became quiet.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for this.”
She held the little jar close.
“But I want to.”
Sylvan fell silent.
He had brought food for one evening, books to keep her company and medicine to help her injuries heal.
Yet he knew that tomorrow, after he left the estate, she would still be surrounded by the people who had hurt her.
The thought weighed heavily on him.
Rosylin, unaware of his troubled thoughts, arranged the ointments beside her new books.
“Now I have an entire collection of gifts from an arrogant prince.”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow.
“An arrogant prince?”
“A very arrogant one.”
“Then perhaps that prince should take his books back.”
Rosylin immediately gathered them into her arms.
“Don’t you dare!”
He laughed.
The first pale light of dawn was beginning to appear beyond the window.
Rosylin sat on the edge of her bed, carefully arranging her gifts.
Her extraordinarily long burgundy hair fell over her red dress, and a sleepy smile lingered on her face.
Sylvan watched her.
He had spent the entire night teasing her, feeding her dinner and listening to her talk about books.
But there was something he wanted to ask before he left.
“Rosylin.”
“Hm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
She glanced at him suspiciously.
“Are you going to tease me again?”
“Not this time.”
Something in his voice made her look up.
Sylvan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Why do you think I care about you?”
Rosylin blinked.
“What?”
He gestured toward the table.
“The food.
The books.
The medicine.
Coming here every night, making sure you’ve eaten, worrying about your injuries…”
He paused.
“Why do you think I do all these things for you?”
Rosylin stared at him.
“I…
I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head.
“Perhaps because you’re kind.”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow.
“Kind?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever heard anyone describe me as particularly kind?”
She considered that.
“Well…
no.”
He smiled faintly.
“Then try again.”
Rosylin looked down at the little jar of ointment in her hands.
“Perhaps you feel sorry for me.”
His smile disappeared.
“Is that what you think?”
She shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned.
“I’m always getting into trouble.
And you saw my injuries.
Perhaps you simply pity me.”
Sylvan was silent for a moment.
Then he stood and approached her.
“Look at me.”
She reluctantly met his eyes.
“Do you really believe I’d spend four nights finding excuses to see you simply because I pity you?”
Her cheeks slowly turned pink.
“I don’t know what else to think.”
He gently took the ointment from her hands and placed it on the table.
“Then perhaps you should think about it.”
“Think about what?”
He smiled, though there was something unusually serious in his expression.
“Why a man who supposedly has hundreds of important things to do keeps finding his way back to your little bedroom.”
Rosylin’s heart began beating faster.
“Sylvan…”
He gently tucked a loose strand of burgundy hair behind her ear.
“Think carefully, Rosylin.”
Then he withdrew his hand.
“I’m rather curious to know what answer you’ll come up with.”
She stared at him, unable to speak.
Sylvan was tempted to tell her everything.
But not yet.
The first pale light of dawn crept through the window.
Sylvan knew he had to leave.
Nevertheless, he remained standing before Rosylin, reluctant to bring their final night to an end.
“Rosylin, there’s something I want you to do after I leave.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“Read the third book I brought you.
I put something inside it.”
Her brown eyes brightened.
“Something?
What is it?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Why can’t you tell me now?”
Instead of answering, Sylvan stepped closer.
Rosylin blinked as he stopped directly in front of her.
“Sylvan?”
He leaned down.
“Promise me you’ll read it.”
“I will, but—”
He came closer still.
Rosylin’s breath caught.
All night, Sylvan had distracted himself with teasing, books and conversation.
But now, with her sitting before him in that red dress, her extraordinarily long burgundy hair falling loosely around her shoulders, the desire to kiss her was becoming painfully difficult to ignore.
He wanted to draw her into his arms.
He wanted to know whether her rose-petal lips were as soft as they looked.
And more than anything, he didn’t want to leave.
“You’re…
very close,” Rosylin whispered.
Sylvan didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze had fallen to her lips.
“Please…
make some distance.”
Her words brought him back to himself.
He closed his eyes briefly and drew a slow breath.
Then he stepped backward.
“You’re right.”
Rosylin looked at him in surprise.
For once, he wasn’t smiling or teasing her.
Sylvan ran a hand through his black hair and glanced toward the window.
I need to leave.
Now.
If he stayed any longer, he feared he would abandon the restraint he had struggled to maintain throughout the night.
He didn’t want to overwhelm her or turn their last moments together into something she hadn’t chosen.
“The third book, Rosylin.
Don’t forget.”
She nodded.
“I won’t.”
He reached for the door, then hesitated with his hand on the handle.
For a moment, he looked as though he might turn around and come back to her.
Instead, he unlocked it.
“Lock the door behind me.”
His voice was quieter than before.
Rosylin watched him step into the deserted corridor, bewildered by his sudden change in manner.
Rosylin stood at the doorway, watching Sylvan walk away.
Her cheeks were still warm, and her heart had yet to settle after the way he had looked at her.
She slowly reached for the door, intending to lock it as he’d instructed.
But just as she began to close it, a large hand suddenly caught its edge.
Rosylin startled.
“Sylvan?”
He was standing before her again.
For a moment, he said nothing.
His blue eyes moved over her face, taking in her sleepy expression, her loose burgundy hair and the old red dress she had carefully repaired for their last night together.
“Take care of yourself, Rosylin.”
She blinked at the unexpected gentleness in his voice.
“I will.”
“And eat properly.
Use the medicine I brought you.”
She gave him a small smile.
“You’re giving me orders again.”
“Someone has to look after a girl who forgets to lock her door.”
She was about to protest when he gently took her hand.
“I’ll come to see you soon.”
Rosylin’s smile faltered.
“Really?”
Sylvan looked directly into her eyes.
“Very soon.”
Before she could ask him when, he stepped closer.
He gently rested a hand against the side of her head and bent down, giving her time to move away.
Rosylin remained still.
He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes widened.
For one brief moment, she forgot how to breathe.
Sylvan lingered only an instant before drawing back.
A faint smile touched his lips as he looked at her stunned expression.
“Goodbye for now, Rosylin.”
Then he released her hand and turned away before the temptation to stay could overcome him again.
Rosylin remained motionless in the doorway, one hand slowly rising to the place where his lips had touched her forehead.
She watched his tall figure disappear around the corner.
Only then did she whisper, “Goodbye, Sylvan.”
She closed the door and carefully turned the lock.
But instead of returning to bed, she leaned against the wood, pressing both hands against her burning cheeks.
He kissed my forehead.
Her gaze wandered toward the little table.
There lay the books, the medicine and the empty dishes from the dinner they had shared.
The third book rested beneath the others, waiting for her to discover whatever Sylvan had hidden inside.
Rosylin smiled to herself.
And somewhere beyond the neglected corridor, Sylvan walked toward his guest room with a small, helpless smile, already wondering how soon he could keep his promise to see her again.