"Also, if I marry and acknowledge the Duke of Pembroke's illegitimate child as my heir..."
Adelina's voice trailed off as she considered the implications.
Those unaware of the full arrangement would pity her. *Poor princess, deceived by an ambitious duke*. Sympathy was a powerful emotion—closely tied to support, to solidarity. And public sympathy would benefit both Adelina and the royal family.
"Uncle Leopold is intelligent," she said softly. "He'll understand the advantages immediately."
If the Duke of Pembroke's marriage proposal had been made to Celeste—the Prince Regent's own daughter—Leopold would have rejected it outright. His pride would never allow such a union.
But since the person being offered was Adelina—a princess without parents, without powerful allies, whose only value lay in her bloodline—
*Knock!*
A strange sound interrupted her thoughts.
It was coming from the window.
Sophie's head snapped toward the noise, eyes wide. "Did you hear that, my lady?"
*Knock! Knock!*
The intervals grew shorter. More insistent.
Adelina and Sophie exchanged nervous glances.
"I'll check." The maid's jaw set with determination. She clenched her fists as though preparing for battle and marched toward the window.
Adelina hurried after her, clutching the hem of Sophie's skirt like a child seeking protection.
They approached cautiously—creeping forward on silent feet, moving like wary cats stalking unknown prey. When Sophie reached the window, she examined it carefully, pressing her palm against the glass.
Nothing unusual.
The girls exchanged another glance—more relaxed now.
"I think it was just a bird," Sophie suggested.
"That must be it." Adelina released her maid's skirt, exhaling with relief. "We were nervous for nothing."
*BANG!*
The window exploded open.
"*Ah!*" Sophie, who had been standing directly in front of the glass, stumbled backward in shock. Her feet tangled beneath her, and she landed hard on the floor. "Ow—ow—"
"Sophie! Are you all right?" Adelina rushed to help—and froze.
A presence loomed in the window frame.
A *person*.
"Oh, my. You seem very startled." The voice was male, light, touched with amusement. "That wasn't my intention."
*This sound came from a person?*
Adelina's room was on the second floor. It wasn't a place where someone simply *passing by* could open a window and strike up conversation.
Both girls turned toward the window in alarm.
A man stood on the windowsill.
Light-brown hair caught the afternoon sun, creating a golden halo around his head. He smiled down at them—elegant, charming, utterly surreal in his positioning.
"Am I... dreaming?" Sophie whispered the question without thinking.
It was the only explanation that made sense. Otherwise—if this *wasn't* a dream—how could this possibly be happening?
The man laughed—a warm, delighted sound—and leaped gracefully from the windowsill into the room proper.
He landed without a sound and immediately extended a hand to help the fallen maid to her feet.
"Fortunately," he said, still smiling, "this is *not* a dream, Miss."
"Really?" Sophie blinked, momentarily dazed by his beautiful face and enchanting voice. Then reality reasserted itself. Her eyes went wide as dinner plates. "*This isn't a dream?!*"
"Correct." He released Sophie's hand and turned—naturally, as though he had every right to be there—toward Adelina.
He took her hand before she could pull away.
"Beautiful Princess," he said, bowing low over her fingers. "My name is Derek Pembroke. Our meeting was supposed to occur today, was it not?"
He pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
A kiss.
Soft. Lingering. Presumptuous.
---
Adelina jerked her hand free and took two steps backward, putting distance between herself and this stranger who had just *climbed through her window*.
A man who had scaled the wall to the second floor. Who had burst into her private chambers without invitation or announcement.
Even without knowing anything else about him, Adelina could tell: Derek Pembroke was *not* a discreet gentleman.
*This is Derek Pembroke.*
Alexio's earlier words echoed in her memory: *I would make a far superior husband. In every conceivable way.*
Looking at Derek now, she understood that her future husband had not been exaggerating.
"Wasn't the meeting scheduled at the Rossi residence?" Adelina's voice came out cooler than she'd intended.
Derek waved the question away with casual dismissiveness.
"True enough. But it doesn't really matter *where* we meet, does it?" He took another step forward, closing the distance she'd just created. "And of course, I sincerely apologize for not appearing at the appointed location, Princess."
Adelina's expression hardened.
Derek, however, didn't seem bothered. If anything, amusement flickered in his gaze as he studied her reaction.
"Aren't you curious," he continued, "how I reached the second floor?" He raised his right hand slightly, flexing it to showcase the strength of his arm. "If the Princess asks, I'll explain the technique. It requires significant stamina and upper-body strength. Not many men could—"
"You don't need to apologize for missing the meeting."
Adelina's interruption was quiet but firm.
"Besides, I wasn't even informed of the meeting's purpose. So there's nothing to forgive."
Derek blinked, his prepared speech derailed.
"Really?" He arranged his features into an expression of surprised sympathy. "It seems we were *both* unaware of the arrangement. Perhaps that's a sign—we're more suited to each other than I initially thought."
*"What?!"*
Sophie's outraged voice cut through the room like a knife.
The maid planted both hands on her hips, glaring at Derek with undisguised contempt.
"How can you *possibly* interpret the fact that you both didn't show up as a sign of *compatibility?*" She laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. "That's the most ridiculous logic I've ever heard!"
How condescending did this man think he could be? How *stupid* did he believe they were?
"*Sir.*" Sophie's tone turned icy. "It seems you came here to apologize. Consider the apology delivered. I'd like to ask you to *leave*."
She gestured toward the window with exaggerated courtesy.
"I believe you can exit through the same *door* you entered by."
Derek's gaze followed her pointing finger. He looked at the window. Back at Sophie. At the window again.
"The same way...?" His voice carried genuine confusion. "You mean the *window?*"
"Precisely." Sophie's smile was sharp enough to draw blood. "It's only natural to leave the way you came."
"Well, that's *technically* true..." Derek hesitated. "But even if I *wanted* to comply, I couldn't exit through the window. Not safely, at least."
It was obvious, really. One could climb *up* a wall with effort and determination. Climbing *down* required ropes, or assistance, or a willingness to risk broken bones.
Sophie's expression suggested she considered broken bones an acceptable outcome.
"That doesn't make sense," she said sweetly. "Obviously, since you managed to get *in*, you can get *out* just as easily. You climbed up—so climb down. Simple logic, wouldn't you say?"
Derek stared at her, momentarily speechless.
He had climbed through many ladies' windows over the years. *Many*. It was something of a signature move—romantic, daring, guaranteed to make hearts flutter.
But this was the first time he'd been told to leave the same way he'd arrived.
Usually, women—whether mistress or maid—welcomed his intrusions. They giggled. They blushed. They invited him to stay.
Recognizing that Sophie was a lost cause, Derek turned his attention back to Adelina. He smiled his most charming smile—the one that had melted resistance from countless noblewomen.
It was an unspoken request: *Please, Princess. Call off your guard dog.*
And Adelina did, in fact, shake her head slightly at Sophie.
Derek's smile widened.
Victory.
Or so he thought.
"Although my maid was quite direct," Adelina said calmly, "her sentiments align with my own. Since you entered my chambers without observing basic rules of decency, I see no reason to extend courtesy when seeing you out."
Her tone was that of a strict governess correcting a poorly behaved child.
"After all, politeness is—by its very nature—a two-way street."
Derek's mouth fell open slightly.
"Nevertheless," Adelina continued, "I would like to offer you some degree of hospitality. Mr. Pembroke, you are free to choose how you wish to leave. You may open that door yourself and depart with dignity. You may call for servants to escort you. Or..."
She glanced toward the window.
"You may exit the same way you arrived. The choice is yours."
Silence crashed over the room.
Derek Pembroke was a confident young man. He had always *been* confident. Born into wealth, blessed with good looks, raised to believe the world existed for his pleasure—he had spent his entire life surrounded by people eager to please him.
This was the first time a woman had spoken to him like this.
But even stranger than the dismissal was the *address*.
"*Mr.* Pembroke?"
Technically, Derek held no official title. He should have been addressed as "Master Pembroke" at most. But anyone hoping to curry favor with the Pembroke family—anyone seeking Madame's approval or financial assistance—called him "Lord Pembroke" or "Young Master," inflating his status out of sycophantic habit.
Derek had spent his entire life gravitating toward people who flattered him and avoiding those who didn't. Being addressed as a mere *Mister* was... unprecedented.
"Yes, *Mr.* Pembroke." Adelina's voice was perfectly polite, perfectly cold. "Is there a problem with that form of address?"
The question landed like a slap.
Derek opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
No response emerged.
For the first time in his charmed, indulgent life, Derek Pembroke found himself utterly, completely at a loss for words.
Sophie, meanwhile, looked ready to applaud.