Our carriage came to a stop at the house just as I arrived. I nearly shot past our estate, my speed was so fast.

After lopping several curses at our coachman, he wisely kept his backside in that carriage and dared not approach the house.

The front door of our manor slammed against the wall after I threw it open. It cried out a second time once I shut it.

Empty. There was nothing and no one but I scaled the steps, frantic to find her.

I reached the top of the stairs to the most despicable sight my eyes had ever beheld.

Dressed finely with a nice purple coat and matching hat, the governess hefted two suitcases.

The fear in her eyes dissolved into a steely glare that spoke of an iron resolve. Mine was surely made of stone.

My eyes gravitated from her to the bags and back again. Never had I felt so betrayed.

"Without a word of goodbye? You were just going to leave?"

Legs shaky and lungs still burning from the amount of energy exerted to get here this fast, I fought to calm. In truth, I barely had the strength to put up any real opposition. And besides, if I had even an ounce of power left in my body to get violent, I truly had to strike myself—for being so foolish in offering my trust.

Her light green eyes took me in barely showing emotion. No guilt, no regret. I was a speck of dirt that happened to block her way.

I hadn't deserved a goodbye, but what about Lana? Imaginings of my sweet innocent sister catching this escape artist came and went. And with how coolly she looked now, had Lana perhaps stuck out her chin and held back her tears, acting like a lady despite wanting to bawl or perhaps beg? And had this viper allowed the child a hug goodbye? No. She probably stopped her embrace, stood above her, and leaned down to say, "Act your status. Now go with your mother," before packing her things immediately when my sister's back was turned.

That hurt most of all. That was what I found unforgivable.

"I'd thought this was best."

"For whom?"

She opened her mouth, perhaps to confess, "For me," but closed it again without uttering a word. A ghost of a tear faded from her stone expression and I hated her. I hated her and I feared for her and I hated her all over again.

I thought back on the last few months. When we'd first met, I'd seen something inhuman. This surly old woman inhabiting the body of someone still quite young. There was no innocence left there, not at first glance, not until she'd tried to fix my tie on a day when I was in such a temper, I'd have likely boxed anyone to approach.

She marched up to me, pushed my hands aside and tied it rather well. Then she'd retrieved my hat and coat and put me in it, not at all aware of how close she was dancing on the lip of a volcano.

That was the day I realized she couldn't see the danger in me—in men overall, because she could not see what she herself did not possess.

From that very moment, I'd never show my anger in her presence because she expected so much from everyone. And it was all consuming to the point that I longed to show her a better—a good side of myself.

So I ignored her cold stare. I ignored her firm posture now. I ignored her nose raised high and I drew from what I'd learned about her.

"You're frightened."

The metal of her emotional armor sustained one chink.

It looked like a showdown—it felt like one.

This was too absurd to be real.

"Your mother's secured me a very good job."

"You have a job here," I countered.

When she didn't answer, I advanced.

"And you're paid twice as much as you'd originally requested. You were even given a bonus."

That, she'd left on the desk in the study so often that someone, most likely Father, carried it off. I knew she didn't have it. I could swear that on my life. Because money wasn't what she'd wanted so close to her own birthday, but a place to belong.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

She should have been bolder now, been loud in her answers, anything to convince me of her well-being, but she could only meet eyes with me and ask, "What is it you want from me? Because I do not understand it. I know it is not companionship. You've already said as much. So what is it?"

Rather than advance, I found myself taking a step back down the stairs. "I would just like to understand why you're leaving."

"I'm twenty. I'm about to turn twenty-one. What business is it of anyone's where I go or what I do?"

Despite her very reasonable words, I still blocked her path. "Let's simply discuss our options. I am on your side. I will help you. We've already agreed. Leave me with some peace of mind and let me know that you're with someone trustworthy. That you're safe where you go. That the man of your choosing won't raise a hand to you or...or manhandle you in some way. Hadn't you promised to provide me with that much?"

"Your mother's found me a husband," she yelled, because she was tired of my exertion of control. "It is a good arrangement, and it's one I cannot pass up."

I staggered back until my back rested against the banister. Why didn't I believe her? She'd never told me a lie before. "With another duke—?"

She scoffed. "No duke in his right mind would marry me and we both know why." I refused to let her pass in her next attempt and she tried to consider what the best move would be.

"What's higher than a duke but a prince—?"

"A writer, a baker, a butcher," she spat out. "I don't want a baron, or a duke, or a prince. I want a merchant and your standards were far too high. That man's family owned a publishing house! I should have tried harder, gone back, something. Not let you whisk me away like some feeble old mule!"

Her words hurt. To be fair, I did not have a counter argument. I was dealing with something so upside down from what I'd known. It sounded like someone else asking, "A writer? You'd leave the house of a duke for a writer—?"

"A thousand times, yes. At least I wouldn't be mocked."

I shut up. There was that word again. Mocking. It was there when I took her ice skating and she wanted to but couldn't return on her own. And it was here now. I'd laughed to mask my own failings, not to mock her but that hardly seemed like the thing to focus on.

She hefted her bags and waited for me to move.

I wouldn't. "Do you know that I love you?"

Up until the moment I'd said those words, she'd been determined but composed, now her eyes looked hollow.

"And what of it?" she asked.

My face heated but for anger or humiliation, I was unsure. "And you...you feel nothing for me?"

"That is irrelevant."

Brows furrowed, I asked, "So you feel something?"

"I said that is irrelevant."

I searched her eyes but I wasn't clear what I'd found other than her cold, honest truth—she did not care.

"Please excuse me."

But instead of moving, I stared through her. "Could you simply give me a straight answer?"

"What would it matter?" she demanded. "A prince marrying a commoner makes him a duke, at best. Do you know what that would do to you? You are the sole heir to this family. You will never recover. And what would become of your little sister?"

Now it was my turn to remain silent.

"So you ask me if I have feelings for you, and I've asked you what does that matter?"

I climbed out of the staircase and towered over her, begging, "Let us discuss this with cooler heads. You have no reason to run away. I will carry you to wherever you go myself at your request."

She couldn't believe my nerve. "What cooler heads do you need? What do you think would become of me? You can't possibly take me for a wife because of what it would do to your family so what's left for me? Hm? Other than being someone's mistress like that awful man said. What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Mistress?" I gasped. "I hadn't suggested that."

"Then what had you meant?"

"I may have meant we could run away together."

"With what skill set? What is your trade? What will you do?"

My eyes settled on the floor but I refused to move. I didn't have an impressive list like her and even if I did, that wasn't how love went. We weren't bargaining chips. We were people.

In time, she calmed and explained, "The only thing I have control of is my future. I've tried climbing. I've climbed so high that I've reached here. Nothing satisfies me. I still feel empty. So maybe I simply don't belong here and what I need to do is to return to where I came from—to a shop."

Fingers rubbing my brow, I said, "I only need time to think. To talk to you, to understand what this is. We will find a solution."

"Please. Take all the time you need. And once you've figured it out, I shall invite you to my wedding. Now if you'll excuse—"

I picked my head up and asked, "How can you leave comfort and people who care for you to go to strangers you don't even know? This is not normal. All that I ask is for you to give me some time to understand what this all is. Give me some time to convince you of my intentions. Give me some time to think!"

She shoved me aside and made her way downstairs and in that instance I knew, there was no job, there was no husband, there was just her, running away with nowhere to go.

Her foot landed on the bottom step before I heard the words. "You'll regret it. I'll make certain you'll regret it." For a moment, I couldn't tell where the nasty threat came from, but then I realized, it'd been from me. I'd said it, and I refused to take it back.

This was my voice and my body and my physical form, but this level of rage was one I'd never experienced. I was sure some part of me transcended this form and stared back at what I'd transformed into, shaking its head in sad awareness of my terrible actions.

I did not care. She was not leaving.

And she would have walked out if not for one word. "Edmond."

Frozen in her tracks, she struggled to calm her frantically breathing.

I wasn't better off.

"You step one foot out of this house and I'll let it be known far and wide to anyone who'll listen, who he is and what he is to your mother," I said.

Sweat seeped from my hands; I could barely keep upright, I was so furious.

"Let their business try to survive then. Try to find another reputable job then. Gregor and his brothers might even be curious enough to go and see him for themselves. And will that writer, or butcher, or tailor, whoever he is, marry you if he knew? Would anyone even dare?"