---
*So she's a ruined noblewoman with an invalid mother.*
The pieces assembled themselves in Olive's mind with uncomfortable clarity.
*That's why she lied about being common-born. Desperation makes liars of us all.*
He could give her the advance. The decision was simple enough—a clerical matter, really. Fill out the paperwork, withdraw the funds, hand them over. Done.
But he didn't have the authority.
Not for *her*.
Marin didn't realize it—none of the regular servants did—but she wasn't Olive's subordinate. Not truly. She belonged to that small, specialized category of workers hired directly by the Duke himself. Workers who reported to His Grace alone, bypassing the normal chain of command entirely.
Which meant every decision regarding her employment required ducal approval.
"Perhaps we should consult His Grace first."
"His Grace?"
Her light green eyes went wide with something between surprise and dismay.
"Yes. Matters concerning you fall under His Grace's purview, not mine."
"I... see."
The words emerged barely audible. Her face seemed to collapse inward, hope draining away like water through cracked pottery.
"Come along, then. We'll speak with him now."
"Now?" She blinked. "But it's so late—"
"His Grace keeps unusual hours."
*That's putting it mildly. The man doesn't sleep at all.*
Marin followed him through the castle's winding corridors in silence. As they moved deeper into the Duke's wing, the atmosphere changed. Candles appeared in every sconce—far more than necessary, their flames bright enough to mimic daylight.
Yet somehow, the abundance of light only made the shadows seem darker. More alive. They danced and writhed against the walls like living things.
Olive watched Marin from the corner of his eye. She'd drawn into herself, shoulders hunched, footsteps careful and quiet. Whether from fear or simple respect for the Duke's sensitivity to sound, he couldn't tell.
*Probably both.*
They stopped outside the familiar oak door. Olive waited, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
He never knocked. Had never needed to.
"What is it?"
The Duke's voice filtered through the wood—low, weary, but unmistakably alert.
*How does he always know we're here before we announce ourselves?*
Olive had theories. None of them were pleasant.
"Miss Marin has a request, Your Grace."
A pause. Then:
"Enter."
Olive retrieved a candle from the wall sconce and turned to hand it to Marin.
She stared at him with eyes gone very wide.
"You're not coming with me?"
"His Grace called only for Miss Marin."
"Is—was that what 'enter' meant? Just me? Alone?"
The corners of Olive's lips quirked upward—not quite a smile, but close. He pressed the candlestick into her trembling hands.
*She looks like someone being sent to face an executioner.*
Perhaps not an inaccurate comparison.
---
Marin pushed open the door and stepped into darkness.
"I'm sorry."
The apology escaped before she could stop it.
"For what?"
"For disturbing you so late."
"State your business."
The Duke's voice emerged from the shadows, impatient. No preliminaries. No social niceties. Just the expectation that she would speak and then leave.
"I would like to request an advance on my wages."
Silence.
She waited, the candle trembling in her grip. Wax dripped onto her hand—hot enough to sting, but she barely noticed.
"I would like to receive some money... in advance."
Still nothing.
Had he not heard? Should she speak louder? But no—he'd clearly heard her enter, had responded to her apology. He simply... wasn't answering.
"For what purpose?"
The question came eventually, flat and uninflected.
"The landlord has demanded immediate payment." Marin closed her eyes, forcing out the humiliating truth. "If I cannot pay by tomorrow morning, my mother and I will be evicted."
Admitting poverty felt like peeling back her own skin. But the alternative—ending up on the street with her invalid mother—was infinitely worse.
"If I provide this advance, what will you offer in return?"
Her eyes snapped open.
"I... what?"
"State the reason," the Duke said slowly, as though speaking to a particularly slow child, "why I should give you money you have not yet earned."
Marin's mind went blank.
*What can I offer? What do I have that he could possibly want?*
Panic clawed at her throat. Her vision blurred—tears gathering without permission, hot and shameful.
*What do I do? Nothing comes to mind. Where will Mother go if we're thrown out? Where will we sleep? How will I—*
Her gaze darted around the study in desperation, searching for inspiration.
And landed on the wine glass sitting on the Duke's desk.
Half-empty. Recently used.
*Olive said he sleeps poorly.*
The memory surfaced like a life raft in stormy seas.
"I'll help you sleep."
"...What?"
The Duke's voice cracked with surprise—actual, genuine surprise. It was the most emotion she'd heard from him since they'd met.
"I'm not only good at reading reports." The words tumbled out in a rush, half-formed thoughts becoming speech before her brain could properly organize them. "I can read other things too. Books. Stories. When I read to my mother, she falls asleep easily. I could do the same for you, Your Grace. I could help you rest."
The tears had vanished. Desperation had burned them away, replaced by frantic hope.
"What makes you believe I have difficulty sleeping?"
*Should I tell him Olive mentioned it? Will that get Olive in trouble?*
While she hesitated, the Duke answered his own question:
"Olive told you."
"Yes." Relief flooded through her. "But he didn't mean anything improper by it—he was simply concerned—"
"Fine."
"I'm sorry?"
"Then we'll sleep together."
Marin's face ignited.
The words were perfectly innocent—she *knew* they were innocent, knew exactly what he meant—but spoken so bluntly, in that low, rough voice, they sounded...
*Don't think about it. Don't.*
"How far is your current residence from the castle?"
The abrupt subject change left her scrambling.
"About... about an hour's walk."
"You'll need to relocate."
"W-what?"
Her voice shot up before she could control it. Marin slapped her hand over her mouth, mortified by the volume.
"Olive."
The name was spoken quietly—barely above a whisper—but somehow Olive heard it. The door opened immediately, as though he'd been waiting with his ear pressed to the wood.
*He probably was.*
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Arrange for the temporary worker to be moved into the outbuilding. Tomorrow morning."
"At once."
Marin raised one hand tentatively, like a student seeking permission to speak.
"Forgive me for interrupting, but... I don't live alone. I have my mother."
"Move them both."
"Understood, Your Grace."
*They're discussing my life like I'm a piece of furniture being rearranged.*
The feeling was oddly familiar. It reminded her of the wrist inspection—the Duke and Olive conversing over her body as though she weren't present.
"Miss Marin?"
Olive's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"Yes. Your Grace, thank you."
She bowed deeply—so low her candlelight cast strange shadows across the floor—and retreated.
---
They walked back toward the administrative offices in silence.
When they arrived, Olive gestured her toward the sofa while he moved to a heavy iron safe tucked into the corner. The lock clicked open with well-oiled precision. He withdrew a single gold coin and turned, holding it out to her.
Marin stared at it.
One gold coin.
It gleamed in the lamplight, impossibly bright. She hadn't held one since before the bankruptcy—since before her world had collapsed into ruins.
"Actually..." Olive's voice carried a note of confusion. "If you're moving to the castle grounds, you won't need the advance anymore, will you? The rent issue becomes moot."
"I still need to pay what's owed for this month." Marin's fingers trembled as she accepted the coin. "The landlord will demand it regardless."
*With this, I can buy Mother's medicine. Her favorite foods. Maybe even that wine she used to enjoy.*
The thought made her throat tight.
She held the coin for a moment, feeling its weight, then extended it back toward Olive.
"Could I... could I exchange this for silver? Please?"
"Of course."
He returned to the safe and produced a leather pouch, counted out one hundred silver coins with practiced efficiency, and handed it over.
Marin pressed the bag to her chest like something sacred.
"Thank you." The words barely made it past the lump in her throat. "And... there's one more thing."
"Go ahead."
His smile was gentle. Patient. Everything about Olive seemed designed to put people at ease.
*Which is probably why he's so dangerous. You forget what he's capable of when he's smiling like that.*
"Do I truly need to move to the castle? To live here?"
"Isn't that what you agreed to with His Grace?"
"Technically, I agreed to help him sleep. Not to... to relocate entirely."
"And His Grace retires very late each night." Olive tilted his head, the picture of reasonableness. "How would you return home after completing your duties? The roads are dangerous in the dark. Wild animals roam freely once the sun sets."
He was right. She knew he was right.
But the thought of leaving their cottage—shabby and broken as it was—felt like another loss piled atop too many others.
"I can arrange a carriage for you tonight," Olive offered. "To get you home safely."
"No!"
The refusal exploded from her with unexpected violence. Marin went pale, her fingers beginning to tremble around the coin purse.
*Not a carriage. Anything but a carriage.*
Her vision swam. The room tilted sideways. She could smell dust and blood, could hear the screaming of horses, could feel the world turning over and over as the carriage rolled—
"Miss Marin?"
Olive's voice cut through the memory like a blade. She gasped, pulling herself back to the present through sheer force of will.
"I don't need a carriage." Her voice came out too thin, too high. "I'll walk. It's fine."
Olive watched her with eyes that saw far too much. But he didn't press.
Instead, he stood and asked casually:
"You can ride a horse, I assume?"
"Y-yes..."
The answer escaped before she could think it through.
*Wait. Can common-born women ride? Is that normal? Did I just expose myself again?*
"I thought so."
Olive's smile widened until his eyes became crescents. He looked genuinely pleased, as though she'd confirmed something he'd suspected.
*He knows. Or at least, he's very close to knowing.*
Marin could only nod mutely, caught in the trap she'd inadvertently set for herself.
---
Everything happened quickly after that.
They descended to the stables. Two horses were saddled and brought out—both fine animals, far better than anything Marin had ridden in years. She mounted with the ease of long practice, muscle memory overriding conscious thought.
*So much for pretending to be common-born.*
The ride home was swift. The moon had emerged from behind the clouds, painting the landscape in silver. Under different circumstances, it might have been beautiful.
When they reached the cottage, Olive dismounted first and helped her down with practiced courtesy.
"Is... is it here?"
Surprise colored his voice.
"Yes."
Marin looked at the structure with fresh eyes, trying to see it as Olive must. A hovel. A ruin. Barely standing, with gaps in the walls and a roof that leaked when it rained.
*And yet it's been home. For years now, it's been home.*
"I'll take my leave, then." Olive's voice had gentled. "A carriage will be sent for you tomorrow morning."
"No, we don't need—"
She started to refuse, panic rising again, but Olive interrupted smoothly:
"You mentioned having a mother. Surely she would be more comfortable in a carriage than attempting to walk such a distance? And you may keep the horse you rode tonight. Return to the castle on horseback tomorrow."
*Oh.*
*Mother.*
Of course. Her mother could barely walk across a room. The journey to the castle on foot would be impossible. And Marin's fear of carriages—irrational as she knew it to be—couldn't be allowed to endanger her mother's health.
"I... yes. Thank you."
"Then I bid you goodnight, Miss Marin."
He mounted his horse with fluid grace and disappeared into the darkness, hoofbeats fading into silence.
Marin stood alone in front of the cottage, clutching the bag of silver coins, and let herself exhale.
*We're saved. For now, at least, we're saved.*
---