The candlelight flickered again—harder this time.
Lord Edward glanced around the room. Something was wrong. He could feel it. The air had shifted, thick with something unnatural.
He turned back to Catherine. But her lips were curved now, and her eyes…
They weren't the deep blue-grey he knew.
They flashed gold.
And the voice that came out of her, sounds a bit off.
"If you think I'll let you have her…" she said with a smirk, "…think again."
Lord Edward recoiled, shoving her hand away and stepping back.
"What are you?" he hissed.
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small wooden cross, holding it between them like a weapon, "If you're a witch, show yourself."
Catherine's smirk deepened.
"I'll spare you—for the sake of the friendship we once shared. But this one…" she tilted her head slightly, "…she's mine. Find another maiden."
Lord Edward lowered the cross, squinting hard. But instead of retreating, he stepped forward.
With every step, the wind howled louder. The candlelight flickered faster, shadows dancing violently across the walls.
Still, he moved—and took her hand.
"Catherine," he whispered.
She exhaled sharply. Her body slackened.
Then she blinked, confused.
"What… happened?"
Lord Edward stared at her, eyes wide, breath caught.
"Is that really you?"
She glared at him. Then, feeling his hand on hers, she quickly shoved it away.
"I'm going to make this clear, Lord Edward," she said coldly, " I do not wish to marry you."
The wind had stopped. The candlelight had steadied. Lord Edward noticed the shift, but only tilted his head, lips curving faintly.
"I'm afraid you cannot stop this—no matter what you do."
"Well, burn in hell," she muttered, turning sharply. She lifted her skirt and began walking away.
But in a blink, he was beside her again.
"I shall require sleep," she added. "Unless you'd rather be my doormat, you're welcome to stay."
She rolled her eyes. "I wish you didn't follow me."
She stopped walking with a sigh. "And I meant every word I said."
He raised both hands and took a step back.
"Very well. I only wanted this to be simple. A conversation, perhaps. Something that would help you understand—I came here with good intentions."
"Good intentions?", her arms folded across her chest. "You could've at least let me mourn George for a year."
He shook his head.
"A year, My Princess? Do you truly believe the kingdom can afford to wait for you that long? You must understand—danger is near, and I am the only one capable of protecting Vesteria from it."
Catherine tilted her head slightly, "Tell me then… what danger exactly are you referring to?"
"Armies preparing to strike. Wars looming from our neighboring kingdom," he replied.
Her lips curled into a quiet smile—one that didn't reach her eyes.
She knew there was more. He was holding something back. But she wasn't worried. Whatever it was, she'd find it out herself.
"Meredith would be willing to marry you, Lord Edward," she said coolly. "Perhaps you should consider her request. She's a member of the royal family. If she marries before me, she becomes heir to the throne. That's a good deal, isn't it?"
Lord Edward's expression hardened.
"Princess Catherine, you are twenty and one—well past the age of formal debut."
"And Meredith is ten and eight," Catherine shot back. "Just entering society. A perfect bride, don't you think?"
Lord Edward sighed, "I'm afraid… you're the one I wish to marry."
She scoffed, "As if you know me well enough to say that."
"Well, that doesn't me—"
A sudden crash echoed through the hallway. They both turned sharply toward the sound.
A broken clay pot lay in pieces on the floor.
"Someone's there," Lord Edward muttered, stepping closer to examine the shards.
Catherine followed. Not far off stood another clay vase—tall, about four feet high.
While Lord Edward crouched beside the broken pot, eyes scanning the corners of the corridor, Catherine shifted toward the intact vase. It stood just beside a narrow gap in the wall.
She leaned slightly and peered through the split in the stone.
And then she saw him.
A hand pressed against the wall.
Golden eyes—wide, alert. Watching. Afraid.
She met his gaze. Just for a second. Then she gave a small nod—and looked away.
"It must've been a rat," she said casually, turning back to Lord Edward.
The Lord straightened, frowning, "All the more reason I should escort you to your room."
"You think I'm scared?" she scoffed. "Or that I'll sway?"
"I'm no damsel in distress, my lord—waiting for someone to take my hand before I can stand on my own."
"I only wish to escor—"
"Even though I'm well out of society and still mourning," she continued, cutting him off with a sigh, "it doesn't mean I should be seen alone with a man I'm not married to."
Lord Edward nodded slowly, "Very well. We'll see, when I return for the wedding arrangements. But I will still have words with you."
Catherine turned and began walking away.
She didn't notice the dark glint that passed through Lord Edward's gaze as he watched her go.
"Goodnight, Princess," he said.
"Goodnight," she replied softly, without looking back.
Once his footsteps had faded into silence, she turned quickly. Her eyes scanned the corridor.
Then she rushed to the tall vase, "You can come out now, Eric."
Eric stepped out, his bright smile already in place. He bowed deeply. "Princess Catherine."
She bent slightly to match his height, "Tell me—what did you find?"
Eric glanced around, scanning the corridor with cautious eyes.
"It's fine," she assured him. "No one's here. And no one will know—except me."
The boy relaxed.
Then he whispered, "I met the devil, My Princess. It's true. They really do exist."
"Really?" Her eyes widened, a flicker of curiosity lighting her face.
He nodded earnestly, "But… they didn't harm me. In fact, they were very kind."
Catherine's lips parted slightly.
If Eric truly encountered one of them—if what he said was real… Did that mean they wouldn't bring harm to the kingdom?
"What did the devil say?"
Eric reached into his sleeve and slowly pulled out a tiny metallic clock. It gleamed faintly under the candlelight, the red hand on its surface now pointing to ten.
Then, in a whisper that barely rose above the wind, he said—
"The devil gave me this."
He handed it to her.
Catherine stared, marveled by the intricate design of the tiny clock in her palm. The numbers were carved in deep red, and the metallic surface shimmered with rose-like patterns. It was no larger than her hand.
"What is this? How did you… how were you able to get it?" she asked, still staring at it in wonder.
She was certain she had never seen a clock so small— so rich in detail.
"The devil," Eric whispered, leaning closer.
"He said he would be summoned… if you point the hand to twelve."
Catherine gasped and, without thinking, pushed the clock back into his hands.
"You should keep it. I'm sure it was meant for you."
But Eric shook his head, " want you to have it."
Her lips parted. "Eric…"
"Besides," he shrugged, "if I keep something this fancy, Father will find out. He'll ask where I got it. And the cook will scold me again. She already said I couldn't follow her to the market next time."
He grinned, as if that memory didn't bother him in the slightest.
Like he truly meant every word. Like giving it to her made him proud.
"It's okay," Eric said brightly. "Now we don't have to wander dark streets and alleys to find the devil. We can just turn the hand on the clock."
.
Catherine smiled and gently squeezed his shoulder, "Then I shall have you come to me each time you want to meet him."
Eric bowed again, pleased to see the princess smile.
"Thank you, Eric."
He nodded, "But… why did you believe me?"
Catherine paused. Her hand moved back to rest on her knee. Then she looked him in the eyes and smiled softly.
"Because I also met the devil. And truthfully… he didn't harm me either."
Eric's face lit up, "Well, now you can summon him—with that clock."
He stepped back, placed both hands over his stomach, and bowed even lower—a deep gesture of respect that said without words, I will be loyal to you.
"Goodnight, Princess Catherine," he said warmly. "I shall always be your loyal servant, and I'll be here whenever you call."
He straightened, then removed his beret. The wind tousled his golden hair as he offered her one last smile, and then dashed off.
Catherine looked down at the clock in her hand, then held it tightly to her chest.
Perhaps this would be her answer.
To her connection with Elias… and to the dreams that kept returning night after night.
As she walked silently down the hall, she didn't notice the shadow standing just behind the doorway.
Watching her.