"I came because I want to talk."
"Yes. I'm listening."
"Lord Gerald has suggested that I serve as a temporary governess for Lady Rubiena Adria and young Master Perido Adria."
Something shifted behind Daya's composed expression—a tightening, barely visible.
"I see. That's... peculiar. I conveyed clearly through Advisor Olive that there was no need for a governess. I can look after the children myself."
Her voice remained measured, but a thread of restrained anger ran through it like a wire pulled taut.
*She can't trust anyone*, Marin realized. *Not after everything that's happened.*
She buried her sympathy where it wouldn't show and nodded.
"I heard. But managing everything alone—the grief, the sleepless nights, caring for three younger siblings—that's an enormous burden for one person, my lady."
"No." Daya's jaw set. "I can manage."
Marin drew a slow breath. She'd prepared for this.
"I've been told that young Master Adria isn't sleeping well. How serious has it become?"
The mask cracked—just barely. A tremor of anxiety passed across Daya's face before she caught it and smoothed it away.
"And... what does that have to do with a governess?"
"I can help."
"No. No one can help us—"
"I can see how much you love them."
Marin's voice was quiet but firm—not a command, not a plea. Something in between.
"And I understand that trusting people is the last thing you're able to do right now. But sleep matters, my lady. It matters desperately. And I truly can put the young master to sleep."
She held Daya's gaze without flinching.
"Please. Trust me just this once."
---
Daya stared at the woman sitting across from her.
The Duke's bride. A stranger. Someone who wanted from her the very thing she was least capable of giving.
*Trust.*
And yet—the truth remained the truth, no matter how bitterly she tried to swallow it.
Perido was very ill.
He couldn't speak, and the silence tormented him. He cried often—sudden, gasping sobs that came without warning and left him shaking. He refused food more often than not. The insomnia had turned him nervous, volatile; the smallest sound could send him into a trembling fit. Sleeping pills had stopped working weeks ago—they'd been discontinued entirely.
Without his sisters nearby, his anxiety spiraled beyond control. He simply *could not sleep alone*. So she and Garnet kept vigil at his bedside through the night, taking turns, murmuring comfort neither of them truly felt—trying to coax him into rest that never came.
But Perido stayed awake through the darkness, and so did they.
*How can you not understand how important sleep is?*
She understood. She understood *perfectly*. That was the cruelest part.
Daya wavered, suspended between refusal and surrender. Finally, slowly, she spoke:
"If you mean sleeping pills... they don't work on him."
The Duke's bride shook her head.
"Not a sleeping pill." A pause. "I'm telling you this because you are Lord Gerald's family."
*Family?*
The word struck like a slap.
*They and the Duke are family?*
A cold, bitter smile touched Daya's lips.
She had trusted the Duke's invitation. Trusted his sudden appearance in the South—his claim that he wanted to take them in. She had packed up her siblings, endured weeks of travel to the far West, and arrived to find a *magnificent ball* in full swing.
It had barely been weeks since their parents died. *How could he?*
Even if a celebration had been planned in advance, when family was in mourning, you canceled it—or at the very least *postponed*. That was basic decency. Basic *humanity*.
Wasn't it?
Her hands clenched in her lap, nails biting into her palms. She wanted to repeat every word Garnet had hurled at the Duke that night—wanted to release the same resentment, let it burn through her throat and scorch the air between them.
But she didn't. She held it inside, where it sat like a stone.
"My lady, I have the ability to put people to sleep."
"...I beg your pardon?"
Daya blinked, utterly thrown. Whatever she'd expected the Duke's bride to say next, it was not *that*.
*If this is true... how can she speak of it so casually? To a near stranger?*
"You're thinking I have a dangerously loose tongue, aren't you?"
The Duke's bride smiled faintly, as though she'd read Daya's thoughts as easily as printed text.
"Yes," Daya said flatly. "I am."
"How wonderfully direct. Thank you."
"I don't understand what there is to thank me for."
"For your honesty."
Daya frowned, still off-balance. "I've never heard of such an... ability."
"The mistrust is perfectly understandable." The bride's voice remained steady, unhurried. "But you have nothing to lose. Will you give me a single chance to help the young master sleep?"
*Why?*
The question burned hotter than the rest.
*Why is this woman trying so hard? She could simply forget about them—pretend they didn't exist. They're nothing to her. Strangers. Inconveniences.*
"Why..." Daya's voice came out rougher than she intended. "Why are you going this far?"
Something flickered in those light green eyes—recognition, perhaps, or memory.
The Duke's bride chose her words carefully, speaking with deliberate slowness:
"Since you've been honest with me, I'll return the favor. First—Lord Gerald has promised to pay me a separate salary if I serve as governess. I won't pretend that isn't part of it."
She paused.
"And second—more importantly—I want to help the young master. Because I know what insomnia does to a person. It is its own kind of torture."
Daya stared at her. Her expression was completely serious—no performance, no sympathy designed to flatter. Just truth, laid bare.
*Greed for money? The Duke's bride admits to being greedy?*
The Duke's fortune was rumored to be colossal. A bride standing to inherit all of that had no reason to chase a governess's salary.
Which meant the second reason was the real one.
*But why help strangers? What does she want in return?*
Daya searched the woman's face, looking for the seam in the mask, the hidden angle. She found nothing but patience.
The old Daya—the Daya from before—wouldn't have hesitated like this. She would have seized this woman's hand and whispered, *Please. Please help him.*
"When I put the young master to sleep," the bride said quietly, "stay close. Watch everything. Bring the second sister as well, if you'd like."
Daya lowered her gaze to her own clenched hands.
The silence stretched. The Duke's bride waited without fidgeting, without pressing—simply *present*.
"...Please."
The word scraped out of Daya's throat like something dragged from deep underground. She raised her head, and her eyes were raw.
She still couldn't bring herself to believe. Not fully. But she couldn't afford to reject even the smallest chance—not when Perido's hollow face haunted every waking moment.
"Of course."
The Duke's bride met her gaze, and her whole face brightened—a smile so genuine it seemed to warm the air between them.
---
Marin followed Daya through the adjoining door into the next room.
Garnet and Perido sat together on the floor, drawing. Or rather, Garnet drew while Perido watched—his crayon held loosely in limp fingers, his eyes distant.
The moment Garnet looked up and saw who accompanied her sister, she shot to her feet.
"*Daya!* Why did you bring *her* here?"
Marin met the girl's blazing stare with a calm smile.
"Hello, my lady."
"*Hn.*"
"Garnet." Daya's voice hardened. "This is His Grace the Duke's fiancée. Mind your manners."
Garnet's expression twisted with bewilderment—*why was Daya suddenly defending this woman?*
"*Manners?*" She spat the word. "They had no manners when they threw a ball on the day we arrived! I told you already—I don't want to speak to the Duke *or* this woman. Not now. Not ever!"
"*Garnet!*"
"Ooooh..."
The raised voices struck Perido like a physical blow. He dropped his crayon, pressed both hands over his ears, and let out a low, trembling groan—the sound of a small animal in distress.
Garnet froze. In an instant, her fury dissolved into desperate tenderness. She dropped back to the floor and wrapped her arms around him.
"It's okay, Perido. It's okay. We're not arguing. We're not."
But Perido squirmed free of her embrace and retreated—not to Garnet, but to Daya, burying himself in the folds of her dress.
Garnet's face contorted. She looked away quickly, blinking hard, but not before Marin caught the glimmer of tears she was fighting to suppress.
*He chose Daya over her. And it hurt.*
Marin filed the observation away silently. Then she moved closer to where Daya stood and lowered herself into a crouch, bringing her eyes level with Perido's.
Daya glanced down at her, surprised.
"Hello, young Master Adria."
Marin's voice was soft, unhurried—a gentle current rather than a wave.
"My name is Marin Shuvents. We've seen each other a few times now, haven't we?"
Perido's dark eyes peered out from behind the hem of Daya's dress. Up close, his condition was even more alarming than Marin had feared: hollowed cheeks, bruise-dark shadows beneath his eyes, skin stretched thin over fragile bones.
His lips moved.
No sound came out—but his mouth shaped words with careful precision.
*"Yes. We saw each other. I'm Perido. Perido."*
Marin watched his lips intently. Then, without missing a beat, she repeated aloud:
"Yes. We've seen each other. I'm Perido. *Perido.*"
She echoed the exact movement of his mouth, matching each syllable.
Perido's eyes flew wide—round as a startled rabbit's. Behind him, Daya went rigid. Garnet's jaw dropped.
"All right then, I'll call you Perido," Marin continued warmly, as though she were simply responding to a perfectly ordinary introduction.
"You can... *read lips?*" Daya's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Yes."
*Years ago, working as a reader, she'd taught herself to interpret the silent shapes of speech—a skill born of necessity that had long since become instinct.*
Perido stirred. Slowly, tentatively, he peeled himself away from the safety of Daya's skirts and took a step toward Marin.
Then another.
His small black eyes—so like the Duke's—glittered with something that hadn't been there a moment ago. Something fragile and newly lit.
His lips moved again, faster this time, eager:
*"Do you really understand what I'm saying?"*
Marin smiled softly and repeated his words aloud:
"'Do you really understand what I'm saying?' Yes, Perido. I do."
A tiny smile appeared on the boy's face.
Small. Uncertain. Barely more than a twitch at the corners of his mouth.
But it was *real*.
Daya and Garnet stared at their brother in frozen silence. Neither could remember the last time they had seen him smile.