Morning had arrived at the Valemont estate, but Rosylin had no desire to leave her bedroom.
She stood beside her window, hiding behind the faded curtain as the imperial carriage waited in front of the mansion.
Below, the Valemont family had gathered to bid Prince Sylvan Ashford farewell.
Lord Cedric stood proudly beside Noah, discussing something with the prince.
Lady Sia remained a little farther away, while Stella and her daughters wore their finest dresses for the occasion.
Rosylin watched silently.
She was still wearing the faded red dress she had repaired for Sylvan’s final visit.
Her extraordinarily long burgundy hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and every time she remembered his farewell, her cheeks grew warm.
He kissed my forehead.
She raised her fingers to the place where his lips had touched her.
“That arrogant prince…”
A small smile escaped her.
Then she looked down again.
Sylvan was standing beside his carriage, dressed in an elegant dark traveling coat.
Even from this distance, she could recognize his tall figure and his familiar black hair.
She wished she could go downstairs.
Just once, she wanted to stand among the people gathered to see him off and say goodbye without hiding behind a curtain.
But she knew she couldn’t.
Her father would never permit it.
And if Stella or her daughters discovered that she had been meeting the imperial prince secretly, the consequences would be terrible.
Rosylin tightened her grip on the curtain.
Below, Sylvan exchanged a few final words with Cedric.
Then, just before entering his carriage, he lifted his head.
His blue eyes traveled toward the distant wing of the mansion.
Toward her window.
Rosylin’s heart jumped.
For one brief moment, she thought he was looking directly at her.
She immediately stepped behind the curtain.
“Oh, no!”
She pressed a hand against her chest.
Did he see me?
After several seconds, curiosity overcame her embarrassment.
She cautiously peered outside again.
Sylvan was entering the carriage.
A moment later, the horses began moving.
Rosylin watched until the carriage disappeared beyond the estate gates.
Only then did she release the curtain.
The mansion suddenly seemed much quieter.
For four nights, she had waited for his footsteps outside her door.
She had listened for his familiar voice and prepared arguments for whatever ridiculous things he might say.
Now he was gone.
She sighed.
“Twenty days, perhaps?
Or thirty?
What exactly does ‘very soon’ mean to an imperial prince?”
She received no answer.
With a small, disappointed smile, she turned away from the window.
That was when she noticed the books on her table.
And suddenly remembered.
“The third book!”
Rosylin hurried toward the table.
Sylvan had given her several books during their final night, and she had been so distracted by his unexpected kiss that she had almost forgotten his instructions.
Read the third book.
I put something inside it.
She arranged the books in the order he had given them to her.
“One…
two…
three.”
She picked up the third book.
It was beautifully bound, with a dark cover and delicate golden patterns along its edges.
She examined it suspiciously.
“What did you put inside, Sylvan?”
She opened the first page.
Nothing.
She turned another.
Then another.
Several pages later, she noticed something tucked carefully between the sheets.
A folded letter.
And beneath it, wrapped in a small piece of dark velvet, lay a stone.
Rosylin blinked.
“A stone?”
She carefully unfolded the velvet.
A beautiful, polished title stone rested in her palm.
An intricate imperial insignia had been engraved upon its surface.
Her eyes widened.
She recognized the emblem.
The Ashford imperial family.
“Why would he give me something like this?”
She placed the stone on her bed and unfolded the letter.
The moment she saw the handwriting, she smiled.
It was Sylvan’s.
But as she began reading, her smile slowly disappeared.
To Lady Rosylin Valemont,
I believe it is time I address you by your rightful name.
Before you become angry with me, I ask that you read this letter until the end.
During my stay at your family’s estate, I came to learn of your true identity.
I know that you are the daughter of Lord Cedric Valemont and Lady Sia Valemont.
I also learned of certain circumstances concerning your life within the Valemont household.
I understand now why you chose to conceal your identity from me, and I have no intention of betraying your trust by revealing what I know.
You may rest assured that your secret shall remain safe with me.
However, there is something I wish you to understand.
You are a daughter of House Valemont.
You possess the right to be acknowledged as such and to receive the dignity, protection and respect appropriate to your birth.
If you ever wish to claim your rightful position within your family, you need only ask for my assistance.
As an imperial prince of Ashford, I am prepared to stand beside you and use the authority of my position to help you pursue the rights that have been denied to you.
You need not confront your family alone.
I will not interfere with your affairs against your wishes, nor will I make decisions concerning your future without your consent.
The choice belongs entirely to you.
Enclosed with this letter is my personal Ashford title stone.
It bears the imperial insignia of my house and serves as proof that I have personally entrusted its bearer with my protection.
Should you ever require my assistance, present this stone to an imperial officer and request that word be sent directly to me.
It is not an ornament, nor is it a gift I offer lightly.
I am entrusting it to you so that distance will never prevent you from reaching me.
Whether you wish to claim your place in House Valemont, seek protection from those who have mistreated you or simply continue your life without their interference, I will listen to what you want.
I do not make promises lightly, Rosylin.
If you ask for my help, you shall have it.
Until we meet again, take proper care of yourself.
And remember to lock your bedroom door.
Sylvan Ashford
Imperial Prince of Ashford
Rosylin stared at the letter.
For several moments, she couldn’t move.
“He…
knows?”
She read the opening lines again.
I know that you are the daughter of Lord Cedric Valemont and Lady Sia Valemont.
Her fingers began trembling.
Sylvan knew.
He knew who she was.
He knew that she belonged to the family that had kept her hidden in a neglected corridor.
He knew about the circumstances in which she lived.
And yet…
Rosylin suddenly remembered the previous night.
Sylvan sitting beside her bed, reading quietly while she slept.
Sylvan smiling when she woke up and began insulting him without realizing he was there.
Sylvan complimenting her old red dress.
Sylvan feeding her dinner with his own hands.
Sylvan holding her hand and asking why she thought he cared about her.
Her cheeks slowly turned pink.
“He knew…”
She pressed the letter against her chest.
“He knew all along!”
A smile spread across her face.
That arrogant prince!
He had known her identity and still spent four nights finding excuses to see her.
He had never looked down on her because of her old dresses.
He hadn’t treated her as someone shameful because her father refused to acknowledge her.
He had simply sat beside her, teased her, brought her books and made her laugh.
And before leaving, he had returned to her doorway just to kiss her forehead.
Rosylin slowly raised her hand toward her forehead.
The memory made her heart flutter.
“Oh, Sylvan…”
She buried her face in her pillow, smiling so widely that her cheeks began to hurt.
For a girl who had spent years being told she was unwanted, the realization was almost overwhelming.
Someone had discovered the truth about her.
And instead of turning away, he had chosen to stay.
Eventually, Rosylin lifted her head and looked at the Ashford title stone resting on her bed.
She picked it up carefully.
Its polished surface felt cool against her palm.
She had seen imperial insignias in books and on the banners displayed during important ceremonies.
But she had never imagined holding something that personally belonged to an imperial prince.
She traced the engraved emblem with her thumb.
Then she returned to the letter.
If you ever wish to claim your rightful position within your family, you need only ask for my assistance.
Her smile slowly faded.
She read those words again.
Sylvan was offering to help her.
If she asked, he would stand beside her as a prince of Ashford.
He would use his authority to help her claim the rights she had been denied throughout her life.
For a brief moment, Rosylin imagined what that might mean.
Perhaps she would no longer have to hide in the neglected wing.
Perhaps she could sit at the family dining table.
Perhaps she could wear beautiful dresses without fearing that someone would tear them apart.
Perhaps she could finally walk through the mansion without lowering her head.
But then she remembered her father.
Her fingers tightened around the stone.
“No…”
She shook her head.
She could never do it.
Not because she doubted Sylvan.
She believed his promise.
But what would happen to her mother?
What would happen to Alen?
Rosylin lowered the letter onto her lap.
She could almost imagine Cedric’s expression if an imperial prince appeared before him and demanded that he acknowledge his unwanted daughter.
Her father would be furious.
And his anger wouldn’t necessarily fall upon Rosylin alone.
He might blame Sia for allowing their daughter to approach the prince.
He might forbid her mother from visiting her again.
And Alen…
Her younger brother had always been kind to her.
What if their father punished him for defending his sister?
What if Cedric threatened his future at the academy?
Rosylin’s eyes filled with tears.
“No.
I can’t.”
She could endure her father’s coldness toward herself.
She could endure being excluded from family gatherings.
But she couldn’t bear the thought of her mother crying because of something she had done.
And she couldn’t bear the thought of Alen suffering simply because he loved his sister.
She looked down at the beautiful title stone.
Sylvan had offered her something extraordinary.
The protection of an imperial prince.
The opportunity to claim the dignity and recognition she had been denied throughout her life.
But she couldn’t accept that offer if it meant placing the two people she loved in danger.
“I’m sorry, Sylvan.”
A tear fell onto the letter.
She wiped it away quickly, afraid of damaging the paper.
“I can’t go against Father.”
She wasn’t ready to confront him.
Perhaps she never would be.
She carefully folded the letter and wrapped the title stone in its dark velvet.
Then she placed both inside a small wooden box beneath her bed.
She would treasure them.
And perhaps one day, if she found the courage, she would tell Sylvan why she couldn’t accept his offer.
For now, however, she would keep his gift hidden.
Twenty days passed.
The Valemont mansion continued its ordinary life.
Servants hurried through its grand corridors, noble guests arrived and departed, and Lord Cedric remained occupied with his affairs.
For Rosylin, little had changed.
She still lived in the neglected wing.
She still avoided Stella and her daughters whenever possible.
And she still spent most of her days reading.
But there was one small difference.
Every evening, she took Sylvan’s letter from its hiding place.
Sometimes she read the entire thing.
Sometimes she read only the opening lines.
And sometimes she simply held it in her hands, remembering the man who had written it.
She had become particularly fond of the final instruction.
And remember to lock your bedroom door.
“Arrogant prince,” she would mutter.
Then she would smile and carefully fold the letter again.
She wondered what Sylvan was doing at the imperial palace.
Was he attending military meetings?
Was he spending time with Princess Rizel?
Had he already forgotten how she had attacked him with a pillow?
She doubted that last possibility.
He would probably remind her of it for the rest of her life.
And every night, before going to sleep, she remembered his promise.
I’ll come to see you soon.
Very soon.
Twenty days.
She had counted every single one.
On the twentieth night, Rosylin went to bed earlier than usual.
The mansion was unusually quiet.
A cool breeze entered through the narrow opening in her window, stirring the faded curtains.
She had spent most of the evening reading one of Sylvan’s books and had eventually fallen asleep with it resting beside her pillow.
Her long burgundy hair spread across the mattress.
The candle on her bedside table had burned almost completely away.
Outside, the moon disappeared behind a bank of dark clouds.
The room fell into darkness.
For several hours, nothing disturbed her sleep.
Then—
Click.
A faint sound came from the window.
Rosylin’s eyes opened.
She remained perfectly still.
For a moment, she wondered whether the wind had moved the wooden frame.
Then she heard it again.
Click.
Click.
Someone was trying to open her window.
Her eyes slowly moved toward the dark shape of the curtains.
She didn’t scream.
Instead, she carefully slipped one hand out from beneath her blanket.
Her fingers reached toward the small flowerpot resting on her bedside table.
It was heavy enough to hurt someone.
She gripped it tightly.
Another sound came from the window.
Creeeak.
The wooden frame slowly opened.
Rosylin held her breath.
A dark figure slipped into the room.
She couldn’t see the intruder’s face.
Only a tall silhouette against the faint moonlight.
Her heart pounded.
But she forced herself to remain still.
The figure moved closer.
One step.
Then another.
Rosylin tightened her grip around the flowerpot.
Come closer.
She waited until the intruder approached her bed.
Then she suddenly sat upright, raising the heavy pot above her head.
But before she could strike, a powerful hand caught her wrist.
Rosylin gasped.
Another arm wrapped around her waist.
In one swift movement, the intruder dragged her toward him and pressed a hand firmly over her mouth.
Her eyes widened.
“Mmph!”
She struggled fiercely, kicking at the stranger as he pushed her back onto the mattress and pinned her there.
The flowerpot slipped from her fingers and landed on the blanket.
Rosylin tried to scream.
But the hand covering her mouth prevented her from making a sound.
The stranger leaned closer.
His face remained hidden in the darkness.