When the chair was slowly pushed back after dinner, the warmth of conversation lingered behind. The eyes around the table followed me as I rose, but Rebecca's gaze clung to me longer than the rest. She hadn't bothered to lower her voice when asking why Willabelle was even here. The look on her face told me enough; she almost certainly knew of the betrayal. Which meant I had to weigh every word with care.

I convinced her that Willabelle had already suffered enough punishment and posed no further threat. The veil of suspicion did not fully vanish from Rebecca's eyes, but at least we managed to leave the table without disturbing the peace. It was a good idea to seat Willabelle and her nephew Magnus at separate tables from us, so that Rebecca or Annabel wouldn't put them in an awkward position.

Now, another matter awaited me: Baron Douglas's daughter. Leaving behind the silent storm of family tensions, I stepped onto the stage of political calculations and delicate diplomacy.

The guest chamber was in the western wing of the manor; most evenings, the last traces of sunset bled through its windows. My footsteps echoed steadily across the stone floors of the corridor; measured, deliberate. Neither hesitant nor rushed, only resolute.

I paused at the door and lifted the knocker. The brief ring of metal striking wood carried into the air. The door opened, and I stepped into the room bathed in the soft glow of the hearth.

There, by the window, stood a young woman. She had long, wavy brown hair and deep green eyes. Her modest, loose gown concealed her figure.

Her eyes locked on me at once. Her posture was upright, as though she had been waiting for this moment for hours. Despite her youth, her face bore a striking composure, the quiet dignity of one born to nobility. Her hair spilled across her shoulders, and the shimmering fabric of her dress caught and fractured the light of the flames. The first thought that came to me was that she was no ordinary noble's daughter. There was a stillness about her that held more, like currents running beneath ice.

The atmosphere shifted with my entrance. That fragile silence, the kind that hangs when two strangers meet for the first time, carried enough weight to lay the foundation of all future dealings.

It should have been me to break the silence first, but there was such sharpness in Edla's gaze that words seemed to grow heavy on my tongue. She was not merely a guest; she was collateral sent here as the price of politics. Baron Douglas's offering of peace hostageship.

I walked forward with measured steps. As the flames lit her features, her youth softened into view alongside the innate poise of an aristocrat. But her stance was not that of a prisoner resigned to fate. Rather, it was the stance of someone who knew her position and stood ready to shoulder it.

"Lady Edla." My voice filled the room. She inclined her head lightly, though her eyes never strayed from mine.

"Count Leonardo." Her tone was cool, steady, remarkably so for her age. No tremor. No hesitation.

After our brief exchange, I noticed the long, slender chest at her side. Made of solid walnut, bound with intricate metalwork. I recognized it instantly as a gift of value, the kind meant to bind houses together.

With a graceful yet steady motion, Edla gestured toward it. "My father wished to entrust not only me but also the honor of our house, to secure the permanence of peace. This gift is the symbol of House Douglas's goodwill to you."

In that moment, I understood she was more than a peace hostage. Edla was an envoy carrying her house's honor on her shoulders. Baron Douglas had chosen her precisely because she possessed the strength to bear such a weight.

I signaled to the men behind me. They unlatched the clasps, unlocked the chest, and opened the lid with creaks that mingled with the crackle of the fire. Habit made me cautious: no gift was ever accepted without scrutiny.

Inside lay a masterpiece. Resting on velvet was a sword of exquisite craft. Its hilt was wrought in silver, etched with the crest of House Douglas. The scabbard was black leather edged in gilt, capped with a single dark sapphire at the pommel. A stone that shimmered like the depths of the sea under firelight.

One of my men tested the blade, weighing its balance. He gave me a brief nod. No poison, no trickery. A genuine gift, a token of loyalty offered in the currency of honor.

Edla's eyes, however, never flickered toward the sword. They remained fixed on me. To her, the weapon was only a symbol. The true offering was herself.

As the chest was closed, silence returned for a breath. My hand fell on the hilt, the cold metal trembling faintly beneath my fingers before settling into solid weight.

"Baron Douglas has given me a heavy pledge indeed," I said, my voice carrying in the chamber. Then, meeting Edla's gaze, I added, "But the most precious gift is not in the chest; it stands before me."

A shadow stirred across her face. Pride? Or perhaps an irony close to disdain? Hard to say. Her lips curved faintly, only to steady again.

"If my father's gift is to be the foundation of peace, then my presence here shall be to safeguard it," she replied. There was a subtle defiance in her tone, not the compliance of a hostage, but the stance of a negotiator.

After instructing my men to carry away the gift, I turned back to her. She still hadn't broken eye contact. "Of course, Lady Edla. From now on, this will be your home for as long as you remain here. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to call upon the servants. It was a pleasure meeting you... I will take my leave now, but we will speak again."

A fleeting curve touched her lips, not quite a smile, but the acknowledgment of someone who knows her own strength.

"If I need anything special," she said, "I will not call the servants. I shall come to you."

She held my gaze unwaveringly as she spoke. It was no mere request; it was a challenge. A test of boundaries. I studied her for a long moment. The flames laid golden waves across her hair.

At last, I inclined my head in assent. "Very well, Lady Edla. Whenever you wish."

I closed the door behind me, the cool stone of the corridor greeting me once more. My steps quickened as I ascended. For now, I don't want to think any more about this woman called Edla.

With the matter of Edla settled, only one question remained for the night: whose chamber would I enter. Annabel's or Rebecca's? Both longed for me; that much was beyond doubt. But I could not be in two places at once. A choice had to be made.

I would choose Rebecca. Annabel was gentle, patient, understanding. She would be hurt, no doubt, that I had not spent my first night back with her, but by morning, I could make amends.

Rebecca, on the other hand, wore her coldness like armor. Yet I knew the truth of her heart. Though she hid it, she had missed me deeply. She needed me. If I failed to go to her tonight, her heart might break.

At her door, I reached for the knocker. Silence lay within, yet I knew she was awake. Rebecca was always awake, especially when waiting for me. I eased the door open and slipped inside. The chamber was lit only by a single wavering candle. The hearth was dead, the air touched with coolness.

By the window she stood, her back to me. A black nightdress draped over her shoulders, her short hair barely reached her bare shoulder. It was as if she had been there for hours, gazing at the stars, waiting. She did not turn, yet the faint tightening of her shoulders told me she felt my presence.

"Rebecca," I whispered, my voice breaking the hush like velvet. I closed the door behind me and approached.

Slowly, she turned. Her face was pale in the candlelight, but her eyes glowed, blue and fierce. They brimmed with longing, as though she had cast aside the day's doubts and weariness only for this moment. Her lips curved faintly, not a smile, but the triumph of a hunter who had awaited her prey.

"Leonardo," she said, her voice low, inviting. "At last. I knew you would come."

But deep down, I know he's afraid that I'll choose Annabel over him tonight, and at the same time, I know from the look on his face when he sees me here that he's very happy right now.

I quickened my pace, closing the distance. My arms encircled her waist, pulling her close. Her warmth pressed against me, her hidden fire flaring alive. When my lips found hers, the world stilled.

The kiss was fierce, hungry. Too long had passed between us. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer still. Our breaths mingled, our mouths locked, her tongue demanding, intoxicating. We clung to one another tightly, desperately, as though we might never part again.

When at last we broke apart, breathless, her forehead leaned against mine. "I missed you," she whispered, her voice trembling with an unfamiliar fragility. "I don't want you to go to another war again..."

My hands traced her back through the thin fabric of her nightdress. "I know," I murmured, rough with emotion. "But I'm here now, Reb. I'm here for you."

We kissed again. Slower this time, deeper. An embrace not only of bodies, but of souls. Beyond the bond of half-siblings, it was the pull of forbidden love.

Without parting, we moved toward the bed. The night was just beginning for us, hidden in passion and secrecy. By morning, I would make amends to Annabel. But this night belonged to Rebecca… and to me.