---
Turning left from the majestic fountain at the castle's heart, Marin followed a paved path until the carefully tended gardens gave way to wilder grounds.
Above her, cumulus clouds drifted across the deepening blue like a flock of lazy sheep. Trees rose toward the heavens as though determined to pierce the sky itself. In the distance, the fortress wall stood sentinel, grey stone against gathering dusk.
She'd spent so much time scurrying between buildings lately that she'd forgotten what it felt like to simply *walk*. To breathe. To let her chest open and her shoulders drop.
The grove thinned, and she emerged onto a spacious lawn.
No elegant topiaries here. No geometric flower beds or sculpted hedges. Just a bright green carpet of grass stretching beneath the fading sky—a pastoral scene so simple it bordered on beautiful.
*Now I just need to find Mandrelson.*
A weed that grew everywhere. Common as dirt. Easy to overlook.
"Found it."
She spotted whole thickets of the yellow flowers in a sun-drenched corner, their blooms nodding gently in the evening breeze.
Marin bent and began picking, filling her basket until it overflowed. Juice required volume. Volume required quantity.
By the time she straightened, her back had begun to protest.
"Consider this exercise," she muttered, pressing her palm against her numb lower back.
A glance at the sky confirmed her fears. Darkness was approaching fast.
---
Back in her room, Marin set the overflowing basket on her table and frowned.
"How exactly does one extract juice from these?"
A mortar and pestle would work. But asking Julia to fetch one would invite questions she couldn't answer.
And time was running short—she needed to visit the Duke soon.
She lifted a flower and touched its yellow petals experimentally. A faint aroma rose, cool and fresh. She brought the bloom closer to her nose.
*Mint. It smells exactly like mint.*
An idea formed.
Marin carefully tore off a single petal and placed it on her tongue.
The taste was clean, crisp—remarkably pleasant, like a mint candy dissolving in her mouth. No bitterness. No unpleasant sensation.
*Perhaps I don't need to make juice at all. Perhaps simply chewing would work.*
She gathered flowers until her palm was full. Closed her eyes. Dropped them all into her mouth and began to chew.
The cooling effect made swallowing easy. Her mouth felt wonderfully fresh.
*Perfect.*
She changed into the pink dress Julia had repaired, filled a small aromatic pouch with additional Mandrelson flowers, and tucked the fairy tale book under her arm.
The plan was simple: chew petals on the walk to the Duke's study, then read to him as usual.
What could possibly go wrong?
---
## — The Duke's Study —
Marin approached the office door while still chewing the last mouthful of flowers.
Before she could knock:
"Enter."
She swallowed hastily, lit the candles, and stepped inside.
The Duke sat in his usual position—shrouded in shadow, motionless as carved stone.
Marin approached and extended her wrist without prompting. His fingers closed around the joint, tested briefly, then released.
"Why are you still wearing your old dress?"
She narrowed her eyes and stared at him.
*Is this man truly blind?*
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"That wasn't what I asked."
"We only took measurements today. The new dresses will take time." She paused. "Thank you for the gift. It was... extraordinarily generous."
"A fairy tale again?"
He'd changed subjects. Fine. She could follow.
"Yes. Shall I begin?"
"...Temporary. What is that smell?"
His head turned toward her with predatory precision.
"Smell?"
"What did you eat just now?"
*Oh.*
He'd detected the Mandrelson's scent. Of course he had—his senses were sharper than any hound's.
"I was... chewing some flowers."
One dark eyebrow arched above his silk blindfold.
"Olive doesn't strike me as the type to neglect his duties."
*Subtext: Why would you resort to eating flowers if you were being properly fed?*
"I just... wanted something to keep my mouth occupied."
The excuse sounded weak even to her own ears.
"I'll instruct Olive to provide more engaging work. If you have time for such idle snacks, clearly we're not demanding enough of you."
"I beg your pardon?"
Marin stared.
*What is he saying?*
"You're not going to work?"
"I—yes. I'm preparing. I'll read now."
She opened the book, still thoroughly confused, and began.
"*Once upon a time, there lived a mother who had been widowed young, and her kind and beautiful daughter. One day, the gentle mother met a handsome gentleman, and soon she fell in love—*"
"Is this truly a fairy tale?"
"Yes. Shall I continue?"
"Continue."
"*One day, the mother said to her daughter: 'Darling, it seems you shall have a stepfather soon. And two kind stepbrothers.' The daughter was genuinely delighted, for her mother's happiness was her own.*"
*Hurray.*
Her stomach gave a sudden, audible growl.
Marin pressed her palm against her abdomen, heat flooding her cheeks.
She glanced at the Duke. He sat perfectly still.
*Maybe he didn't hear.*
"*The daughter looked forward to meeting her new family—*" Her voice wavered. "*A-ah...*"
***Gurgle. Burble-burble.***
The sounds from her stomach grew louder. Her vision began to swim, colors draining to grey and white.
"Temporary?"
"Your Grace, I... *u-ugh*..."
She could barely squeeze the words out.
"Temporary?"
He straightened in his chair, head tilting, attention sharpening like a blade.
***BRRRK-GRRRL!***
Thunder rolled through her intestines.
"I... have... stomach... *nngh*..."
***GURGLE-BURK!***
The roar from within was audible across the room.
"I... will... return... *excuse me*..."
"Go."
"Yes—please—*forgive*—"
Marin hurled the book onto the nearest surface and fled.
Somewhere behind her, laughter seemed to echo through the darkness—but she was too consumed by agony to register it.
The only thing that mattered was reaching the facilities.
*Now.*
---
## — The Duke's Study —
Gerald's shoulders shook.
He laughed—truly laughed—harder than he had since the day he lost his sight. The sound burst from him uncontrolled, genuine, almost painful in its intensity.
It was so absurdly funny that for one glorious moment, the stabbing pain in his hypersensitive ears didn't even register.
Behind him, the black curtain trembled slightly. Even Kay, hidden in the shadows, seemed to be struggling.
The laughter faded slowly. Gerald leaned back in his chair, savoring the unfamiliar lightness it left behind.
*What an utterly unpredictable girl.*
She concealed her noble origins, pretending to be common-born. But nothing about her behavior matched the noblewomen he remembered.
At balls, young ladies had competed to appear pure, ethereal, untouched by earthly concerns. The moment conversation veered toward anything remotely indelicate, they would affect expressions of innocent confusion and drift away.
Half of them refused to drink so much as a sip of water—anything to avoid acknowledging that their bodies required *facilities*.
And here was this one, sprinting toward those very facilities as though her life depended on it?
*Tomorrow she'll probably try to hang herself from sheer embarrassment.*
The thought arrived as humor—then curdled into genuine concern.
*What if she actually does?*
She was necessary to him now. Essential. The one person whose voice didn't shred his senses. The one path to sleep he'd found in over a year.
He couldn't risk losing her to mortification.
"...Kay."
The shadow materialized silently.
"Tell Olive to prepare stomach medicine for the temporary worker. And watch her tonight."
A pause.
"In case she decides death is preferable to facing me again."
Kay vanished like smoke in wind.
The study fell silent once more—but not entirely empty.
Her scent lingered in the air. That cool, fresh fragrance. Mint and something floral, entirely unlike the cloying perfumes noblewomen favored.
Gerald had never particularly liked flowers. After the monster bloom took his sight, he'd avoided them entirely.
But this...
Without consciously deciding to, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
*Surprisingly tolerable.*
More than tolerable, actually.
*Pleasant.*
He didn't realize that what he felt—that small, unfamiliar flutter in his chest—was something remarkably close to worry.
---
## — Marin's Room —
The battle was over.
Marin lay sprawled across her bed, face-down, complexion the color of fresh chalk.
The medicine Zero had prepared worked quickly—her stomach had finally stopped its rebellion—but the damage to her dignity was beyond repair.
"How shameful..."
She buried her face in the pillow and kicked her legs against the mattress.
"How can I ever look the Duke in the eye again?"
*Not that he could see her looking.*
The memory kept replaying: her stomach's thunderous announcement, her desperate flight, the book she'd probably thrown at priceless furniture.
And underneath it all, a sound she couldn't quite dismiss.
*Laughter. I'm certain I heard laughter.*
"No." She shook her head violently into the pillow. "The Duke couldn't laugh. Male protagonists don't laugh out loud. It's not in their character."
She was arguing with reality. Denying what her ears had clearly registered.
*It must have been my imagination. Delusion brought on by stomach cramps.*
But if it was imagination—why did her eyes sting with tears?
And why, underneath all the mortification, did some tiny part of her feel almost... glad?
---