Unsettling news.

Amara woked up in the last wind that passed, she then fluttered her eyes opened as she then got back to her disposition as she then woked up alerted. Amara then sat up as she then looked at the area when she gained conciosuness, as she then stand up while she then remember something. Or perhaps not something but someone. Amara then began to startled herself as she looked around, searching for that person.

"What happened to me?." Amara muttered to herself, as she then checker her body and her arms with confused face.

"That dirty demon.." Amara muttered as she then began to form an annoyed face while she remembered the man she fought earlier.

A long silence came, as she then that she was passed out for such a long time.

"If i saw that demon again, I'll kill him!.." Amara threat silently a she remembered the face.

Amara then looked around as she then began to inspect her surroundings for anything suspicios as she then, didn't waste any time as she then tooked her direction, the direction to her kingdom as she then run off without looking back.

Jasper stared out the expansive windows of his favorite solitary meeting room, his two arms clasped behind his back. He was lost in the lingering echoes of his earlier encounter, the unknown being's face stubbornly clear in his memory. The analysis of the figure continued to occupy his thoughts, a silent film reel playing behind his eyes. The prolonged quiet was finally broken by a knock at the door.

The sound jolted Jasper from his reverie. He slowly turned his head, his gaze settling on the closed door as he waited for it to open.

The door creaked inward, revealing a familiar figure who stepped into the room. Dressed in the crisp white blouse and long black skirt of the palace uniform, she offered a slow, respectful bow in Jasper's direction.

"Lady Mina?" Jasper began, a hint of surprise in his tone.

"Your Majesty," Mina replied formally, her voice soft.

"I heard you were poisoned. Are you alright?" Jasper asked, his concern evident despite the formality of his words.

Mina nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. I'm feeling much more stable now."

Jasper acknowledged her words with a nod.

"So," he continued, his tone shifting to a more businesslike register. "What brings you here, Lady Mina? Is something the matter?"

Mina hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts before meeting Jasper's gaze. After a brief pause, she spoke. "I humbly request your permission for a week's leave, Your Majesty."

Jasper paused, his gaze unwavering as he considered her request. His eyes then drifted momentarily, lost in thought.

"I know my request is perhaps ill-timed, given the news of the attack by an unknown being circulating..." Mina offered, her voice tinged with apprehension. "But I have made up my mind, sir," she added with a touch of firmness. "I need some time alone. I don't feel I'm performing at my best."

"Why come to me for permission?" Jasper inquired, his tone still formal. "Shouldn't you be asking my brother?"

"Well..." Mina began quietly, a flicker of thought crossing her face. "I already did, sir. But just in case, I also felt I needed to ask for your permission, sir."

Jasper remained silent for a moment, then offered a nod of understanding. "Very well, you have my permission," he replied formally. "However, if the palace or my brother requires your presence, your assistance would be greatly appreciated and needed.."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Mina said quickly, bowing her head in gratitude.

Jasper nodded again, then turned back to the window, expecting Mina to take her leave.

Mina watched Jasper's back for a moment, a question forming on her lips. She hesitated, the silence stretching. Sensing her continued presence, Jasper slowly glanced over his shoulder, a slight frown and a curious look on his face.

Mina lifted her head, realizing he was looking at her. She stammered slightly, composing herself before speaking. "Sir, before I go, there's one more thing I need to tell you."

"Go on," Jasper prompted gently, turning to face her fully, his body language now attentive.

"Wilbert asked me to deliver a message, and, well..." Mina stumbled over her words again, a hint of awkwardness in her voice.

Jasper waited patiently, his frown deepening slightly as he watched her struggle.

"Sorry," Mina muttered, taking a breath to steady herself. "Uh, it's, well, he told me that he saw someone in the deep forest while searching for Catherine, you know, the fox woman. And, uh, he... he saw someone, someone who is dear to you... Your Majesty," Mina explained, the words tumbling out a little clumsily but ultimately clear.

Jasper took a step closer, his initial disinterest replaced by a keen attentiveness. His expression shifted to one of serious interest.

"It's, uh, someone who has been gone for a long time and..." Mina trailed off, her gaze uncertain.

"Did Wilbert say who it was?" Jasper asked quickly, his voice now sharp with anticipation. "Many people close to me have passed. So, who is it?"

Mina remained silent, a visible internal struggle playing out on her face. She looked at him nervously, weighing whether or not to reveal the information. Jasper watched her intently, his patience wearing thin as his curiosity reached a fever pitch.

"It's him, your majesty." Mina said her voice firm and serious with a dreadful tone to it as she looked at Jasper.

Jasper then left silence as he then suddenly got the realization on who she meant by it as he then changed his expression into a neutral to a sudden suprised and concerned looked on his face.

Amara rushed back to the palace, bursting through the heavy doors in a frantic state. But as she stepped inside the dark grey gates, a prickle of unease crawled up her spine. The air felt different, heavy and still. A chill traced its way down her body, causing her to halt abruptly, her eyes widening. The path ahead was empty, silent, offering no visible threat. Yet, Amara couldn't shake the unsettling feeling, a sense of wrongness she couldn't quite place. Her instincts were screaming.

Ignoring the disquiet for a moment, she quickened her pace towards the castle. Her gaze remained fixed straight ahead, refusing to glance around at the oppressive stillness. Then, her foot squelched on something wet and viscous. A sickeningly sweet, rotten stench assaulted her nostrils. Amara's expression hardened as she slowly looked down, her eyes tracing the source of the foul smell. A small, almost unnoticeable trail of dark, liquid blood led towards the castle. Her breath hitched. Without another thought, Amara turned and ran. Urgency and a growing dread clawed at her mind.

She slammed through the palace doors, the sound echoing in the unnatural silence. But the noise died in her throat as she froze, a bitter taste of horror flooding her senses.

Before her lay a scene of unimaginable carnage. Corpses, the bodies of her people, were strewn across the grand hall in grotesque disarray. Limbs were severed, heads were missing, faces were gone. Some had been brutally slashed across their backs and chests, while others lay lifeless upon the king and queen's thrones, their blood splattered across the once-majestic fabric. Even the elders, usually figures of reverence, were butchered, their bodies torn apart and flung in different directions.

Amara stared, paralyzed by the sheer brutality. Then, her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, a raw, devastated look in her eyes. A massive, anguished cry ripped from her throat, echoing through the blood-soaked chamber, leaving her feeling utterly hopeless. Defeated, she lowered her head and sobbed, the sound raw and animalistic.

"Who..." she choked out, her voice weak. "Who did this...?" Her gaze swept across the horrifying scene, a dreadful understanding dawning.

"No, no..." she whispered, shaking her head violently in denial. "No! No! No!" The denial turned into a desperate, heartbroken wail.

Tears streamed down her face as she pounded her fists against the cold stone floor, each strike a release of raw anger and grief. "Who did this?!" she finally screamed, her voice cracking with anguish. She curled into herself, hugging her knees to her chest, a picture of utter devastation.

"Your Royal Highness," a royal servant announced, his voice cutting through the quiet as he stood just inside the doorway, posture ramrod straight. "You have a visitor requesting your presence in the private meeting room."

The woman turned sharply, her gaze piercing the servant. The unexpected message had taken her by surprise. "Who is this guest you speak of?" she inquired, a hint of curiosity underlying her surprise.

"An important royal member from His Majesty of the North, ma'am," the servant replied formally.

Confusion flickered across the woman's face as she considered this for a moment. "Does this person at least have a name?" she asked.

The royal servant shook his head, his expression unwavering. "I'm afraid that is for the person to reveal in person, ma'am. My orders were simply to deliver this message."

The woman's gaze remained fixed and thoughtful, a slight frown creasing her brow. Hesitation tugged at her, but she couldn't dismiss the possibility of its importance. Her status demanded a certain diligence and approachability. Slowly, she rose to her feet, offering a curt nod in response to the servant's message. She walked past him, and he quietly closed the door behind them, falling into step beside her with formal precision. She was dressed in her usual informal attire: a simple pleated blue skirt and a matching blue polo shirt, the kind of clothes reserved for days without special engagements.

They walked in comfortable silence, turning left and heading downstairs with a casual pace. Another left turn led them down a long hallway, the private meeting room situated at its far end.

Questions danced in the woman's mind with each step, her brow furrowed slightly as she tried to guess the identity of this mysterious visitor. She masked her questioning thoughts, her expression remaining neutral.

Reaching a plain brown door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder to meet the eyes of the royal servant. He offered a silent nod of confirmation. Turning back to the door, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool wood before she slowly pulled it open. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the familiar setting and then settling on a solitary figure.

A person sat on the couch, draped in grey robes that concealed their form, a hood obscuring their face. The woman instinctively glanced back towards the doorway, a fleeting thought that she might have entered the wrong room crossing her mind.

"Good to see you well, Princess."

The unexpected words, spoken in a voice that sparked a flicker of familiarity, made the woman turn back slowly. The voice tugged at her memory, and she studied the hooded figure with a curious yet cautious gaze. A sense of unease settled upon her, and she subtly positioned herself closer to the door, ready to retreat if necessary.

The figure in the grey robes rose slowly, their tall form straightening as they faced her general direction, though their face remained hidden.

"Why is everyone being so salty with me? ." the figure spoke again, their voice still not quite placing them, their face still concealed.

The woman stared, a knot of confusion and suspicion tightening in her chest. She instinctively took a step back. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her voice laced with suspicion as her hand instinctively reached for the door handle, her escape route.

The figure remained silent for a beat, then let out a soft chuckle, a teasing note in the sound that acknowledged her suspicion. A longer silence followed, punctuated by a dramatic, playful sigh from beneath the hood.

"I'm upset that you're treating me so coldly, Delphine," the figure finally said, their tone exaggeratedly dramatic and offended.

"Leave! At once! Or else—" Princess Delphine’s voice rose in frustrated demand, her hand now firmly on the door, poised to flee. She refused to acknowledge the stranger, yet a persistent sense of familiarity, the reason for which eluded her, gnawed at the edges of her awareness.

"Now that I'm back, am I an uncle now?" the figure asked, completely ignoring her demands and anxiousness, their tone light and casual.

Princess Delphine stared in annoyed silence for a moment, her mind racing, trying to place the voice, to recognize the figure standing at a distance.

The figure remained silent for another few moments, the quiet stretching in the room. Then, with a casual air, they strolled over to the sofa, turning to face Delphine with a relaxed, almost slouching posture.

"Fine, enough of this. I don't think I can tolerate this kind of welcome," the figure declared, their voice suddenly losing its playful edge and turning serious. Slowly, deliberately, their two hands reached up and pulled back the hood, their head remaining bowed for a moment before they slowly looked up, their gaze finally meeting Delphine's.

Princess Delphine's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. A whispered name escaped her lips, a name tinged with both recognition and a sudden, bitter taste. Silence descended upon the room once more.

Catherine surfaced from a deep, heavy sleep into an equally heavy silence. She lay still for a moment, feeling the weight of slumber cling to her before fluttering her eyelids open. Sunlight, strained through curtains, streaked across the unfamiliar room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the quiet air. She turned her head slowly, taking in the space. Simple furniture, cleanly arranged, but empty. She was alone.

A frown creased her brow. Pushing aside the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded towards the window, peering through a gap in the curtains. Confusion fogged her mind as she sat back down on the edge of the mattress, trying to piece things together.

"What the fuck..?" she muttered, her voice raspy from sleep. "Morning already? I only meant to nap." Her thoughts churned.

"Where is he?" She scanned the empty room again. Then, like a flash flood, yesterday returned...

"So, who were those guys?" Catherine had asked, breaking the silence as they navigated the bustling streets of the northern city.

Lucas offered a dismissive shrug, not breaking stride. "No idea. Probably just some street performers dressed as wizards. Trying out a new routine, perhaps?"

"Then why did you save me?" she pressed, unsatisfied with his blatant deflection.

"A simple 'thank you' will suffice," he countered, glancing at her briefly before his gaze returned to the throng ahead.

Catherine blinked. "What? That's not what I asked. You didn't answer my question."

"I believe I did. I don't know," Lucas stated flatly, meeting her eyes for a second longer this time.

She stopped walking, rolling her eyes before hurrying to catch up.

"Look," Catherine suggested, her tone firming, "just lead me somewhere far from your people. I can manage on my own now."

A smirk touched Lucas's lips, followed by a low chuckle. "It's truly touching how you underestimate my world. To imagine a place untouched by my kind... quaintly naive." He added, with a teasing glint in his eyes, "You really are one of a kind."

Catherine stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. "I..." she began, frustrated, "I meant far away. Somewhere hidden. Out of sight."

"My brother's cottage, then," Lucas offered.

"No!" The word burst out, louder than she intended. Several passersby glanced her way before moving on. Catherine flushed, lowering her head.

Lucas merely smirked, offering a polite, almost mocking smile and a casual wave to those who had looked.

"I really don't know where to go," Catherine admitted, worry threading her voice. "Maybe a dumpster... If only the transportation portal wasn't fucked, I'd be out of here instantly," she muttered, feeling trapped.

Lucas watched her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He crossed his arms, whistling a playful, meandering tune under his breath.

Catherine shot him an irritated look. "What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, the picture of innocence. "Just thinking... I might know a place you can stay."

"Where?" Catherine replied instantly, hope sparking within her.

Hours later, Catherine found herself staring, bewildered, at their destination. Inside the three-story building, the scene was... not what she'd anticipated. Scantily clad wolfwomen, draped in glamorous, albeit revealing, attire, struck suggestive poses near the entrance, their voices low and husky invitations. Deeper within the ground floor lounge, similar women mingled with predominantly older wolfmen, clearly patrons enjoying the establishment's offerings. The air was thick with perfume and low chatter.

Catherine fell silent, the nature of the place crashing down on her.

"Am I in a...?"

"Ha!" A striking wolfwoman in a slinky black dress detached herself from the crowd and glided towards Lucas. "Your Royal Highness!" she purred, winding an arm through his and leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Stay the night, your grace? We could offer you... special treatment," she murmured seductively.

Lucas smirked down at her, then flicked his gaze towards Catherine, who instinctively took a step back, trying to shrink away.

"I appreciate the offer, sweetheart," Lucas began smoothly, "but tonight, it's my friend here who needs assistance." He gestured towards Catherine.

"What? No, no, no," Catherine stammered, backing away further, waving her hands in denial. "Absolutely not. No."

"I need a room for her," Lucas continued, overriding Catherine's protest, his voice carrying easily. "By order of His Majesty."

The wolfwoman looked Catherine up and down, her professional smile momentarily faltering. "A room? Is she... one of our new girls?" Her eyes lingered on Catherine's features. "She's certainly unique. Fair. Our clientele might appreciate that."

"I will not be part of this," Catherine stated clearly, crossing her arms, though her voice trembled slightly.

"She's a bit prickly, but harmless," Lucas joked lightly. "No, she won't be working. My brother simply requires her to have a safe, private room for the night. For her comfort and security."

The wolfwoman slowly unwound her arm from Lucas's, her expression turning suspicious. She chuckled, a dry sound. "Why here, exactly? There are plenty of respectable hotels. And why should we prioritize lodging for someone who isn't contributing? We're quite busy." Her gaze sharpened. "Who is she, anyway?"

Lucas paused, just for a beat, his mind clearly working. "She's, ah... one of my brother's companions. Lady Catherine. From... out of town." He delivered the lie with casual confidence. "They had a bit of a spat. Things got heated. You know how it is." He winked conspiratorially. "We just need a place until tomorrow night. I'll keep her company, ensure there's no trouble."

The wolfwoman studied him, then let out a theatrical sigh, rolling her eyes. "Fine. You're lucky I have a soft spot for you, Your Highness." Her tone regained some of its suggestive warmth.

"And I value that immensely, sweetheart," Lucas returned smoothly. He turned and approached Catherine. "Come on."

The madam led the way. Catherine hesitated for only a moment before reluctantly following Lucas.

They walked through dimly lit corridors. As they passed closed doors, muffled sounds – moans, sighs, low laughter – bled into the hallway. Catherine kept her eyes fixed forward, trying to ignore the sounds and the occasional glimpse of couples embracing in shadowy alcoves. Upstairs, the madam paused before a door at the end of another hallway.

"Listen," she said, her voice losing its earlier warmth as her gaze settled, hard, on Catherine. "You can stay until tomorrow afternoon. But come nightfall, you're out." She gave Catherine a look that could curdle milk before turning back to Lucas with a forced smile.

"Thank you," Lucas said graciously. "I'll arrange payment later."

The madam leaned in close again, her hands resting on his chest. "Perhaps we could discuss a more... enjoyable form of payment?"

Catherine had seen enough. She pushed past them, opened the door to the room, stepped inside, and firmly shut it behind her, leaving the two of them in the hallway. The room was basic, clean, furnished simply for one or two occupants.

Back in the present, Catherine sat up, leaning against the headboard, the memory fading. A wave of lethargy washed over her, a peculiar heaviness despite the long sleep. She crossed her arms, trying to settle back into the relative comfort of the bed.

Minutes later, a sharp knock broke the silence. Catherine ignored it. The knock came again, more insistent. With a heavy sigh, she slid off the bed and went to the door, turning the handle and pulling it open.

"Good sleep?" Lucas asked, breezing past her into the room with an easy confidence.

Catherine blinked, slightly startled by his uninvited entrance. "Yeah," she replied, recovering. "But I bet yours was better," she teased lightly, stepping back.

Lucas chuckled, turning to face her, a familiar smirk playing on his lips as he casually sat on the edge of her bed. "I appreciate admiration," he said, meeting her eyes. "But I don't sleep around like some desperate fool. A man like me," he added, leaning back slightly, "is quite fulfilled."

Catherine nodded, crossing her arms again as she listened. "I'm surprised," she admitted. "Most men in your position might..."

"Might," he interrupted, "but I'm not most men. I grew up deflecting advances. Self-control is a valuable skill."

A flicker of sympathy crossed Catherine's face, and her posture softened. She sat down on the bed near him, but not too close. "Sorry you had to deal with that," she said genuinely, her voice low. "It sounds... difficult."

Lucas went still for a moment, his smirk fading slightly as he seemed lost in thought, his gaze distant. The silence stretched between them.

Then, his expression shifted abruptly. He wrinkled his nose slightly. "You smell like stale room," he commented, his tone suddenly sharp. "Did you even brush your teeth?"

Catherine stared at him, taken aback by the sudden shift. She looked away, choosing to ignore the jibe.

"Freshen up," Lucas said, standing abruptly. He paused, looking down at her. "And spare me the pity. Especially from someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Catherine echoed, looking up at him, confused and slightly hurt.

"Yeah," Lucas smirked, the earlier charm replaced by something sharper, almost cruel. "The beast from the past." He turned towards the door without further explanation. "Breakfast is downstairs when you're ready."

The door clicked shut, leaving Catherine alone once more, the sudden mood swing leaving her feeling off-balance and raw. The insult lingered, stirring a familiar anxiety. She felt the walls of the strange room closing in, the sense of being trapped intensifying as she sank back onto the bed, fidgeting, unease churning within her.

Minutes later, Catherine pulled the door open and stepped back into the hallway. Lucas's parting words still stung, leaving a sour taste. Shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on the worn carpet beneath her feet, she moved without any real energy, the earlier lethargy now mixed with a dull resentment and a growing desperation.

"I want to go home," she breathed, the thought a painful ache in her chest.

She reached the top of the stairs and began her descent, keeping her head down, aware of the curious or indifferent glances from the establishment's other occupants – wolfwomen gliding past in various states of readiness for their clientele. She ignored them, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other.

As she neared the ground floor, Lucas's voice drifted up – rich, confident, punctuated by feminine laughter. Peeking cautiously through the banister rails, she saw him holding court near the main lounge area, surrounded by a small bevy of admirers, completely engrossed in his storytelling. Distracted. The thought landed like a spark in the fog of her mood. An opportunity.

Near the bottom step, another wolfwoman swept past, heading towards the back. Acting quickly before her nerve failed, Catherine turned. "Excuse me?" she asked, pitching her voice low and polite, hoping she sounded merely curious.

The woman paused, glancing back with mild indifference. "Yes?"

"Is there another way out besides the main entrance?" Catherine inquired, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

The woman gestured vaguely over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. "Ground floor, turn left past the lounge. Side door leads to the alley."

"Thank you," Catherine murmured, nodding curtly.

She risked one last glance towards Lucas, confirming he was still captivated by his audience. Perfect. Heart hammering against her ribs, Catherine slipped away from the main flow of traffic near the stairs, hugging the wall as she moved swiftly towards the left. She kept her head down, using pillars and the milling bodies of patrons and workers as cover. Adrenaline surged, sharpening her senses.

There it was – an unassuming, somewhat grimy door tucked away near the back, just as the woman had indicated. She didn't hesitate. Pushing through it, she found herself in a narrow, shadowed alley smelling faintly of refuse and damp stone. The sudden coolness of the outside air was a shock. Without looking back, Catherine ducked her head and broke into a rapid walk, turning away from the main street, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the building, determined to melt into the anonymity of the city beyond. She was out.

"...and so I told him, only a complete fool throws himself into a fountain over a misplaced bet!" Lucas finished his anecdote, rewarded by appreciative laughter from the women gathered around him. He smiled, basking easily in the attention, charming and relaxed.

But mid-chuckle, something felt... off. He paused, his smile tightening almost imperceptibly, then vanishing altogether. The ambient scents of perfume, arousal, and stale wine suddenly seemed clearer because something else, something underlying, was missing. Her scent – that unique, subtly fox fragrance that had somehow cut through the heavier perfumes, the one that had clung faintly to the air around him since her arrival – was gone.

His head came up sharply, blue eyes scanning the ground floor with sudden intensity, pupils perhaps dilating slightly as his senses went on high alert. He took a slow, deep breath through his nose, deliberately filtering the air, confirming its absence. Gone. Vanished completely.

"Your Royal Highness?" one of the women asked tentatively, her smile faltering as she noticed the abrupt, sharp shift in his demeanor. "Is everything alright?"

Lucas remained still for another heartbeat, the definitive absence of her scent confirming his suspicion. It hit him then – the sheer audacity of her escape, right under his damn nose while he was preening for admirers.

Shit.

The curse was a low growl under his breath, annoyance flaring hot and fast. It warred briefly with a grudging, almost imperceptible flicker of respect for her nerve, but the irritation won out. He turned abruptly, his easygoing charm vanishing like smoke, replaced by sharp, predatory focus.

He strode towards the main exit, his long legs eating up the distance across the lounge floor. The women who had been hanging on his every word moments before now seemed to shrink back slightly from the sudden intensity radiating from him. Every sense strained, particularly his keen sense of smell, desperately casting about for any lingering trace of her unique scent nearby. Nothing.

He pushed through the front doors and paused for only a second on the bustling street outside. The usual flow of city life washed around him – greetings called out by some passersby recognizing royalty, others hurrying past wrapped in their own concerns – but he paid them no mind, his attention solely fixed on the invisible thread he’d lost. Where would she go?

His jaw tightened. A short, humorless chuckle escaped him – annoyed at himself for letting his guard down, annoyed at her daring – but the sound died instantly. The seriousness of the situation settled heavily onto his features, hardening his expression. Her scent, that intriguing trace he'd almost unconsciously been tracking since she arrived, was well and truly gone from the immediate vicinity. He'd lost the trail before it even began.

He started walking, moving with purpose now, melting into the crowd but separate from it. His gaze was relentless, constantly scanning faces, alley entrances, the windows of buildings across the street, searching for any flicker of movement, any sign, any clue that might point him in her direction.

'Where the fuck did you vanish to, Catherine?' The thought echoed in his mind, laced with sharp frustration and a rising sense of urgency.

Catherine quickened her pace, weaving through the throng, casting anxious glances over her shoulder. The air hung thick with the combined scents of the crowd – perfume, sweat, food stalls – a chaotic miasma that, thankfully, swallowed her own distinct fragrance before anyone could notice. It was an assault on her own senses, but right now, anonymity was key. Lost in her backward glances, she slammed hard into someone solid moving the opposite way.

"Ow!" The startled cry escaped her as the impact sent her stumbling, landing awkwardly on the pavement.

Shaking her head slightly, she looked up, rubbing a bruised elbow, straight into a familiar face staring down at her. The man she'd collided with was already regaining his balance, but his eyes widened as recognition dawned.

"You!" Sergei exclaimed, astonishment plain in his voice.

For a moment, they just stared, locked in mutual surprise, the noise and movement of the surrounding crowd fading into the background.

Sergei didn't respond immediately, his gaze briefly scanning the bustling crowd around them before settling back on her, waiting. Then, perhaps deciding words were useless, he simply offered her his hand.

Catherine ignored the offered hand, pushing herself upright on legs that felt a little unsteady. Pride, perhaps? Without a word or a glance, she tried to hurry past him.

"Hey!" The sharp call stopped her short.

She paused, her back rigid. "Are you on your way to the palace?" Sergei asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Catherine remained still for a beat, then slowly turned to face him. Anxiety was plain on her face, tightening her features. Her jaw worked for a moment before the words came out, quiet but clear. "I... I need your help." She visibly swallowed, the next word even softer, costing her. "Please."

Sergei studied her, his expression unreadable. He looked away for a moment, towards the flow of the crowd, as if weighing his options. His gaze snapped back to her. "You see—"

"Please," Catherine cut in, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I just need a place to stay. It won't be for long, I promise. Just… temporarily."

He stared at her for a long moment, the internal conflict clear in the set of his jaw. What ghosts was she stirring up for him? Finally, a flicker of something – maybe sympathy, maybe just resignation – crossed his face, and he seemed to reach a decision.

"Fine," he clipped out, the word sharp. "Come with me."

Relief washed over Catherine so strongly her shoulders sagged slightly. She managed a grateful nod. Sergei turned abruptly, heading back in the direction he'd originally come from through the throng of people. Catherine hesitated only a fraction of a second before falling into step behind him.