I | The Mystery of the Broken Spokes

NOVEMBER 1810

Aliya heard a crack.

Then another.

And before she knew it, she was on the air.

The moment was so vivid and slow that her mind managed to decipher what was happening before she landed back on the ground.

The sound that followed her landing was not like the first two because this time, it was accompanied by intense pain. The popping sound came from her left shoulder. The pain was all over.

The neighs of the distressed horse were muffled by her cry of pain as she rolled on her back in the middle of Maple Row. Her eyes squeezed tight, her teeth bare as she panted for breath. Her head rolled to the side, straining her neck. She cried some more as she tried to lift her arm and found that the motion merely caused her more pain. With her shaking right hand, she felt for her left arm and lifted it off the ground and in front of her with an anguished growl.

“My lady!” Carrie’s voice shouted from across the street.

Aliya opened her eyes and blinked twice to clear her vision. Her stagecoach driver’s lean structure enabled her to spring to her feet with ease and run over to Aliya and crouch over her in horror. “My lady! Are you all right? I will call for help at once!”

Aliya could only moan in response as she rolled her head skyward.

Passersby started to gather. People began to step out of their apartments. “My lady!” she heard Dorothy scream and she panicked. She turned her head and found the petite woman running toward her from the apartment.

“Go back!” she shouted at the woman who immediately skidded to a stop, eyes wide. “Go back!” she roared again, the pain was forgotten for a moment. Dorothy could not be seen with her. “Help is coming. Go back!”

Dorothy closed her mouth and nodded. Then she fled back to the apartment.

Aliya took a lungful of air and closed her eyes, shutting off the whispers around her.

“I do not know. I was looking at her because her beauty struck me and then a crack! The next moment her stagecoach was leaning to one side. Saw her thrown out of her seat! Oh, poor girl!” she heard one woman say.

“Did you see the wheel? They should have checked. Must be frail spokes!” she heard a man say with a cluck of his tongue.

“Help is coming, my lady.” Carrie was back to her side. “Can you sit? Where do you hurt?”

She swallowed, wincing at the pain. “My arm,” she said through gritted teeth. Carrie’s eyes went to her arm and they widened with horror. “Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!”

Aliya stopped breathing. “What?”

Carrie did not reply and looked around. “Where is that hackney!” the woman cried out.

“Hackney! Step aside!” someone was shouting.

“Take her to Sinclair!” one woman said.

“Yes, Sinclair!”

“Can you move, my lady?” Carrie asked.

Aliya forced herself to sit up. “I landed on my hand. I did not hurt my back.”

“Do you wish to go back to the apartment or—”

“No!” she snapped. “No. Let us go back to the villa.”

“But—”

“The villa, Carrie.”

Carrie sighed. “Very well.”

At that moment, the hackney driver had reached Aliya’s side. He took one look at her arm. “Nae, milady, ye need te go te Sinclair. Nae doctor’s gonna fix this one.”

Aliya finally took the courage to look down at her arm. “Carrie,” she said, alarm rising to her throat. “Take me straight to Sinclair.”

---

Sinclair had three hospitals all over Sutherland. One in Coulway, Eynsworth, and Strait. Not only was it the best, but it was also the only hospital in the city of Strait that could offer the best care for Aliya’s condition.

She had been given a concoction to numb the pain, but it was not enough for the mere sight of her bent left wrist stimulated Aliya’s brain to feel the injury.

Carrie paced around the tiny room they were brought to, her boots clucking against the hardwood floors like a clock that reminded her of the amount of time they spent waiting.

A woman came in with a white lace mob cap and apron. “A doctor will come and see you in a moment, Lady Aliya.”

“You have been here twice, madam, and have said the same thing,” Carrie snapped before Aliya could open her mouth. “My mistress is in great pain!” She turned to Aliya. “We should have returned to the villa and called for a doctor.”

Aliya shook her head. One of her friends had suffered an injury to the bone and she had to be brought to Sinclair, for all doctors in Sinclair did not do house visits. “Not every doctor is a bonesetter, Carrie,” was all she could say. She turned to the other woman and asked, “Is there any way you can give me something more potent for the pain?”

“Of course,” answered someone. This time, it was not a woman’s voice.

Aliya’s eyes snapped to the doorway to find a giant man striding toward them. He was not a heavyset man—he was just… large. And one look at him made Aliya doubt if they were indeed in Sinclair. The smell of brandy reached her nostrils, reminding her of a cheap tavern with this man coming closer toward her as its faithful patron. His long hair was too unkempt that the strands were sticking together. Aliya could only imagine the number of washes it would take to wash off the grease that accumulated there. His face was nowhere in sight because most of it was covered with an unbelievable mess of beard. If anything was fascinating on this man, it was his hazel eyes.

Nothing else.

“And who are you?” Aliya asked.

“You wanted something more potent,” he said, standing before her. And before Aliya could move away at the smell of him, he slammed a bottle of brandy on the table. White teeth peeked through his beard. “The most potent of all. Can numb any pain.”

Aliya heard Carrie scoff in disbelief behind the man. The woman with the mob cap had retreated out of the room. “Are you the doctor?” Aliya asked.

He blinked. “Yes. And I see you have a broken bone.”

She took another lungful of air, stole the brandy a look, and rolled her eyes upward to glare at the giant before her. “Are you the only doctor?”

“No, of course not.”

“Is there anyone else who can correct my injury?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And who is that doctor?”

“St. Vincent, who else?” he asked, voice filled with certainty.

“Then I demand for this Dr. St. Vincent.”

He rolled his hazel eyes and sighed. “Very well, one moment,” he said. He turned on his heels and wobbled to and out of the door which he firmly closed behind him.

Carrie and Aliya shared an incredulous just as the door swung open again with a clash and they both jumped with a yelp.

Aliya scowled as the same man strode inside in an unstable gait toward them.

He bowed to his hips before her and said, “Oliver St. Vincent at your service, my lady.”

Aliya’s mouth fell open. “You cannot be utterly serious.”

St. Vincent raised his head from and grinned at her. “I am certified to do many things, correcting bones is one of them.”

“Do you expect me to allow a foxed man to fix my bones?”

“We should go home, my lady,” Carrie said.

“Of course, you can go home,” St. Vincent said, straightening to full height. “And call for a barber.” When Aliya merely frowned, he added, “They fix these things, you see.” He pointed at her bent wrist.

He stepped back. “But do be sure you get the best one. You may have pinched arteries by the look of the coloring of your skin,” he said, circling his finger over her wrist. “And your upper arm has been dislodged from its socket. Do be sure to tell the barber that as well. Now, go on, you do not have much time,” he said, walking away again.

Aliya stiffened. “Not much time?”

He stopped and faced her. “Pinched arteries will render your hand or arm dead. If you make haste and find a barber who is not foxed , he can relieve that and prevent amputation.”

Carrie gasped. Aliya’s golden-brown eyes widened. “Amputation?”

“They will chop your limb off,” he innocently replied, slicing the air with his hand.

“I know what that means. But why would they find the need to amputate?”

“Well, of course. Anything dead ought to be discarded.” He moved closer, and without consent touched her hand lightly. “Does it feel numb?”

Aliya gritted her teeth. “Yes.”

He nodded. “It feels cold to the touch.” Straightening his back, he started to move away again.

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

With an impatient sigh, he stopped. “It means it has to be corrected immediately,” he said with a hiccup. “By someone not foxed, of course.”

Aliya watched St. Vincent walk away and she knew he was deliberately taking his time to the door. Closing her eyes, she growled, “Wait.”

He whirled around and walked toward her. “It is nice to know that you are not dumb after all, my lady,” he said, taking her hand in his.

“Wait, what—” Aliya started, but her breath was immediately snatched out of her as his right hand closed over her wrist and the other pulled at her hand without warning.

Carrie had jumped to her feet to storm toward St. Vincent, but the man moved and bumped against her, sending her a few paces back. “Your mistress will be alright, woman,” he said to Carrie over his shoulder as he transferred his large hands to Aliya’s upper arm and shoulder blades. “Know that I can send you through that door with one movement of my hip,” he warned when Carrie attempted to step forward. At Aliya, he bent down and asked, “Too painful?”

Aliya glared at him, but she could already feel the difference. The feeling of pressure around her wrist was relieved.

“Do you need a brandy?” he asked. When she did not answer, he added, “The next one will be very painful.”

Her golden-brown eyes locked with his. While hers was filled with animosity, his was glimmering with mirth. Without a word, she uncapped the brandy with one hand and drank straight from the bottle.

“Good girl,” St. Vincent said, eliciting a scowl from Aliya as she swallowed. The warm spread of the brandy in her chest was a miracle, but the loud pop and pain that followed was hell.

Aliya screamed and kicked St. Vincent’s leg. He merely laughed and saved the bottle from her hand. Aliya’s arm dangled to her side and the pain was slowly subsiding.

“You will need a sling and a bandage around your wrist,” St. Vincent said, stepping back from her as she attempted to kick him again. “I am the only person authorized to cause you pain, my lady. No need to harass your doctor.”

She glowered at him. “You are… you are… you are despicable. You could have given me a warning!”

“That is why I am the best,” he droned, walking to a line of drawers against one wall.

He was not a quiet man, Aliya noted as he opened and closed drawers with a bang while in search of something.

“Ah, bloody laundrymen,” he said, pulling a long cloth from the end drawer. He returned to her side and murmured, “Take another swig.”

Aliya reached for the bottle and swallowed. His eyes met hers as he wrapped the long linen over her good shoulder and pulled it toward him. His gaze never left hers as his hands worked, bending her elbow and secured it in position with the sling.

She wondered what he looked like without the beard, but then she mentally shook her head.

Aliya blinked and looked away, but she could still feel his gaze on her.

She was used to men staring at her, but this one was looking at her as if he were seeing something and it was uncomfortable.

He left her side and returned with a set of bandages. He ordered Carrie to drag the nearest chair which her driver dutifully did. He was sitting too close. Or perhaps not. It was just his size.

For a moment, Aliya forgot the strong smell of him as his hands took hers. She winced at the minimal pain. “Too painful?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

She blinked. “No.”

It must be a mistake to look at him again because she found herself once more trapped in his gaze. Aliya could feel his gentle hands work with the bandage.

He must have done this too often because he did not have to look.

She cleared her throat. “I suggest you keep your eyes on your work, Doctor.”

St. Vincent grinned and looked down.

---

Oliver could only laugh at her outrage when he told her the price for his services.

“That is double the amount I was told earlier!”

“Of course, it is,” he replied, enjoying the layers of fury on her beautiful face. She must have been in such pain that she has not noticed her auburn hair was completely in disarray. “You have to pay double.”

“Why?”

Oliver shrugged. “You are a Belle.”

He saw her stiffen. “You know me?”

“You are a famous Belle, Lady Aliya. Of course, I am familiar with you.” He grinned and then added, “Now, pay.”

“You must be insane!”

“You pay double because I did two major operations. And my brandy is not for free.”

“What two major operations? All you did was pull!”

“Like copulation, it was a very delicate act that needed much expertise to give you relief,” he corrected, and she gasped, scandalized by his analogy. “If you wish me to explain the things involved in that pulling, it will take me a week.” When she merely looked at him in disbelief, he rolled his eyes. “It is too complicated to explain.”

Her face tightened and she heard her growl in frustration. She turned to her carriage driver who immediately handed her purse.

He watched her face as she rummaged for coins and he laughed when she slammed the exact amount he asked for on the table.

She turned to face him, her chin sticking out in a haughty mien. Her lashes lowered as she gazed down her nose. “Good day, Doctor.”

Oliver bowed. “Good day, Lady Aliya.”

Her eyes locked with his for a few more seconds before she blinked and sharply turned away.

“Call for me if you feel any pain or notice discoloration! I will bring my saw!” He chuckled when he heard her gasp and her companion threw him a look of contempt over her shoulder.

Both women quickened their steps, murmuring under their breath as they walked away.

When they were gone, his smile died.

He snatched the bottle of brandy from the table and collected the coins.

Soon, he was back in his office.

The man inside stood to his feet and gratefully gathered the money Oliver placed on the table. “Not a good job, young lad, but you did well,” Oliver said. “How many spokes did it take?”

The hackney driver grinned, showing crooked teeth. “Five, Sir. Had te wait fer the driver to enter the apartment. Should’ve done more spokes, but they returned outside fast. Saw the whole thin’ wobble miself. The wheel gave in almost immediately. Told ye it would work. She ain’t dead, eh?”

“I told you I only needed a few scratches, not broken bones.”

“Aye, but I didn’t realize she’d land on ’er hand, sir.”

Oliver just sighed and turned to look out the window. He watched as Aliya struggled to climb into one of the hired hackneys parked outside.

“You may leave,” he told the man.

He turned away from the window and grabbed his brandy and took a swig.

Swallowing, he felt the warmth of the liquor spread across his chest and down to his fingertips.

Aliya Guideville.

He finally got closer.

Now, what to do with her?

II | On Maids and Butlers

If there was something Oliver was grateful for, it was having the best butler Sutherland could offer.

Truly, no one could come close to perfect as Jason, his ever-perfect companion in the villa. Shoulder-length black hair neatly tied at the back, dark gray eyes that were always clear and alert, perfect manners, and cared truly little about Oliver’s shortcomings. He opened doors at the very right moment and closed them very quietly. In short, the man was the total opposite of his master.

Oliver did not hate the man, even if he knew that he was constantly being judged. The way he walked, the way he bounded down the stairs every afternoon, or the way he smelled. The man would not also bother him whenever he was in his study stripping bones of their muscles and ligaments, but he knew that everything he did was being listed down on a piece of parchment to be sent to his mother in Herst.

Jason was merely five years his senior, but the man’s demeanor was as old as the kingdom. But he was truly the best, and the only butler who stayed with him for years.

“Doctor,” the man said, interrupting Oliver’s musing session, his presence only made known upon speaking for that was how good he was with the door. “Your mother has sent a letter of inquiry.”

“Hmm,” he said, his mind on Aliya’s beautiful face. He always knew she would grow up as exquisite as he remembered her to be, but he never genuinely thought she still held the same effects on him.

“Doctor, your mother also conveyed her concern about your health.”

“Hmm.”

He could sense the man’s frustration emanating from his person. Oliver could feel it at the back of his neck. “And I have to agree.”

“Why?” he absently asked, staring blankly at the wall of paintings in the drawing room.

“You need to start losing weight.”

“I am a large man.”

“Yes, you are, Doctor. So is your… stomach.”

His brows fused, and his gaze fluttered down to his abdomen. “The buttons of my shirt seem to disagree with you, Jason.”

Jason clucked his tongue, a way for him to tell Oliver that he was wrong. “You also need a bath, Doctor.”

“Unless you find me a more comfortable tub, Jason, I will bathe whenever I feel the need,” he murmured, eyes narrowed at the carpet as his mind entertained another thought.

What should he do with her?

He just wanted to get to her, but he never quite figured out yet what he wanted to happen after.

Should they be friends?

“Your drinking has gotten out of hand as your mother claims.”

“She can try to stop me,” he replied, frowning at his thoughts.

Being friends with Aliya was something he could do next.

That would be useful.

He could spy on her.

“And she is also curious as to why we had to transfer to Strait.”

“Because it is far from Herst,” he replied, lifting his forefinger in emphasis. “And do be certain you write that down.” He stole Jason a look. Good God, the man’s face was as stern and cold as his mother’s. “Are you certain of your mother’s identity, Jason?”

Jason’s lips thinned as he closed it firmly. It was not the first time Oliver tried to jest about him being his mother’s first child.

His attention abruptly shifted back to his previous thoughts.

Spy on Aliya. Ah, but he was just the Circus doctor. He was not expected to do anything.

“Your mother also asked if you are here because of her, Doctor.”

“Of course, I am,” he replied, waving his hand to dismiss the man. “Tell her that. Tell her I am still obsessed with the same woman.”

“Very well,” Jason responded. From the corner of Oliver’s vision, he could see a stiff board of a man walking toward the door.

Once he was alone, Oliver jumped to his feet in frustration, raking his fingers through his hair. They were especially greasy today. Perhaps he needed a wash, after all. But later, after his scheduled experiment.

He poured himself a brandy, felt the liquid spread out to his upper limbs.

He narrowed his eyes at the floor. Lord Darcy gave Oliver permission to proceed with his plan. Did that mean he was on a mission? Ah, bullocks! He ought to have clarified. Surely, even the Royal Master expected something from this little adventure at the very least.

But first, the next action to take.

Be friends with Aliya Guideville.

Again.

Did she still like monkeys, he wondered.

---

Aliya was brushing her hair in front of the mirror when Fatima entered the room. The way her maid slipped through the door and quietly closed it told Aliya that the middle-aged woman had something to say.

“Give me that, my lady,” Fatima whispered, taking her brush. Aliya waited patiently, looking at the woman’s gray eyes through the mirror, reading the apprehension there. Fatima’s wide forehead was creased with worry and deep thought. The way she dug and dragged the bristles of the brush against Aliya’s scalp also indicated that she was angry.

Keeping her smile to herself, Aliya pretended to study the fingers of her injured hand which was resting just below her busts. There was no discoloration. Good. She could move them. Good.

Call for me if you feel any pain or notice discoloration! I will bring my saw!

Her upper lip bared her teeth as St. Vincent’s voice echoed in her head. She could clearly remember the laughing bastard. Her nose wrinkled, suddenly remembering the stench of brandy. Her eyes closed for a moment and she shivered as his filthy hair flashed in her mind.

Then his hazel gaze crossed her vision. Aliya immediately opened her eyes and bit her lips. Suddenly she felt embarrassed and she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders as if someone caught her thoughts.

“You are hurting me, Fatima,” she said to the woman to redirect her mind to something real.

Fatima suddenly dropped to her side, her gray eyes wide, and hissed, “We have to be careful from now on, my lady.”

“Whatever do you mean? We are always careful, Fatima.”

“No,” the maid said, shaking her head. “I meant with Maya. She is new.”

Maya, the new cook. “Of course,” Aliya said, nodding her head.

“She cannot be trusted,” hissed Fatima. “Oh, if only Shay did not have that fight with—oh, I hate to say that woman’s name. I only hope Shay can go back soon.” The maid looked over her shoulder, strands of her blonde hair falling from behind her ear. “I have trouble trusting a new member in our household, my lady.”

“As do I, Fatima,” said Aliya, looking the woman in the eyes. She had spent ten years in total with this woman. From the moment she was courted, Fatima, Carrie, and Shay were her only true friends. “Thus, we must take more precautions. Do not leave her alone in the villa. Do you understand?”

Fatima nodded. “In the meantime, you have to limit your time at Maple Row.”

The maid sighed, eyes starting to water.

“Do not cry, Fatima,” Aliya ordered. “We have been through worse.” And that was true. In ten years, they had shared many secrets.

Her maid nodded. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, quickly brushing her tears with her fingers. She stood up once more. “I feel sorry that I was not there when you had the accident.”

“I do not think it was an accident. Carrie checked the spokes before we left for Maple Row and they were in pristine condition.”

Fatima’s eyes widened with her gasp. “You could not mean—” the woman covered her mouth with her hand, bent down, and whispered, “The Circus?”

Aliya shrugged. “Perhaps. I do not see any reason why they would sabotage the stagecoach. Unless, of course, they wish me to…” her voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed to slits.

“Unless they wished you to what, my lady?”

“To go to Sinclair…” she whispered under her breath. Then she shook her head. “But why?”

“To meet the doctor? This is not the first time a man that is not a gentleman of Belcourt has done something outrageous. Carrie told me he was… horrible. He could be another insane fanatic. Another Willoghby, the man who nearly killed Lady Sasha months ago.”

Aliya’s face crumpled as she shook her head. “The Doctor was horrible, but I do believe he is proud enough to try to do something like this.”

“Then why would the Circus—”

“They must have wanted to stop me from going somewhere.”

Fatima’s eyes widened. “Here? The villa?”

“You were here to welcome Shay, were you not?” When her maid did not reply, Aliya turned to look up. “Did you perhaps leave the villa, Fatima?”

Fatima blinked. “I was… I did for a few minutes. I wanted to wait outside for Shay. I knew this is her first assignment and she could have been lost—”

“Check if something is missing at once,” Aliya ordered, standing to her feet. Her left arm in a sling, she walked to her drawers and checked its contents.

Fatima was already outside the door to go to the study.

Soon, the entire household was searching for anything amiss.

Aliya could only allow herself a sigh of relief when she was certain that all her journals were present. She found them a new hiding place and went on with her morning. There was much to do than think about the Royal Circus or that unkempt doctor.

---

That afternoon, Aliya received a familiar visitor.

“I am grateful that you came,” she greeted Sasha, giving the woman a peck. The brown-haired young Belle smiled at her. “I am only glad to come when you asked me to.”

“I would have come myself if I was in a better condition,” she replied.

Sasha’s bluish-gray eyes landing on Aliya’s arm, she asked, “How is your arm? I heard about the terrible accident from my maid.”

Aliya’s brows cocked high. She never indicated her accident in her missive. “Oh, truly? I was not expecting my accident to spread so fast.”

“You are known around Strait, Aliya, of course, it will spread fast.”

She watched Sasha gracefully take a seat as she did so.

“Did you call for a barber?”

“No, I had to go to Sinclair.”

“Sinclair?”

“Sinclair has a hospital in Strait. Were you not aware?”

“Yes, I was aware, of course. But now that I am reminded, I am interested,” Sasha said with a smile. “Did a bonesetter do it?”

“Yes,” Aliya replied through her teeth. She shuddered at the reminder. Then she blinked, remembering the warmth of the brandy spreading in her chest and hands. And her hands… his hands holding hers. She nearly jumped in her seat at the woeful thought. Clearing her throat, she searched for something that would take the vision of the pair of hazel eyes from her mind. She forced a smile and said, “I cannot help but notice, Sasha, that you have changed. You have more…”

“Confidence?” the woman asked, her lips curling with an expectant smile. “You told me that our confidence is the only fashion we need.”

“I did, and you are wearing it brilliantly well,” she praised. She turned to find Fatima sashay into the room with a tray of fresh tea and biscuits. “How are you fairing in Strait?”

“Good,” Sasha replied. “I find this city rather more fascinating. It is not as busy as Coulway.”

“Strait is far calmer than Coulway and that is a fact,” she agreed. “And your flower?”

Sasha shrugged. “We are yet to get familiar. He presented himself to me the day after I arrived the week prior.”

“I heard he is the missing Marquess of Rothsker.”

“The very same.”

Aliya was intrigued. For years, the Marquess was rumored to have disappeared because of his debts. The worst story the gossipmongers were able to concoct was that the Marquess was being kept prisoner by Lady Renee, the wife of the Marquess’ deceased uncle, and the host of the famous Humbrick Ball. “You must tell me, Sasha—How is he?”

Sasha shared her conspiratorial smile. “Quite younger than I expected, actually,” Sasha shared, picking up her tea. “And quite a charmer,” she added before she took a sip. “Soon, I intend to find out where her aunt kept him all these years.”

Aliya laughed. “Ask what food he was served all these years and how he escaped.”

Sasha chuckled, although her laughter did not reach her eyes.

“And your neighbors? I hope nothing like Compton?”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Oh, that horrid baron.” Sasha shuddered. “No, no neighbors. My villa is a little different here. It is gated and the distance to the next villa takes a bit of a walk. I rather like it. No one to bother me when I am home.”

Aliya nodded, studying Sasha silently.

Sasha was not exceptionally beautiful, but there was something about her eyes and her hair and everything else put together that made her look somehow intricately different. Barely a year had passed since the woman was recourted from the Court of Libraries, making her the second woman in Belcourt’s history be transferred from one court to another, yet Aliya could no longer sense the naivety that she once saw in Sasha.

Was it because of what happened with her previous gentleman, West Blackwood? The man had turned out to be the Royal Master of the Royal Circus, after all. He had used Sasha, but Sasha was able to turn the cards just in time to save Belcourt.

It was not uncommon for a new Belle to fall for their first flower. Aliya knew that for she experienced the same. Sasha could have fallen victim to West Blackwood. She once experienced the woman getting jealous when she found Aliya and West taking a walk in the garden in Belcourt.

And a broken heart could change a woman.

Perhaps Sasha did change. She must have finally realized that being Belcourt’s Belle meant more than just fancy gowns and parties.

Sasha had been transformed.

Aliya wondered if Sasha would pose as a threat in the future.

And she could not have this woman as a hindrance to her plans.

She had spent years waiting and planning for all be burned to ashes because of a fellow Belle, one as capable and smart as Sasha.

That afternoon, Aliya decided that her new cook may not be the only person she should be wary of.

III | A Planned Encounter

Aliya always felt the same feeling of giddiness whenever she entered Belcourt, far from the first time she entered its gates. That time, she had no choice. But as the years passed, and as she grew accustomed to being a Belle, coming home to Belcourt was all she could think about.

Her usual route was to stop by the Manor, spend a few moments there, talk with the children and the soon-to-be courted ladies and walk all the way to the Court of Flowers, the Flower Garden, a few miles from the Manor.

On a good day, she would enjoy the walk, passing by the lake and the Court of Service, have tea at the Village and continue onward to the Flower Garden. But today was particularly different. She had stayed longer in the Manor than she intended, and by the time she exited the orphanage, it was already dark. The first snow had fallen, not too heavy, but it still made the journey quite a challenge. She remembered that the snow had come earlier last year. Earlier, the children in the manor were wishing for it to come sooner—and heavier—as Christmas was approaching.

Streetlamps guided her path and she could see smoke coming out of her mouth as she softly panted, hugging herself with her good arm under her red cloak. Her steps were quick, her mind completely elsewhere.

Expenses were piling and she feared that they may soon lose the apartment in Maple Row. She needed money soon. Lord Hartcaster may be a generous man, but his generosity was about other things. He was kind to her and the friendship he offered was nothing like any other she had experienced as a Belle.

Friends… She did not have many and a few were special. But before Belcourt, she was surrounded by them. There was one friend she vaguely remembered in her past before Belcourt. The memory would come back to her now and then, but not too often. In fact, this was the first it crossed her mind again since… since four, five years ago? She could not remember everything about him, but she could remember that he made her laugh a lot. For a moment she wondered where he was now. He must be out there living his dreams for she also recalled that he had big dreams. “Bigger than Sutherland! Bigger than the world!” he had cried out as he shouted against the strong wind of the sea, his body slightly bent over the railing of the ship.

Aliya only had that memory. She could vaguely remember the boy, but his voice and his laughter were as clear as that beautiful summer. She remembered how she felt during those days in the ship; those days before everything went wrong.

Taking a lungful of air, she lifted her chin and continued her walk, determined to reach the Flower Garden as soon as possible so she could return to Strait right away.

No time, no time…

The voice echoed in her head, causing her heart to race against her chest. It was not the walk, but the apprehension… the unease for what was to come.

She had worked so hard. She had been the best Belle. She never failed Belcourt.

Surely they would grant her this one.

They must , she thought with a huff of smoky breath. They must…

Mason was not getting younger. Soon, he would need more, and that required money. And Delaney… Delaney needed to be saved.

When Aliya entered the Flower Garden nearly half an hour later, she found a young woman at the entrance of the inner building. A new Belle, she thought, reminded of the others before this lady, Sasha one of them. Sasha had been innocent, eyes wide at the sight of her that winter night she met Aliya, the same night she made certain she made an impression on Sasha as she did with the other Belles after she arrived in the Garden. She wondered how this one would fair.

“What is your name?” she asked as the woman curtsied to greet her with wide, glimmering eyes, mouth slightly open as she gaped at Aliya.

“M-Melissa,” the young lady replied in an awestruck timbre.

Aliya forced a smile. “And why are you alone outside?”

The woman blinked. “I am… I am waiting for my friend.”

She frowned. “Which friend?”

“She is not from the Garden, my lady. She is from the Service and we agreed to meet for—”

“Are you not wearing a red cloak?” Aliya asked, staring at the woman from head to foot.

Melissa swallowed. “Yes.”

“Then you ought to be making friends with the other Belles. I am certain your friend would understand.”

“But we agreed to—”

“You will never feel welcome in this court if you stick to what you are comfortable with, Melissa, dear,” Aliya interjected. “Wait for your friend here and tell her that you can meet her some other time. Your fellow Belles need to know you more. We are not always home in Belcourt, do remember that. It is rare for most of us to gather in one place.”

Melissa blinked and then nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

Aliya widened her smile. “Good. I am glad that you understand. Belles may be intimidating at first, Melissa, but we do not cause harm to fellow Belles.” In a lower voice, she added, “But it will help if you stop slouching.”

The woman pulled her shoulders back.

“And do not address me as though you are from the Service. We are equals. You call me Aliya.”

Melissa swallowed and nodded.

“Perfect!” Aliya said, turning on her heels. “I will see you in the parlor later!”

Her smile disappeared as she navigated to Lady Mariam’s study. She lifted her hand and knocked.

“Come in,” Lady Mariam’s voice answered from the other side.

Aliya sashayed inside with her head held up and smiled at Lady Mariam. “My lady, I apologize for the tardiness. I was… well, you know what happened.”

Lady Mariam narrowed her eyes. “Let me see.” Lady Mariam stood and came near her, lifting one side of her cloak to reveal her injured arm. The woman shook her head. “You should have been careful, Aliya.”

“I was, but we have reason to believe that the accident was deliberate.”

Lady Mariam did not pause until she settled back in her chair. “Yes, Sasha has reported the same.”

Aliya stiffened. “Sasha?”

“Yes. She was concerned and directly made inquiries with the Court of Service.”

“Why would she do that?” she asked with a frown.

“Your carriage driver can only answer an investigative inquiry from her Mistress. Sasha is very aware of that and so asked Lady Harrett. Harrett obliged and questioned Carrie in writing.”

“My driver is my responsibility and she made certain that she—”

“We know that your driver checked your stagecoach that morning, Aliya, as she was trained to do so. She swore that the stokes were in good condition. In fact, we knew it before you came here to see me, all because Sasha had the sense to investigate first and make the conclusion that your accident may have been staged. Because of her report, Belcourt has heightened security around Strait. We are sending some Soldiers to question the Belles and investigate their gentlemen in secret. Anyone can be part of the Circus.”

Aliya went cold.

More Soldiers in Strait?

No time… the voice whispered in her ear and her jaw tightened.

“Your arm may pose as discomfort for your next assignment,” said Lady Mariam, drawing Aliya back to the moment. “The Viscount of Winthrop.”

Aliya blinked. She was familiar with the man. He was a patron of the Humbrick balls.

“He has recently attempted to be a gentleman of Belcourt, but his application was denied for a simple reason that he is well acquainted with a suspected member of the Circus. We need you to look into his wife.”

“Lady Winthrop is a cousin to Hartcaster’s wife,” she said.

“Yes, she is. And she is one of the biggest gossipmongers there is.”

“Then her husband would not be the best candidate for the Circus. His wife would cause big trouble.”

“Gossipmongers often know everything about everyone, save for their own lives,” said Lady Mariam.

“And they could also be very useful in disseminating information, thus serving a purpose for the Circus.”

“Precisely, Aliya,” Lady Mariam smiled. The Mistress let a moment of silence pass before she said, “I hope you do not take Sasha’s actions against her. I did ask her to look after the Belles. She meant nothing bad when she made the inquiry after your accident.”

“No, I do not take it against her, my lady. I would have done the same.”

“Good. Are you staying here to celebrate Christmas?”

She shook her head. “I am afraid I cannot. My flower is adamant to not attend parliament this year.”

Lady Mariam nodded. “Very well, I hope that you grace Coulway with your presence in the coming months as the season starts.”

Aliya left Lady Mariam’s study with all the grace she could muster and struggled to maintain her calm as she made her way downstairs to join the other Belles for a short chat before her planned departure back to Strait.

“Aliya!” they greeted with smiles, pecks, and high-pitched chuckles. She enjoyed being around these women for they had been together for years, most of them. Their status as Belles was different. Outside, they had a semblance of freedom to dress as they liked and interact with the outside as much as they wanted. But alone together, they shared a common bond. They all had missions all to protect Belcourt, but they never talked about them whenever they were in here. Well, not always. As a group, they were… family?

She could not truly tell. The ladies were not perfect. Someone had someone she disapproved of, some had someone they were closest to and trusted more. For Aliya, she was regarded as the prime Belle—the most beautiful and the most capable when it came to missions. All the other Belles before her approved of her, commended her for her achievements. As older Belles, they did not show up at Belcourt as often, but when they did, they always looked Aliya.

She had not achieved something as big as Sasha, but all her assignments never ended in disappointments. Everyone wanted to be close to her and she made them feel as though they were. She was good at that. She perfected the act herself. The ladies saw her as their alpha, the leader of the pack. She was reliable and she did her best whenever anyone found themselves in trouble.

But that was all that she was because for Aliya, it had always been clear what her purpose was when she came to Belcourt. It was not to be a Belle. She just wanted to be Aliya again. Not the Belle, but the one that came to Belcourt for help.

She had spent fourteen years of her life repaying Belcourt. She had been nothing but loyal.

But she was meant for something else.

As the other Belles discussed her accident, she could not help but wonder if they had ever guessed. Had they ever sensed that she was not entirely present at every moment? Had they ever had that feeling that she was not who she was portraying herself to be?

“Have you met Sasha in Coulway, Aliya?” Ruby asked, eyes utterly interested.

Aliya nodded with a smile. “Yes. She is doing very well.”

Ruby shared a sigh of relief with Jade. “That is good to hear. We cannot wait for her to join us in Coulway this season. It had been almost a year since that carriage incident!” Jade said with a giggle.

“What carriage incident?” Summer asked.

Jade and Ruby shared a conspiratorial laugh. Aliya turned on her wicked smile. “You tell her, ladies.”

She listened as Ruby and Jade narrated their little adventure with Sasha and Aliya outside Wheeler’s where they unhorsed a stagecoach owned by one baron after he attempted to harass Sasha in his mother’s villa.

As the other ladies focused on Ruby and Jade, Aliya stayed quiet in her seat, slowly drawing back to herself, unnoticed, until the time when the attention would be redirected back to her.

---

It was quite late when Aliya and Carrie arrived in the city of Eynsworth where they decided to stay the night before heading on to Strait.

They found an affordable inn along the main road of the city.

“You take care of Mellow, Carrie,” she said to her driver who was already leading the horse and their stagecoach to the side of the inn.

She expected the bustling scene that greeted her, and the stares she was attracting from the drunk men around the tables scattered on the main floor. She went straight to the bar and took a seat, waiting for the barman to approach her. When he did, she dropped her coins in his hand. “I need a room for two, please.”

He nodded, craned his neck, and shouted for a woman’s name.

Aliya calmly tolerated the whistling directed at her and the shouts of invitation to join a few tables. She regretted taking off her red cloak. But it was better to expose her injured arm than being recognized as a Belle. A few offered to kiss her bandages away while one said he would take her, with or without limbs.

“Ah, you must be too used to the unsolicited attention,” the voice said beside her.

She was also used to suddenly have someone speak next to her on any occasion. Without flinching, she turned her head to the right. Her surprise came at the same time she sniffed his smell. She blinked when her eyes met his hazel ones. “What are you doing here, Doctor?” she asked, looking him up and down. In his hand was a glass of cheap brandy. “Are you following me?”

Anyone can be part of the Circus… Lady Mariam’s voice echoed in her head.

She frowned at the scruffy, giant man before her. Was it possible?

He was grinning at her as though he knew something she did not.

“How is the arm?”

Aliya narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing here, Doctor?”

He let out a loud sigh as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “I came from Coulway.”

“You followed me to Coulway?”

He leaned away from her. He swayed a little. “No, of course not,” he said, looking into her eyes, his filled with mirth.

“Then you followed me from Coulway.”

“Do you take fancy on the thought of being stalked?” When she merely glared at him, he laughed. “No, I came to Coulway for a different reason.” He emptied his glass and loudly burped. She did not flinch even when he leaned closer and whispered, “I had a meeting with the Royal Circus.”

IV. Christmas at Maple Row

Aliya looked at him wryly. “You are jesting.”

He did not answer immediately for he just looked at her, his hazel eyes boring into hers as though he was watching something fascinating unfold before him. She was used to being stared at, but his gaze was mixed with something akin to familiarity—as if he was reliving a memory. It took merely a moment for Aliya to get lost in those depths, feeling herself being pulled toward him, a hand poking her somewhere in her thoughts, telling her she was missing something.

And then St. Vincent did the most unexpected. He laughed. It was so loud everyone in the room had to take a pause and stare.

He slapped his palm on the bar.

Aliya did not flinch, but she found herself fascinated by this odd giant of a man who could so easily draw her attention without being the best version of himself. If circumstances were different, she would have loved to know this man. She would sit here the entire night and find out his secrets, how he became what he was—what molded him to be this loud, unrefined, diverse, and unceremoniously funny.

And if time were not pressing her, she would laugh with this man.

But he still reeked of spirits along with something naturally filthy. His hair was unthinkable and so was the state of his beard. Yes, she should definitely stay away from animate insanity.

“Do not jest about matters like that, Doctor,” she said through her teeth. “And please, direct your laughter to the front, upwards, or to the other side.”

His laughter slowly died down and his hazel eyes returned to hers, the mirth still there, the familiarity stayed, intriguing her. He leaned away from her. “I know about the bad relationship between Belcourt and the Royal Circus, but fret not, my lady, your secrets are safe with me.” When she cocked an eyebrow, he sighed and she covered her nose with her hand. He rolled his eyes and his large hand went up to his mouth. “I am a doctor. I hear gossips as much as the next chambermaid.” He paused to finish his drink and signal for another one. He gazed at her with a smile, his head hanging to the side. Covering his mouth again, he said, “By the by, who is your mission?”

Aliya threw him a look. Her hand fell on her lap. She looked around. Where was her key?

He shifted so he was peering at her. “I know you Belles have missions. Or are the gossips spreading around false?” He was mocking her now by muffling his voice with his hand.

Aliya jumped from her seat. “You truly do not sift your words, do you sir?” She walked over to the barman. “I need to be escorted to my room now, please.”

The barman shouted at the top of his lungs again before he offered Aliya a mocking bow and turned away.

Aliya walked to the foot of the stairs, away from the bar and most of the patrons.

Oliver St. Vincent followed, standing close to her, shadowing her entire form with his size, blocking everyone’s view of her.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded. She knew he had been following her. She could feel it.

Oh, Lord, please, do not let this man be like Willoghby, she silently prayed. She would need the entire Court of Arms to render his one unconscious. “I asked why you are following me,” she repeated.

He cleared his throat and shrugged, eyes on the main entrance of the inn. “I do not know. Perhaps I like you.” He stole her a glance. When her brow lifted in a sardonic look, he said, “Or perhaps I know you.”

She had enough. “You must realize that your behavior is incredibly disturbing, sir.”

St. Vincent ignored her and looked around the room. When his gaze returned to her, they landed on her arm. “How is your arm?” He was doing it again. One moment he was boisterous and serious the next. The tone he used just now reminded Aliya that he was a doctor.

“It is fine.”

“Can you move your fingers?” he asked, making a move to touch her but stopped. Aliya did not move, her brow raised higher. She wondered why he was hesitating.

“Your fingernails do not look discolored.”

“I said that my arm is fine.”

“You will need to return to Sinclair. I should teach you how to exercise your arm.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman walking toward her with a set of keys. “You should take a bath, Doctor,” Aliya could not help but say. “Else I would never allow you to offer me any services.”

She heard his laughter boom behind her as she followed the woman up the stairs.

---

Very much later, Aliya and Carrie were awakened by a commotion below stairs.

Knowing that a commotion could lead to some unwarranted accidents such as a fire, Aliya hastily grabbed her cloak with one hand and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“My lady, I do not think it is wise to be a part of it,” Carrie hissed, blue eyes wide in the moonlight.

“I will be right back,” she said, voice serious. “I will assess the situation. If things evolve, we must be ready to depart.”

Carrie nodded and started to gather their Aliya’s trunk from the foot of the bed. This had happened too many times before. They would stay in a cheap inn, save a few of their allowance, and a commotion like this would happen. They survived a fire once when they were in Parlton, but only because they were up and ready to escape.

For a long time, Aliya knew it always paid to be ready, especially at night.

Grabbing a candle, she trodded through the narrow corridor and down the stairs.

She frowned when she saw Oliver St. Vincent at the foot of the stairs in his riding coat, standing before two gentlemen.

“And I said, I heard you earlier, gentlemen,” he was saying. “Loud and clear.”

“It was drunken talk!”

St. Vincent nodded his head. “A very graphic drunken talk, yes.”

“You are bloody foxed, mon,” said the other man, pushing St. Vincent’s chest. He stumbled back but managed to grab the railing.

“When I am foxed, gentlemen, my brain function is reduced to a quarter.”

“What?” the two men incredulously asked.

“But I can say with confidence that a quarter of my mental capacity outweighs the capacity of this entire inn combined!”

“You are insane!” the man shouted.

“What I am saying,” said St. Vincent, regaining his balance and looming over the two men, “is that I heard every bloody word you said about my friend. Every graphic detail of what you will do to her if you reach the top of that stairs—” he stopped when he saw Aliya standing in the middle of the steps he was pointing at. “Well, you did not have to reach the top. She is already here,” he grumbled, turning away from her. “Go back to your room, Ali.”

Aliya blinked. She had not heard that name since she entered Belcourt. Shaking the feeling off, she continued down the stairs, saying, “Since I am the subject of everyone’s commotion, I believe I should have a handle of this matter, my friend ,” she said to St. Vincent, landing beside him. “If you please,” she said, squeezing between him and the wall.

With a sigh, he stepped aside and let her stand in front of him to face the two gentlemen.

“I apologize for my friend, gentlemen. He can be quite… overprotective.”

“Ha!” St. Vincent scoffed the same time the two men looked at each other and did the same.

With her smile still pasted on her lips, Aliya stepped forward and leaned close, sniffing the strong smell of cheap ale. “I do not always make this fact known,” she whispered under her breath as she looked at each man in the eye, making certain that St. Vincent was out of earshot, “but in situations like this where I understand that my safety is threatened, I am inclined to give the threat.” The two men scowled at her. “I am the daughter of the Gambler,” she whispered and waited for her words to sink in, for them to remember the name. And when they did, they paled. “If you dare do something close to careless and senseless, you know who will come for you.” She stayed where she was, looking at their eyes with a small smile on her lips. “I do hope you are not too foxed to nod to indicate your understanding.”

The pair nodded their head slowly.

Aliya’s smile widened and she stepped away. “Very good. I would love to enjoy a good slumber before my long journey.”

She stepped aside to allow the two men to climb up the stairs.

“What did you tell them?” St. Vincent asked, his eyes narrowed with curiosity.

With a graceful turn, she climbed the stairs. “A threat.” She gave him a small smile. “Go home, Doctor. I will see you when I am ready to have my limb cut off because that will be the only time I will need your help.”

Aliya returned to find Carrie ready to depart. “We can sleep until sunrise, Carrie,” she informed the women who sighed with relief and rushed back to bed.

She, on the other hand, never had the chance to get a wink of sleep for her mind was filled with questions.

Oliver St. Vincent…

She did not take him to be the type of man to go after a woman simply because she looked desirable. So why the sudden interest in her? Had she done something in her past to warrant his protection? His attention?

Who was he, really?

---

Oliver burst into his villa and shouted for Jason.

“I am right here, Doctor,” Jason droned behind him, softly closing the door he just opened for Oliver.

“Fix me a bath, Jason,” he ordered, rushing up the stairs.

“A bath? One with water?”

“Have I told you that your sarcasm mirrors that of my mother?” he asked over his shoulder. “Have the bath ready. And yes, with water—and soap!”

Nearly an hour later, he was in his tub, his head hanging behind him as he stared up the ceiling.

Then he smiled.

He was acting like a lovestruck schoolboy, but then he was once in his life. Twice now. And with the same woman.

Ah, the Circus would not like this at all if they found out of his true intentions.

They would be furious—Eaton and Lord Darcy most of all. His father might be curious if not frustrated. His mother would be scandalized for certain.

But he knew Ali.

He knew her before the Gambler happened.

She was vibrant and fearless and full of adventure.

Her laughter was the most vivid of all. Where did it go, he wondered?

It was once effortless to make her laugh, but last night he just looked like a desperate fool in front of her.

A happy fool.

Then something snapped. A memory flashed and his face hardened.

Ah, bullocks, he needed a drink.

His thoughts went back to Aliya, the Belle. Why was she not in Coulway where most Belles spent Christmas?

A good question, indeed.

Could the reason be Delaney?

He shouted for Jason who entered the room rolling up his sleeves. “My back, Jason,” he said, leaning forward.

Jason started scrubbing his back vigorously. “I will help you wash your hair, Doctor,” the man said after Oliver’s back stung, or mayhap bleeding. He did not reply and allowed Jason to pour a bucket over his head, his eyes on the wall.

“I will do it,” he gruffly said when Jason started to lather soap on his hair. He scrubbed his scalp with his fingertips as hastily as he could and brushed off Jason’s hand when the man attempted to rub his long strands between his hands. “Are you trying to make a fire out of my hair, Jason? I am done—” the bucket of water was poured over him before he even finished his statement. Water splashed everywhere and pooled around the tub.

Jason straightened and reached for his towel. He snatched it off the man absently, dried himself, and wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Your beard—”

“Some other time,” he said, as he walked past the mirror. He stopped and went back to stand in front of it. He lifted his chin to look down at his reflection. “I do not see a problem with my abdominal area, Jason.”

“If you turn sideways, you might,” Jason retorted.

He did and he frowned, checking the slight curve of his abdomen. “It is just soft. Should I start measuring it?”

“If you do not wish to have your clothes altered in a year or two, perhaps you should, not just content yourself on measurements, Doctor. You might have to exercise and control the drinking.”

His eyes narrowed. He faced the mirror again and tugged at the towel, spreading it behind him as he exposed himself. Jason looked away with a roll of his eyes. “You can also report to my mother that her son has grown somewhere else in—”

“I already sent your mother a report, Doctor, and the size of any part of your anatomy was not part of it.”

St. Vincent laughed and secured the towel around his hips. “You never laugh, Jason, do you know that?”

“Yes.”

“You are a bore.”

“With the wrong company, yes.”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Jason, intending to dress on his own.

Alone again, his amusement ebbed and his thoughts drifted back to Aliya and the Circus. And Belcourt.

Ah, it was bad fate indeed.

He should not have let his father talk him into the Circus.

It was bad enough that they were the reason she ended up in Belcourt.

---

Christmas came fast to Aliya and the entire villa. Maya, the new cook, was a genuinely nice young woman. But she was fresh from the Manor, merely a year into the Court of Service, and she was eager to be the best.

But in Aliya’s household, her presence was tolerated. She was appreciated, of course, for they knew what it was like to be out of Belcourt for the first time. But Maya was too fresh, too innocent, too eager. She would be the last person to trust and the first to be wary of. Newly courted ladies were the most loyal to Belcourt. They would jump at the chance to report anything to their Mistress. Aliya had experienced the same thing with Carrie in their first year together and they both regretted it up to this day.

They had a simple dinner together and shared stories of their experiences in the Manor. Not all Belles spent Christmas with their staff. Most of them were in Belcourt. Their staff would be, too, to enjoy their time with friends from the Village. But this year, they were amongst the few who decided not to go home to Belcourt.

Maya updated them of what was new in the Manor, of who was to be courted this month, the next and the year after. She talked endlessly about ladies they did not know, of her struggle to accept her court, of her crushed dream to be a Soldier, information that Aliya, Carrie, and Fatima found to be uninvited. If the woman wanted to be a Soldier, then she would pose as a problem indeed. Those who wanted to be courted into the Court of Arms were the most loyal.

Aliya was the first to express her desire to go to bed when the clock struck eight. Although the cook did not question her, he saw the confused look in her face.

“It is the arm,” Carrie explained to Maya as Aliya exited the parlor.

She went to her bedchamber, blew off the candles, and waited.

Nearly two hours later, Fatima slipped into her room and the two of them rushed out of the villa clad in their cloaks, one black, and the other red.

Carrie was already waiting for them outside. She gave the reins to Fatima who carefully led the stagecoach with Aliya in it down the road.

Aliya looked over her shoulder and watched Carrie enter the villa.

It was only when they were out of Penrose Lane and rounded the empty park that she let out a sigh of relief.

Fatima picked up speed and they navigated the roads to Maple Row.

The moment the carriage stopped outside the apartment, Aliya jumped to the side of the road and to the back of the stagecoach to gather the large box with her good arm.

The door to the apartment opened.

Dorothy’s petite form stood in the center of the doorway; her face bright with welcome.

Aliya broke into a smile when a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes slipped through Dorothy’s side and rushed down the stairs in his nightdress.

“Mama!” the boy shouted with glee.

V | Garden Secrets

The year started with a series of party invitations for Aliya. She sorted through them and only accepted a few, one of which was the Winthrop garden party.

Winthrop was merely two hours away from Strait. Aliya dressed in a yellow gown she used in Humbrick Ball once last year, a gift from her gentleman.

Malcolm Walcott was a stocky and large man. His hair was starting to go bald despite his relatively young age of fifty.

Contrary to what people think, the Marquess of Hartcaster was a gentle and loving man. He may treat people with brutal honesty if his opinion was asked, but he never treated Aliya with disrespect. Not because he was her flower and it was expected of him to be in his best behavior, but because he was just inherently kind.

He was generous, but not so much with material things. No, he reserved most of that to himself. What he offered Aliya was friendship and a sense of security. Aliya’s relationship with Hartcaster was not like the one she had with her first two flowers. They had an agreement and one that she had gladly accepted when he offered it to her.

Whenever he requested her presence, she would always be there. His closest friends and family knew of her purpose in the Marquess’s life and they respected her for it. They treated her with as much respect as the Marquess, and when he invited her into the garden party of Lady Winthrop, his wife’s cousin, Aliya gladly accepted. The other reason, of course, was because Belcourt wanted her to be there.

She knew she was being judged for being in the party of Hartcaster’s cousin-in-law.

But it would only make things complicated if she explained for it was not her task to make them understand. The Marquess wanted secrecy and she shall provide that to him.

“My dear,” said Hartcaster, leading her around the garden, passing guests who were discussing the harsh weather to come. Aliya wondered how much it would have cost Lady Winthrop to have her garden in such pristine condition at this time of the year. It surely would have been a lot of money wasted, she thought. It could snow again tonight or that very moment. “I will not be attending parliament this year,” Hartcaster’s words pulled her from her thoughts.

She nodded. “Of course, I understand,” she said with a smile. She looked him in the eye. “You did not enjoy it last year, did you?”

“No, of course not. I believe I will never enjoy the season as much as I did years ago.”

She allowed a moment of silence between them. Her gaze wandered around the garden, jumping from one hat to another.

And to her greatest surprise, Oliver St. Vincent was standing there, in one corner of the garden, leaning against a giant tree, laughing with Lord Winthrop and a few other gentlemen. She did not know he was acquainted with Lord Winthrop, the very man she was keeping watch.

Tearing her gaze off St. Vincent before he saw her, Aliya returned to the conversation at hand. “While it is unfortunate that you cannot attend parliament, and as much as I would like to stay in Strait for you, I am afraid that I may have to travel to Coulway now and then to go to Belcourt. Almost all Belles will be there and I wish to be there with them as well.”

“Of course,” Hartcaster retorted, placing a hand behind her back. “But I am hoping that you can come and visit the estate often.”

“I will whenever I can. You know I always try, Malcolm.”

The Marquess nodded and sighed. The two of them looked at the party. “It is the same party as last year. Lady Winthrop is crazy to put up a garden party in winter,” he said. “And these people are crazier to attend.”

“We are one of those people, Malcolm,” she replied with a gentle smile.

Hartcaster nodded and softly chuckled. “Yes, you are right, Aliya.”

Much later, Hartcaster left her side to join the gentlemen in the gaming room inside the estate where it was warmer. Aliya was with Lady Winthrop and a few others, talking about the collection of flowers the woman was trying to grow in her greenhouse. After one of the ladies suggested that they take a look, Lady Winthrop walked behind the group with Aliya beside her.

Lady Winthrop was a slender woman who just celebrated her sixtieth birthday. Aliya could imagine her being the queen of her seasons when she was younger for, despite her age, her face still resonated with the beauty. Her light green eyes were always filled with curiosity and knowing as if she knew everything about everyone. Known as a notorious gossipmonger, the woman was the only one of her kind that Aliya could tolerate for as much as the woman liked gossips, she rarely spread the false ones.

Her graying hair was hidden underneath a large bonnet hat and its brim nearly stripped Aliya of hers as the woman pulled closer to whisper, “How have you been, my dear?” asked Lady Winthrop.

“I am fine, my lady.” I was tasked to spy on you, she added in her head.

“How is your arm? I heard you went to Sinclair to have it fixed.”

Of course, the woman knew. “Yes.”

“And I heard that St. Vincent personally corrected the dislodged bones.”

Aliya winced at the term the lady used. She nodded anyway. “Yes, he did.”

“That is a relief then. St. Vincent is the best. If he can only fix himself, he could have already landed himself a wife, bear children who will inherit the family business. And he could be earning more than his father did during his time. He could start another hospital somewhere.”

Aliya found St. Vincent with the same group of men. “You seem to be familiar with him, my lady,” she said.

“Oh, he saved Lord Winthrop’s life quite a few times in the past. He made me cry a few times, too, that naughty boy! He told me many times my husband will die. I would be crying outside his operating chamber, pacing, and shaking. And St. Vincent would go out many hours later to say, ‘Ah, I was wrong, my lady. He will not die today.’ Can you imagine the horror and the relief?”

Aliya bit her lip to stop the smile.

“Do you know that he once raised a man from the dead?”

Aliya blinked. “He did?”

“Well, that is what he always claims. And if you know St. Vincent, he always claims to be the best. Which he is on most occasions.” The woman dragged her down the garden path toward the greenhouse. “I truly appreciate what you are doing for Malcolm, dear. The past few years have not been the easiest.”

The woman’s voice had grown solemn too quickly and too soon that Aliya belatedly realized she had changed the topic. “Yes, but he is a strong man,” she replied after reorganizing her thoughts.

“Everyone should be,” Lady Winthrop said. “Now, let us join these women. Oh, I hate it when they pretend to have an interest in plants. None of them know anything as much as Natalia and I.”

Aliya just chuckled, not recognizing Natalia. Lady Winthrop knew too many people and she always assumed that everyone was familiar with them, too.

“Ali!” the still air carried St. Vincent’s voice to where Aliya and Lady Winthrop were.

“Oh, there he is,” said Lady Winthrop, already making her way to the greenhouse. “Ward him off the greenhouse, will you, Aliya? He broke more than ten of my potted plants last year. And I will come and find you later, yes?”

Aliya smiled, her eyes on the glass walls of the greenhouse. She was trapped. Inside were eight or so women she did not truly want to spend another minute of her time with. Behind her was a giant man who kept calling out her name with his booming voice.

“Ali!” he shouted again as he approached.

Aliya sighed and turned to continue down the path that circled the greenhouse he was banned from.

“I thought you were coming into the greenhouse,” he asked behind her, and merely a second later he was walking beside her.

He had on a green suit and a black patterned cravat. Whoever dressed this man ought to be burned at the stakes. But then, it could be all him. He appeared more presentable none the least. His hair was tucked behind his hair. They appeared clean, the waves thin and airy. His beard… well, it was still a bed of wildflowers over the bottom part of his face.

In his hand was a glass of brandy.

“I was tasked by Lady Winthrop to lead you away from the greenhouse.” He flashed his white teeth at her.

“Ah, yes. I broke a few of her pots last year, but she went hysterical as though I killed the poor plants. And it is a rather small greenhouse,” he said, waving at the ladies inside the glass-walled building. They waved back while Lady Winthrop gave him a look of warning. “Oh, I hate it when she and my mother get together.”

Aliya’s brows fused with curiosity. She slowed down and so did he, but she could sense that it was a struggle for him so she adjusted her pace, and he fell into an easier one. “I did not know you are acquainted with Lord and Lady Winthrop with much familiarity.”

“My mother and Lady Winthrop are quite chummy. Lord Winthrop has been through many accidents in the past. I saved his life quite a few times and now he saves me the best brandies.”

“Lady Winthrop told me, yes.”

His loud gasp made Aliya frown up at him. “You have been talking about me.”

She blinked and looked away. “Yes.”

“Now, that is interesting.”

His arm went around her shoulder and Aliya’s eyes widened. “Your hand, Doctor.”

“Ah, yes, of course, your arm is injured,” he said, pulling his arm back.

“No, touching anyone without consent is simply not done.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“Then what of a dying man who cannot even utter a word? Should I not save him then because he has not given consent?”

She blinked in confusion. “That is an entirely different circumstance.”

“I am saying my intentions to save a man’s life and touching you are the same. The nature of the deed is innocent and without malice.”

Aliya’s mouth dropped open and she scoffed in disbelief. How he made sense of that argument baffled her because it did make sense.

“By the by, why are not with Hartcaster?” She did not reply. “Now, you will find this question offensive, but I have to ask. Why are you in the party of his wife’s cousin?”

“Because I was invited as a friend,” she replied without feeling the need to defend herself. She was used to the judgment.

“He is too old for you, do you not think so?”

“And age matters to you, sir?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, I do not think so.”

“Then what does? Beauty?”

“Does beauty matter to you, Ali?”

“Of course,” she replied almost immediately. His brows were arched high when she stole him a glance. “The beauty of one’s soul.”

“I have a wonderful soul.”

Aliya scoffed. “No, what you have is too much dose of spirits.”

His hazel eyes widened with amazement as he laughed. “Your allegory astounds me.”

“You are not the only one who can manage a wise quip, St. Vincent.”

“I wonder if all Belcourt women are the same.”

Aliya’s face hardened. “I cannot answer anything about Belcourt if that is what you are trying to make me do.” She turned her head to face the path ahead of them. The bare branches of the trees on each side arched along their path and St. Vincent had to bend slightly to protect his head.

“I am merely curious, Ali. I tried to be a gentleman three times. My applications were all denied.”

“You tried to be a gentleman of Belcourt,” she wryly said, not believing him. “Whyever would you wish to be one?”

“I have my reasons,” he said with a quick smile. He emptied his glass and let out a big sigh.

“Why are you curious about Belcourt?”

He turned his head and his eyes met hers. Suddenly, he was looking rather serious. “Because I want to know what life is like for a child in Belcourt.”

Aliya answered with a frown. “The children are taken care of the way they would have not otherwise been outside. They are given their basic needs and education.”

“And the ladies?”

“Again, you are trapping me to satisfy your curiosities, but I shall respond to your query. The ladies are treated well. Belcourt does its best to protect us.”

He fell silent for a while until they were at the end of the path. “Can you say that you had a good life in Belcourt, then, Ali?”

“Yes, of course. I still have a good life in Belcourt.”

Again, there was that look in his eyes. The familiarity, the knowing. “And before Belcourt?”

His question rendered her speechless. Refusing to answer, she smiled up at him and instead asked, “Why are you curious about me, St. Vincent?” At the back of her mind, she could feel something prodding her again, telling her that she was missing something.

He shrugged. “I told you—I like you.”

Aliya chuckled, turning her head to look at the party at the distance. “You are always honest, are you not?”

“I told you—I have a wonderful soul.”

Aliya scoffed and shook her head. “Have a nice afternoon, Doctor,” she said, walking away from him.

“When will you come to Sinclair?” he asked behind her. “Ali!” When he shouted her name, a few of the guests turned to look.

Aliya’s face flushed, her feet taking her further away from him.

“You cannot walk away from me forever, Ali!” he shouted behind her again.

Aliya quickened her steps, intent on disappearing inside the estate and hide from St. Vincent’s vulgar presence.

---

Oliver watched Aliya from the corner of his eye. She was being led by Lady Winthrop into the estate, their head bent together as if sharing a secret.

“Say, my lord,” he said to Winthrop, a stocky man holding a smoking pipe beside him, “do you think you should allow Lady Winthrop to be around a Belle?”

Winthrop followed his gaze. “Ah, it is simply Aliya.”

“I would not just say simply Aliya, Winthrop. She is still from Belcourt.”

“And my wife is the wife of a Royal,” said the man under his breath. “She may seem careless because of her reputation, but she is the smartest. She knows what she is doing and what she could not do whenever a Belle is around.”

“Well, if you are certain about that,” he said, pretending to dismiss the topic. “I will need more brandy,” he said, already walking away.

“Of course, you do,” he heard Winthrop grumble under his breath.

Entering the estate, Oliver hastened his steps. He skidded to a stop when he saw Lady Winthrop walking toward him, alone. “St. Vincent!” she greeted with a nod. “Are you looking for more brandies?”

“Winthrop told me I can get the best one in the study.”

She laughed. “Yes, indeed. But that will be the last one for you, young man! Or I will tell your mother!”

Without a word, he gave a slight bow and walked away. He turned into the corridor Lady Winthrop came from. It led to a staircase. He looked up and caught a glimpse of Aliya’s yellow skirts before she disappeared into another corridor.

He followed and then stopped at the top of the stairs with a frown.

The corridor she took was lined with bedchamber doors.

He allowed himself a few seconds to think.

Making up his mind, he turned and bounded down the stairs, heading to study where Winthrop’s best brandy was indeed located. After he poured himself a drink, he looked out the window that overlooked the garden. Hartcaster was sitting with a few gentlemen. Aliya was upstairs in a bedchamber.

Odd.

VI | Natalia St. Vincent

“Here, give Mason these, Fatima.” Aliya handed a small bag of sweets to her maid before the woman climbed down the stagecoach. “Tell him I am very sorry to not see him today. Give my love to him, will you?” Fatima nodded with a smile. “Yes, of course, my lady.”

Aliya wanted to say more, but they could not be seen lingering outside the apartment. She motioned for Fatima to get going. She watched the woman wait until she was gone. And when they exited Maple Row, Aliya caught a glimpse of Fatima walking to the apartment.

“Mason is growing fast, isn’t he, my lady?” asked Carrie over her shoulder.

Aliya nodded; her eyes unfocused as her mind reeled. Too many things demanded her attention and she was losing control. They could not keep living this way.

They reached the park where Aliya was scheduled to meet Sasha. Climbing down the coach, she told Carrie to go home to the villa. “Watch Maya. Yesterday she wandered around the neighborhood. If she asks, tell her that I am visiting a few Belles and that I ordered Fatima to run errands. I will go back on foot after my meeting.”

“Yes, my lady,” Carrie replied.

Aliya turned to face the park. She would have rather spent the afternoon with Mason, but she could not simply ignore Sasha’s invitation. The last thing she needed was for the woman to get curious about her.

The park was not full today as the weather was getting unfriendly. She passed by a few ladies walking around, murmuring under their breath about the recent gossips in town, a cloud of smoke trailing behind their heads. She found Sasha standing quietly by the stone bench, her red cloak wrapped around her, the hood down, displaying her wavy brown hair. It seemed that not everything in Sasha changed, she said to herself as she approached. The woman still wore her hair down most times, a contrast to most Belles who would dare not go out without donning theirs with pins and pearls.

“It is rather cold to invite me for a walk,” she said in greeting.

Sasha’s face broke into a smile. “I enjoy taking walks. I used to work with my old neighbor in Coulway.”

They fell into an easy pace along the cobbled path of the park. “Ah, the mother of the baron?”

Sasha puffed out winter smoke. “The very same.”

Aliya sighed at the memory. “I wonder what happened to the horse.”

“We set it free. I want to believe it took its course and is now running wild somewhere.”

She looked at Sasha with a smile. “I hope the same.”

“I have not yet returned to Belcourt. Have you?”

Aliya nodded. “I did.”

“And how are Ruby and Jade? Did you meet them by chance?”

“I did. They inquired about you. I told them you are doing remarkably well.”

Sasha looked at her arm. “And your arm?”

She looked down. “I may be off the sling soon.”

A peaceful silence reigned between them. The clicks of their walking shoes vibrating in the still winter air.

“I learned that you came to Belcourt when you were fifteen,” Sasha said, breaking the silence and stopping Aliya’s heart.

“How did you know?”

Sasha shrugged. “I was around ten or eleven when you entered the Manor. I have been living in the west wing for three years then and only heard of the other girls gossiping about an older child being taken in.”

Aliya nodded. “Yes, I was fifteen when I entered Belcourt. Too old, really. Belcourt was kind enough to offer me a home.”

“And you only had three years before you were courted.”

She sighed. “I was educated before I came to Belcourt. Belcourt thought I did not need more time in the Manor.”

“But it must have been quite difficult for you.”

“What was difficult?”

Sasha turned her head to look into her eyes. She was four years older than Sasha, yet it seemed that the woman was her senior by the way she looked at her. Sasha had matured greatly in just a year being a Belle. “Adjusting. Most of the girls you were with must have been in the Manor for so long if not their entire life. Belcourt’s culture and laws were already inculcated deeply.”

“There is no time to adjust to those who find Belcourt a haven.”

“I agree.” Silence. More steps. A gentleman atop a horse trotted past them. “If you do not mind me asking, how did you end up in Belcourt? You said you were educated. It sounds to me that you had a good life.”

Aliya carefully assessed her next words. “My father did many bad things and made enemies.”

Slowly, Sasha nodded. With a sardonic smile on her lips, she said, “I cannot say the same for my father. He killed my mother. When I came home, he made me choose. Me or him. I chose me. He told me to go to Belcourt before he shot himself.”

Aliya stopped walking, drawing back; eyes wide in horror. Sasha did the same and frowned at her with confusion. “Oh God, Sasha! I did not know.”

Sasha seemed unperturbed and then shrugged. “Now you do.” The woman turned and continued walking while Aliya stayed where she was, gaping in disbelief. How could she have just narrated that story and still be so… calm? It was as though she was detached from it.

Her father asked her to choose and she chose herself. Aliya would have tried to reason with her father. She would have chosen to die with her mother.

Then Aliya mentally shook her head. She did not know Sasha’s circumstances before Belcourt. Mayhap making that choice was what saved her.

Yet that did not discount the fact that Sasha was ruled by her mind, by logic. The perfect Belle.

She jumped to her feet and caught up with Sasha, the woman’s story stuck in her head. She cleared her throat, thinking of another subject for their walk. “How is it fairing with your new flower?”

“We are getting somewhere, I believe.”

“Truly?”

Sasha’s face was unreadable. “Yes.” She would not meet Aliya’s smile, her gaze focused on the path ahead of them. “Rothsker is a fun company,” the woman continued, voice deadpan. “He travels a lot and I hope to join him in one of them. A Soldier follows him about, of course.”

She could not read anything from Sasha’s tone and she understood. Turning to look at the same direction the woman was, she said, “I found it hard the first time I changed flower,” she admitted.

Sasha turned to her, a slight surprise in her eyes. “That was not the impression I had on you. You were keen on giving me a warning about my first flower.”

Aliya smiled. The woman could not even bring herself to say her first flower’s name. “I only had three gentlemen since I was courted. I grew attached to my first and the second was short-lived. Hartcaster is the best by far.”

Again, silence. She could almost hear the gears in Sasha’s head reeling. Finally, the woman asked, “Did you fancy yourself in love with your first flower?”

A sardonic chuckle escaped her throat. “Yes, oh God, yes.”

Sasha scoffed. “Truly? Aliya, the best Belle in Belcourt, fell in love?”

“Please, have a heart, Sasha. He was my first flower. We had been together for years. He made it easy to fall in love with him.”

That was the last conversation they had about any gentlemen in Belcourt that afternoon. Sasha diverted the subject quickly and asked questions about Strait. Where is the best café? Where could she find the best tea? How far is it from Parlton? Is there a theater somewhere?

By five, they parted ways. Aliya watched Sasha’s stagecoach disappear, wondering how the woman could do it. To be detached? Or perhaps she was not and she was just like Aliya who could act confident. Yet the deadpan look in Sasha’s eyes told her otherwise. The woman lost something after her discovery of the Royal Circus.

As she made her way back to her villa on foot, she thought of Belcourt.

Loyalty. It was the one thing that Belcourt taught its children and the paramount thing they required from the courted ladies. Sasha and many others were victims. Aliya could not blame them for it for she had also worked hard to be recognized by Belcourt. But her enemies were the same women she grew up with. They could be her best of friends, but they could also be her worst enemy. She had to be careful around Sasha. The woman would not hesitate to report her to Belcourt if she found out about Mason.

And if that happened, Aliya would not have the chance to rescue Delaney.

---

Oliver wondered why Aliya was still in Strait. The season had started and most Belles were getting ready to go to the kingdom’s capital if they were not already there.

Was it Hartcaster? The man was reported to not attend parliament this year.

And he wondered why he was here. He just found out where her villa was through one of his patients and two hours later, he wandered to Penrose Lane.

He was leaning against the wall outside her villa, waiting for her, when he saw her rushing toward him with a scowl.

His smile broke out and he pushed away from the wall, but before he could utter a sound, she grabbed his hand and pulled him away from her doorsteps.

“How did you even know where I live? Never mind, I am not surprised. But what are you doing here?” she hissed at him, dragging him further down the side of the street.

“I had to check your arm,” he said, “and you and I know that is a lie. But a good one still the same. You truly have to have it checked.”

She let go of his arm, looked over her shoulder, and glared back up at him. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and probably with frustration from his stalking.

He narrowed his eyes at her face. “You have a small mole at the corner of her mouth. I never saw that before.”

She blinked with irritation. “What are you doing here, St. Vincent?”

“I had nothing else to do.”

“You have given up drinking, then?”

“No, of course not.” He looked around him and wondered to himself. Why was he here again? “Can I not be seen with you?” he asked, eyes on her villa.

“I hate explaining myself to my staff.” She sighed. “My arm is fine.”

“Can you move it?”

She did, and he nodded.

“And your wrist?”

She rotated her wrist, her lips pressed together.

“Good.” He stepped back and gave her a mocking bow.

Smoke escaped her mouth as she scoffed in disbelief. “You are going?”

“Are you going to invite me to your villa?”

“No.”

“Then I am going.” He turned around and walked away.

“You are insane, St. Vincent!” she hissed behind him.

He turned and gave her another bow while walking backward. “And you look beautiful today, Lady Aliya!”

As he turned, his smile disappeared.

She did not belong in Belcourt. She may think she was free here, but her villa is the extension of the institution.

He had to take her out before the Royal Circus ruined Belcourt.

---

When Jason opened the doors, Oliver noticed one very important detail.

Jason was smiling.

He closed his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “She is here, is she not?”

Jason’s smile widened. “She is in the parlor, Doctor.”

He stalked to the parlor and found her there. She did not even flinch when the door slammed against the adjacent wall. She continued to sip from her tea and gracefully placed it on the table without a sound.

Natalia St. Vincent was a profoundly serious woman who believed her son was crazy. She was a tall, slender woman with light blonde hair and light green eyes who could slice any man of any size with just a simple glance—his father the prime example. She was always calm and graceful, but there was something in the way she executed those traits that made her seem dangerous. Oliver and his father had experienced that danger many times in the past and were avid lobbyists of the covert movement of staying away from Natalia St. Vincent.

She was controlling and manipulative and she was the only woman he hated and loved at the same time.

“I have a reason to believe, Oliver,” said his mother as he sank into the settee beside her without any form of greeting, “that you accepted a mission for the Circus.”

“I did not such thing, Mother,” he wryly said.

“Then why are you suddenly in Strait? There is no Stark’s here, is there?”

He sighed. “I know you know why I am here, Mother. I am quite certain Jason is very thorough with his reporting.”

“You must remember your role in the Circus.” Her green eyes landed on him, arresting him against the settee. “You are one of the doctors of the Circus, Oliver, nothing else. You were not trained to put yourself in grave danger like the other Royals. The season has just started and Circus sessions are soon to resume. You ought to be in Coulway.”

“First of all, Mother, I was permitted by Lord Darcy himself that I can approach Aliya. Second, Pemberton is in Coulway and he can deal with any injuries if there is ever one. And third, I am in Strait because this is where the woman I am pursuing is at the moment, and in reference to point number one, the very same woman I was given permission—by Lord Darcy—to approach.” He jumped from the settee and straight to the liquor cabinet.

He could feel his mother’s cold gaze boring at the back of his head. He emptied his first glass and poured himself another. Turning, he tucked hi shoulder-length tresses behind his ear. “I washed my hair. Did you not notice?”

Natalia St. Vincent’s left eye twitched, her lips curling with icy contempt. “I also notice that your belly is growing, son.”

Oliver looked down. “I applaud your eyesight, Mother, for you see what I cannot.” To give her no time to lecture him on his drinking, he returned to her side. “Where is your husband?”

“In Herst, of course.”

“And you crossed the waves from Herst to the mainland to come and see me. I am touched.”

Natalia St. Vincent rolled her eyes. “You smell like brandy, Oliver.”

“I know.” He sniffed his sleeve. “I wonder if the laundry lady is doing a good job.”

“I have enough of your jests for the time being.” Natalia rose from the settee. Looking down at him, she said, “I wish to organize a small tea party with my friends.”

“Ah, yes. I often forget that you have them. Your friends, I mean.”

“And I want you to invite this woman.”

She stiffened. “Which woman?”

“Aliya, who else?”

VII | The Woman with a Broken Arm

He blinked rapidly in equal panic and bafflement. “You must be jesting,” he said with a forceful laugh.

“When it comes to matters that involve you and the Royal Circus, I am not jesting. And I do not jest ever, Oliver.”

“But, Mother, Aliya and I are not yet in the kind of relationship where I can invite her to meet you.”

“Wash that smell from your body, fix your hair, and get rid of that beard. She may just say yes.” She stiffly turned. “I do expect her here this Saturday.”

An incredulous laugh erupted deep down from his chest. “You cannot be serious!”

“I am serious. I have to assess if she is a threat.”

“Well, she is not. She is Aliya—”

“The daughter of the Gambler, yes. The man who killed three Royals in one night and a few others.”

Suddenly he was hard as stone. His body’s response to his mother’s words was immediate; shoulders hunched, jaw clenched, teeth biting down on teeth.

Natalia saw and she blinked. “Get her here this Saturday, Oliver. That or you are going home to Herst.”

He swallowed. “Truth be told, Mother, I am not yet certain what to do with Aliya or how to tell her of my intentions—”

“Do not attempt to lie to a wife of a Royal, Oliver. You disrespect me by doing so. I know how you people in the Circus lie. And I am aware of how you have been following her like a cat to a mouse.” His exasperated sigh reached his mother and she narrowed her eyes. “Your father will be disappointed once he learns of what you have been doing with your time.”

“Father never leaves Herst.”

“He does when he is called. Do you wish me to tell him how you are becoming a danger to yourself and the Circus? When you came back five years ago, Oliver, the first thing you did was grab a bottle and never let go since then.”

Oliver could only close his eyes, beseeching his mind to think of the sea and the big waves; of the cracking of the sails and the calls of the pelicans; her warm and hearty laughter…

“Get this woman to meet me,” his mother’s voice replaced the pelican’s. “I want to know what she is like. She has become a Belle, yes?”

Oliver groaned. “Yes.”

His eyes flew open as his mother sighed. She was shaking her head and he frowned. “Take her here,” she coldly ordered before walking away in her floral-dotted cream gown.

Has his mother ever considered that he had been failing miserably in the past weeks? Had she any idea of his tendency to make a fool of himself in front of Aliya and that the idea of the woman saying yes to his mother’s invitation to a tea party was close to none?

He stared at his hand and realized the glass was empty. He was certain he refilled it. He blinked. Not remembering if he ever drank the bloody thing was a sign that he had a problem.

Placing the empty glass on the table, he shouted for Jason.

He needed to take another bath.

---

Aliya entered the café alone, her red cloak floating at the back of her feet as she sashayed to her favorite corner. She felt the eyes following her, the murmurs, and the words Belle bubbling behind delicate hands that covered the mouths of the prim and proper ladies in the café.

Her back erect, she ordered for her tea, one she intended to drink until the daylight outside subsided.

She had not expected her trip to Hartcaster’s villa to end prematurely and she could not go to Maple Row in daylight; not when she knew Belcourt may have eyes all over the city. Timing was necessary now. This was their new normal as her previous cook may never return, putting a dash to a kind of freedom she, Carrie, and Fatima used to enjoy.

As she mused about the unnecessary fight Shay—the previous cook—had with another Service lady in the Village that led to Shay’s current punishment in Belcourt, Aliya could hear more whispers around her. She frowned for it was not the usual one she would hear whenever she was about. This one was different and it was followed by a loud, booming voice, “Ali!”

Her eyes closed. She took a lungful of air. The chair across from her was being dragged. His shadow loomed over her and then disappeared, indicating he took his seat.

Slowly, certain she was calm, Aliya opened her eyes.

His hair was tied at the nape. His beard, although still covering half of his face, was trimmed. The coat he was wearing seemed fresh and she sniffed. He smelled fresh.

It had been just three days since she found him standing outside her villa and yet he still managed to surprise her… again.

She looked around them. The women were quick to look away and pretend they had not been gawking just moments ago.

“I hate to be asking this again and again, Doctor, but why are you following me?” she murmured under her breath before she sipped her tea.

His hazel eyes captivated her gaze effortlessly. “Because I can find you easily.” He shifted in his seat. “And my mother wants to invite you to tea.”

Aliya nearly spilled her drink as she choked in surprise. “Can you repeat that?”

“My mother, Natalia St. Vincent, a very notorious woman I am afraid of, wants to invite you for tea.”

Aliya blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I believe it is natural for mothers to want to assess the woman that captured their son’s interest.”

She scoffed. “You are insane, St. Vincent. Why would you tell your mother about me?”

“I did not. My butler, Jason, a very cold and efficient brute, reports everything I do to the said notorious woman.”

Aliya could not help the laugh that escaped her lips, but she immediately bit at them, erasing the picture he painted in her mind. “You are insane,” she repeated.

“My mother has very special friends, you know.”

Aliya sighed. “And they are coming as well to this tea party?” Her eyes narrowed. “How many will there be, really?”

“Three master gossipmongers, one recluse, two dogs, a cat, and a spinster. They will need a young, beautiful woman with a broken arm.”

Aliya bit her lips harder to keep her laughter at bay. And then she froze. “Natalia… Natalia St. Vincent… the Natalia that Lady Winthrop is friends with.”

Oliver nodded. “I told you there will be three master gossipmongers in attendance.”

Aliya looked around. Eyes flittered away from their direction. More clearing of throats.

“Well? I only truly came here to invite you.”

She sighed. “Very well. I will be there.”

He slammed his palms on the table, shaking her teacup. “Perfect.”

Aliya blinked up at him as he stood. “Have a good day, Ali.”

St. Vincent? That was him?

The doctor…

Raised a man from the dead, the very one…

My father said he’s the most obnoxious breed there is and…

Aliya loudly cleared her throat and the buzzing in the room stopped.

She smiled as Oliver’s words came back to her. They will need a young, beautiful woman with a broken arm.

Her soundless chuckle shook her shoulders. Catching herself, she cleared her throat and sipped her tea.

Hours later, Aliya was walking down Maple Row in haste, battling against the cold winter wind. She gave up with her hood and focused on reaching the apartment. When she did, she knocked three times.

Dorothy answered the door.

“He has been asking after you and Fatima.”

Rushing inside, Aliya took off her cloak and smiled as she heard Mason’s steps bounding down the staircase. The moment he saw her standing alone beside Dorothy, his shoulders fell.

“Where’s Mama?” he asked, coming down the steps with less enthusiasm.

“She has to stay home today,” Aliya said, revealing a box of his favorite sweets. “But she sent you these.”

Mason just stared at the box. His lips were pursed as tears started to pool in his blue eyes. “She said she will come home soon.”

Aliya gathered the boy in her arms. “I’m sorry, Mason. She will come on the morrow, I promise.”

The boy sniffed and blinked away the tears. “I’m not crying.”

“Of course, you are not.” She straightened and took his hand. “What do you wish to read tonight?”

Dorothy took the box from Aliya and left them to go upstairs to his bedchamber.

“When will we live together, Aunt Aliya?” Mason asked the most difficult question as Aliya helped him slip under the covers.

“I hope it to be soon,” she replied, smiling gently. “You understand why it cannot be now, yes?”

The child nodded. “Will it take long?”

She could feel the tears at the back of her eyes. “If it takes longer, will you be angry?”

The child shook his head. “But I will be sad.”

She ran her hand over Mason’s blond hair and rested her palm against his cheek. “Your Mama is doing her best, Mason.”

Mason’s eyes landed on the book in her hand. “You don’t have to read to me tonight, Aunt Aliya.”

She kissed his forehead and lingered there for a while as she fought the tears. “Good night, Mason.”

“’Night,” the child replied, turning away from her.

Downstairs, Aliya sat around the kitchen table. “Here is your pay for this month, Dorothy,” she said, sliding the coins across the table. Dorothy gathered them with a look of apprehension. “Fatima told me you have been having trouble with the finances.”

She smiled. “We can get by, Dorothy. Do the two of you have enough for the week?”

Mason’s governess nodded.

They shared a forlorn look.

“You are a very beautiful woman, my lady. Inside and out, you are a wonderful soul.”

Aliya wiped the tear that escaped her eye. “If only one can sell her soul, we will be rich.”

Dorothy’s face hardened. “Yours is not free to sell, my lady. Belcourt owns it.”

“No,” she said through her teeth. “Belcourt only thinks it owns it.”

---

That night, Oliver received an unexpected missive.

Hurry. – Lord Darcy

He burned the paper and stared at the fire.

He had to take her out soon.

But how?

“Who was that from?” his mother’s voice asked behind him.

“Darcy.”

“And you said you were not receiving missions from the Circus, Oliver.” She took the seat by the fire. “Why are you receiving missives from Lord Darcy?”

“I do not have a mission, Mother. I simply asked the Circus for a chance.”

Natalia St. Vincent’s green eyes reflected the yellow light from the fire. “What chance?”

“To take Aliya out of Belcourt.”

The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound that reigned in the room as his mother took her time to analyze the situation. “I reckon things are going to be exciting soon between Belcourt and the Circus?”

“How do I know? I am but the doctor, am I?” he asked with a sigh, leaning back against his seat. “She is coming this Saturday.”

“Good.”

“And when she does, will you do something?”

Her brow arched.

“Throw little hints of how wonderful I am.”

Natalia scoffed. “This is your plan, Oliver. No one asked you to do this. You have to do it on your own.”

“But Darcy just ordered me to hurry.”

“Yes, of course, because they have more important things to do other than be a part of your little games.”

“This is not a game. Aliya will also be a good member of the Circus if we get her to our side.”

“ If you can convince her to get to our side, yes. But you must also realize that Belcourt has spent years planting the wrong ideas in her mind. What makes you think that she will just pack her things and join you?“

“I just need to give her a reason to do so.”

“From the look on your face, you are not doing well.”

“I have been trying to charm her.”

“It is clearly not working.”

“I make sure that she sees me almost daily.”

“That is stalking, son. It is disturbing and alarming.”

“Then what do you suggest I do?”

His mother shrugged. “Absence prospers longing.”

“You mean I should stay away.”

His mother stood and sighed. “Why do you think I try to stay away from Herst now and then, Oliver?”

“To give father his freedom, of course.”

Her gaze narrowed. “To make him feel that freedom is not just about being alone.”

As his mother walked away, Oliver let out a dramatic gasp. “Mother! You are a philosopher!”

The answer was the closing of the door.

His gaze returned to the fire. Should he? Should he stay away for a while?

VIII | Jars and Rodents

Aliya was aware that Oliver St. Vincent was wealthy, and was not surprised when she arrived at a large white gated villa.

“Please wait for me, Carrie,” she said after climbing out of the stagecoach.

The carriage driver looked up at the villa’s façade, lips pressed together. “These monied people must have invited you out of curiosity, my lady.”

Aliya just chuckled as a footman approached them. “Of course, they are always curious about a Belle. People always are.” The footman reached them and instructed Carrie where to park the stagecoach. From a distance, Aliya saw at least three carriages parked to the side, near the entrance of the garden. Knowing Carrie was used to dealing with drivers of the opposite sex, Aliya turned and walked up the front steps.

The door opened just in time to reveal a young butler whose hair was neatly tied to his nape. The man’s gray eyes looked at Aliya from head to foot, lingering a few seconds on her sling. His thin lips opened to greet her, “Good afternoon, my lady.” Stepping aside, he added, “Please, this way.”

She did not know why her heart started skipping as if she had not been in this situation before. She could no longer count the number of parties and balls she attended alone, yet why could she not feel her hands? And why did her legs feel wobbly?

She swallowed and found her throat was dry as the butler opened the door and intoned her presence. Hearing her name from the man, she pasted a confident smile on her lips.

St. Vincent was not in the room as she expected. Inside was a group of women whose heads were turned in her direction, their back erect, the smile on their faces varied.

At the very center of everyone, sitting in front of the window was a relatively tall and slender blonde woman whose eyes penetrated right through Aliya.

She knew that her curtsy was being judged and that every step she took was being assessed. Even her shoes were surely being criticized by the tips that poked through the hem of her cherry-pink gown. She let her Kashmir shawl drop a few inches behind her as she stood before the women.

And as if by a snap of a finger, everyone moved and greeted Aliya, most particularly the three gossipmongers she was quite familiar with, all the while Natalia St. Vincent remained in her seat, looking at Aliya as if she already knew what she was looking at.

“Natalia,” Lady Winthrop said, “I did not know you invited Aliya here. Come here, child. Come sit beside me.”

Aliya curtsied at Natalia St. Vincent again and in her perfectly practiced gentle voice, said, “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Natalia.”

“Natalia is fine,” the woman said, voice etched with slight irritation. The three gossipmongers turned to look at each other.

Aliya smiled. “Of course.”

“Aliya is a darling,” said Lady Winthrop, taking her hand in hers. “If only I can share what she has done for Hartcaster, I will.”

As Natalia’s keen eyes continued to pry her quietly, Aliya regretted ever coming here. Where the bloody hell was St. Vincent?

“What happened to your arm, child?” one of the women asked.

“A stagecoach accident,” replied Lady Winthrop. “It was Oliver who helped her with her arm.”

“How long have you been in Strait, Aliya?” Natalia asked, lips barely moving, and obviously uninterested with the accident.

Aliya swallowed. “Ten years, going eleven,” she replied, looking around the ladies. Lady Winthrop and her two other fellow gossipmongers, Lady Jane and Mrs. Johnson, were smiling at her with interest. One other woman, perhaps the recluse, was dressed in black and had on reading spectacles, paying everyone no mind as she perused the Sutherland Post. “Do not mind Ms. Beverly, Aliya,” Lady Winthrop whispered beside her, “She is listening and she will only join the conversation if she wants to.”

“And since my friends seem to have forgotten that a formal introduction is still necessary, let me introduce myself,” a woman with graying hair spoke. She had just entered the room with her hair in disarray. “I am Ms. Dian Jane. You may call me Dian, Lady Aliya.”

Aliya stood and curtsied. “You may call me Aliya, Dian. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

This was the spinster, Aliya thought as she watched Dian take a sit beside Ms. Beverly.“

Returning to her sit, Aliya looked around. “Doctor St. Vincent has informed me that there will also be two dogs and a cat in attendance.”

The three gossipmongers laughed. “Of course, he said that,” said Lady Winthrop. “Lady Jane’s two granddaughters are upstairs with their nanny.”

Aliya’s nostrils flared and she truly did try her best not to burst out in laughter, but she could not help it. Her shoulders began to shake and she covered her laugh with her hand and finally closed her eyes to focus and regain her composure. Ms. Beverly was smiling. Lady Jane was looking grim while the two other gossipmongers chuckled and patted her hand.

“I would not disagree,” said Dian, carefully fixing her hair with her hand. “I was attacked for the entire fifteen minutes.”

“You should get used to it, Dian. That is the only kind of harassment you will get in this lifetime,” Ms. Beverly murmured under her breath.

Dian let out a dramatic gasp, her hand on her chest. “Beverly! You are right!”

The women chuckled and Aliya joined them.

Natalia St. Vincent remained unmoving in her seat, the air about her quite terrifying.

Aliya’s laughter died a slow death. She moistened her lips, aware that Natalia was looking at her. She looked around the other ladies. “I hope my presence is not stopping any of you from discussing something important.”

“No, of course not,” said Natalia. “In fact, I was just asking these ladies if they are familiar with you.”

Lady Winthrop said, nodding her head. “Natalia told us that her son has taken an interest in you, Aliya.”

Aliya stiffened, her eyes fleeting to Natalia. “You did?”

“Yes, of course. Oliver speaks of no one else. There is no point in trying to hide it. But the problem, of course, is your status as a Belle. And your friendship with Lord Hartcaster.”

“Oh, trust me, Natalia,” Lady Winthrop said, “Hartcaster is the least of your problem. Belcourt is.”

Aliya blinked. Were the ladies trying to make a match out of her and St. Vincent?

Sparing no time and taking her arrested look as a sign to attack, Natalia asked, “How much would it take for Belcourt to release you from its clutches, Aliya?”

Aliya scoffed in disbelief. This was the first she felt suddenly attacked after five minutes into a room. And it was not just an attack. She was astounded and degraded at the same time. Who was this woman to ask for the amount of her freedom as though she was someone that could be procured?

“Now, now, Mother,” came St. Vincent’s voice. Aliya snapped her head and found him striding toward them, breathless. It seemed as though he ran all the way to the parlor. “You must realize that you are making Aliya very much uncomfortable.”

“I do not want to waste time trying to get to know her, son,” answered the woman with a wave of her hand. “That is not why I called for her.” Her friends were gaping at her in disbelief as well, including Ms. Beverly who looked up from her paper—and Ms. Beverly seemed like someone who would not do such a thing. Aliya could only assume that this behavior of Natalia St. Vincent was unheard of.

“You told me you only wish to meet her,” St. Vincent said, walking over to Aliya to grab her hand. With a smile, he said to the ladies, “Please, forgive me if I borrow Lady Aliya for a moment.”

“But, Oliver—” Natalia started, voice authoritative and cold.

“Her sling has to be removed. And her bandages!” he said over his shoulder.

He then dragged Aliya away from the group and she turned to give them a hasty curtsy before willingly walking away with St. Vincent.

And the very moment they were outside the parlor, she withdrew her hand and scowled at him. “Your mother trapped me. And she just inquired how much I am worth.”

“I apologize, I should have seen it coming. My mother can be quite cunning, you see. And she does deliver her words in a way that may seem inhumane, but that is just how she is. My father and I believe that her tongue and her mind do not have proper communication.”

She scoffed. “You have a very odd family, St. Vincent. Your mother is a she-devil.”

“Ah, but she can be ignored.”

“Or she can be dealt with,” she said, worrying her lips, her eyes narrowing to slits. She could be as odd as that group of women in that parlor. “Perhaps I should return inside and—”

“I would not suggest it,” he said. “You let them be for a while. I am certain they are trying to come up with a new plan. It is usually the recluse who offers the best plan.”

Awed and baffled, Aliya asked, “What?” He led her up the staircase. “I knew you were odd, Doctor, but now I am quite certain that your family is the same.”

“You should meet my father. And my sister.”

“Oh, good Lord, he has a sister,” she groaned.

His laughter echoed down the corridor as he led her to a door. Aliya stayed back when he entered, not quite sure if she should follow.

“This is not a bedchamber, Ali,” he said, turning around as he passed the doorway.

Aliya followed within and immediately stiffened with horror.

“Welcome to my study,” St. Vincent said. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“How could I?” she asked, looking around the room in horror for instead of books, the walls were lined with shelves that contained jars of different sizes. She could see dead rodents in jars swimming in liquid solutions she would not even dare ask what. A large table occupied the center of the room and on it was an open body of a cat. Her stomach lurched at the sight and she turned away, only to scream as she came face to face with a skull.

“No human was harmed for that skull, Aliya,” said St. Vincent as Aliya walked to the table to lean and close her eyes. He approached her from behind and held her shoulders. “Now, do not open your eyes because you are very near the cat, just slowly turn around—”

Aliya jumped away and rushed to the window in panic. She looked out into the garden, feeling like she was trapped in a bloody house of a crazed killer living with his equally insane mother. Whirling around, she found St. Vincent gazing at her with amusement. “Oh, so you find my horror funny?”

“No, I just find you amusing.” He looked around the room and said, “I should have not brought you here, should I?”

“The garden would have been much better.”

“But the garden is covered in snow,” he said, craning his neck to look out the window. He reached for her hand. “Come, I have a corner here where you can sit and wait until my mother calls for you.”

She desperately pulled back, pressing against the window. “St. Vincent, please, if you are going to—”

He stepped closer. “No, I swear that you will not walk over anything dead.” His voice was gentle, calming her. When Aliya met his eyes, she sighed. His hand was around hers, warm and non-threatening… gentle as his gaze.

She swallowed and blinked away. “You said you will take off my sling.”

“Yes,” he replied. “But first, you have to sit in that corner.”

She groaned. “Can it not be done somewhere?”

He narrowed his eyes. “My bedchamber is a good place. Or we can join the two dogs and their cat.”

Aliya closed her eyes as an air of equal laugh and frustration puffed out of her lips. “Lead me to the bloody corner, St. Vincent.”

His chuckle and he led her toward the corner. She felt her skirt run through the edge of the table and she jumped to the side. “Careful,” his gentle voice said.

A few more steps and he stopped her by her shoulders.

Aliya opened her eyes and found herself facing his cravat. He did not smell today. She had not noticed anything other than the fact that he was standing too close. “Sit,” he whispered above her. She cleared her throat and moistened her lips.

Deliberately avoiding any other part of the room, Aliya sat down in the winged chair, her eyes focused on his waist now. He was wearing a coat over a plain white shirt. Then he bent down in front of her and she was looking into his eyes.

A giant man with the kindest, innocent eyes. That was how she would describe him. And it seemed that it was true.

“Have you had any pain?” he asked, reaching behind her nape to loosen the knot.

She could only nod, lost in a galaxy of colors. Hazel would not be enough to describe his eyes for in the daylight, they were nothing but a beautiful blanket of colors floating underneath crystal clear water.

Aliya did not realize he had already taken off the sling. “Have you been moving it from time to time?”

She nodded.

His hand came to unwrap the bandage around her wrist. “And your wrist?”

She nodded.

He turned her palm upward. “Close it.”

She did.

“Turn.”

She turned her wrist.

“Lift your arm.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder and his fingers felt for the joints. She winced. “Higher,” he said, rising to his knees and leaning closer to press deeper into her joint.

Aliya let out a cry.

“Swing your arm, please,” he said, leaning away to give her room. She did as asked, her eyes trapped on his lips as they moved, giving her more instructions.

She blinked away when his gaze returned to hers.

He snatched the sling and the bandage from her lap and jumped to his feet. “You are free, my lady. You can start boxing men if you wish.” When she did not respond, he paused and frowned down at her. “What is wrong? Have I grown more beard?”

She shook her head. “I… I believe I now have to go back downstairs. It is improper to be alone with you this long.”

He broke into a laugh. “My mother would not let any of those ladies stain my good reputation, Ali. No scandal shall break out if that is what you are afraid of.”

“Your good reputation,” she wryly said, now fully recovered from whatever spell she was in moments ago.

“Good to none reputation,” he corrected with a wink. “Very well, I will join you downstairs. You need my expertise in dealing with Natalia St. Vincent.” She took the hand he offered and let him lead her away from the room. This time, her eyes were open, just staring at the back of his head.

That afternoon, as Oliver St. Vincent joined her for tea with his mother and her friends, Aliya admitted to the most unbelievable thing ever.

Of all the men who wanted her, of all the hundreds of handsome and well-mannered gentlemen in Strait and all over Sutherland, Aliya fancied Oliver St. Vincent.

---

The very next day, Aliya had a new mission. Ignore Oliver St. Vincent before he made things difficult.

She was thinking of ways on how to get away from the man and his mother, a lady that she found to be very persistent as her son. It took Aliya almost an hour to escape the villa yesterday and all because Natalia St. Vincent was insisting that she stayed for supper because she had business to discuss.

Aliya smiled at the familiar butler who greeted her at Hartcaster’s villa door.

“Is his lordship around, Mr. Jean?” she asked.

“Yes, Lady Aliya. He is in his study, but he does not wish to be bothered as we speak.”

“That is fine,” she said, walking beside Mr. Jean.“

Aliya knew where she was going and the man did not have to lead the way, but this short time with the butler had been a tradition with each visit.

“Have a nice day, Lady Aliya,” the butler said with a smile, leaving her outside the room.

Aliya knocked softly and pushed the door open.

The familiar smell of infused herbs, ointments, and tonics greeted her.

Her feet took her straight to the bed and she smiled down at the woman lying there. “Good morning, my lady,” she said, taking the woman’s hand as she sat down on the chair.

“Aliya,” Lady Hartcaster’s soft said, weakly gripping her hand. “I think attending Lady Winthrop’s garden party was a bad idea. I feel sicker since then.”

“You enjoyed it, albeit without the trip to the garden. You got to enjoy the view of the guests.”

Lady Alannah’s eyes closed as she took a short breath. “I apologize, Aliya. You are missing the season because of me.”

“Oh, they are just boring balls, my lady. There is nothing to miss. Now, what do want to do this afternoon? We cannot go out to the garden yet, but would you like me to read a book?”

Lady Alannah’s eyes lifted slightly.

Aliya noted that she was remarkably pale today.

“Beneath the washstand is a bottle of sherry,” Lady Alannah whispered conspiratorially. “Perhaps we should take a sip before Malcolm comes in.”

Aliya laughed, walking to the washstand.

“Will you go to Birth with me, Aliya?” the woman asked. “I know this is far beyond the task required of you, but I would love to have you there as a company.”

Aliya just found the perfect escape from Oliver St. Vincent and his mother. “Of course, my lady, I would go to Birth with you.” She found the bottle underneath the washstand. “Now, just one sip for each of us, yes?”

Lady Alannah eagerly nodded.

IX. Birth

“You are getting desperate, are you not, my lord?” Aliya asked Hartcaster, brows furrowed with concern. It had not been easy to see the man suffer in secret and all the while pretending that he was untouchable whenever he was around his peers.

“Yes.” His dark brown eyes were lined and dark by the sleepless nights of weariness. Aliya felt that if he as much as closed his eyes for longer than a blink, he would fall asleep. She knew that he stayed by his wife’s bed for the three days they had been in Birth.

In the morning, before Aliya and the other staff in the beachside villa woke, Hartcaster would take his wife outside so they could both watch the sunrise beyond the horizon.

“You have no idea how she was before this mysterious illness. She had all the energy of an entire ballroom. She climbed mountains and hills just to see the sun rise and fall. She took me to places I would not have dared go.” His eyes glimmered as he reminisced the past. “But now… now, she is just tired,” Hartcaster choked. He looked out the window, resting the back of his fingers against his lips, his eyes unfocused and wet with unshed tears. “Now, I am just afraid she would tire of being tired.”

Aliya wiped her cheek and held out her hand to cover Hartcaster’s. The man turned and smiled at her. “Thank you for being here with her.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “She has always been fond of me and I wonder why. We have grown to be friends.”

He nodded. “We have done everything—I have done everything I could.” Aliya nodded, entirely aware of everything Hartcaster did for his wife. The doctors from London were of no help. They could not find any reason for her condition, claiming they had seen similar cases, but no studies were yet to provide answers. A sardonic chuckle escaped Hartcaster. “In a desperate attempt, I sent St. Vincent a letter.”

Aliya’s brows rose in surprise. “To check on her?”

He nodded. “He is not my favorite doctor, but many swear on his skill. He spent years in the Americas and London. He even came to the Orient and God knows where else. He must know something.”

“And has he ever replied to your letters?”

“No. I cannot approach him in social events because he will always be unavailable and I always assumed he purposely ignored my letters.”

“Do you truly believe he can help?”

“No, I do not, but St. Vincent is the one you call when you have nothing else to lose.”

Aliya wondered why she never heard of St. Vincent’s name before. In her years outside of Belcourt, she should have heard about him. But perhaps it was because she only listened to what was important to her .

Aliya’s time at Birth had been a relief from her troubles back in Strait, but she also knew that it was all just fantasy. Soon, she would have to go home. And when she did, the problems would still be there. The financial problems would greet her. Mason and Delaney would be her constant worry. St. Vincent would be back chasing her for whatever delusion he may have and she would enjoy it.

So why not take one problem from Strait to Birth?

That afternoon, she wrote a letter addressed to Oliver St. Vincent, one to his home and the other to Sinclair.

Dear Doctor,

It would be my greatest pleasure if you can join me in Birth.

Soon.

If you have the time.

The woman with no broken arm,

Aliya

It was short and seemed hasty, but that would have to do. The less he knew of her reason, the better. The letter was posted that very same day and was expected to reach St. Vincent in less than two days.

For two more days, Aliya did her best to ease Lady Hartcaster’s discomfort.

One afternoon, the woman asked if Aliya could take her out to the beach. It was cold, but Lady Hartcaster wanted to feel the sand in her bare feet. With the help of the staff and her wheeled chair, they set up a small picnic outside.

Aliya wrapped three shawls around Lady Hartcaster, noting that she had lost weight since they left Strait. It did not help that her light blonde hair highlighted her pale face and lips.

“How long has it been since my husband took you to our estate to meet me, Aliya?”

Her lips curled in a slight smile. “Four, five years?” she replied, quite unsure. “He told me that it was not him that I should entertain.”

Lady Hartcaster chuckled and closed her eyes as the cold wind blew against her face. “I asked him to enter Belcourt and get himself a woman who would not take away his money. I swear I did not order him to find one to be my friend.”

Taking Lady Hartcaster’s hand in hers, she massaged it gently. “I do not regret being your friend. And your husband does not wish for anyone else. He loves you dearly.”

The lady looked at their hands. “I love it when you do that.” She faced the ocean again, the waves were less harsh, a soft lullaby to their winter afternoon. “I should have tried harder to bear him children.” Aliya moistened her lips. “He would be very lonely, Aliya. Once I am gone.”

The pain she felt was not for herself, but for the two people who had been a part of her life for half a decade. They had so much love and respect for each other and they did not deserve this. Why did it have to happen to them? Why not to those who did many evil things? Why did it have to happen to the two people who were only trying to live a full life?

Lady Hartcaster sighed as Aliya’s shoulders shook in silent sobs. “Why are you crying, Aliya? I am not yet dead, am I?”

“I just cannot help but wonder why this has to happen to you, of all people, my lady,” she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes with one hand. “Lord Hartcaster always narrate your adventures together.”

The woman smiled. “I remember how he hated our first trip. He was such a dandy.”

Aliya weakly chuckled. She stared at the woman, at the way her lids would close slowly and wait for a while to open them again. It was a struggle for her. “When I am gone, he will let you go,” Lady Hartcaster said. “How I truly wish he will not. He could pay for your dowry. He could marry you—” the woman stopped and then shook her head. “But I also believe I am merely being selfish. You have a long life ahead of you. You do not deserve to care for a widower who is in love with his dead wife. I shouldn’t have tried being too perfect, will you not agree?”

Aliya softly chuckled.

They had talked about this before and the conversation no longer bothered Aliya. As much as she needed money, she would never allow Hartcaster to pull her out of Belcourt for it would merely mean another prison. He would be a good husband to Aliya if he followed his wife’s wishes, but there would be no love between them. They would be friends, yes, but they would both remember Lady Hartcaster and that would be a miserable life. They would be companions—two very lonely companions.

Mr. Jean interrupted them by delivering a letter to Aliya.

She quickly opened it and read.

Dear Ali,

As much as I would like to see you, I am currently preoccupied with personal matters.

The doctor who fixed the broken arm,

Oliver

Aliya frowned down at the paper.

He refused her invitation?

Now, that was something she had to doubt.

Oliver St. Vincent rejected her?

Was she overly confident when she penned her first letter?

“Bad news?” Lady Hartcaster asked.

Aliya absently folded the letter as she murmured, “No. Just a puzzling one.” She adjusted Lady Hartcaster’s shawls. “Are you not freezing?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” the woman replied with a soundless laugh. “Birth will be beautiful in the summer. Perhaps I should wait here until then. Strait is becoming a bore.” She looked at Aliya. “You do not have to stay here with me for long, Aliya. I know you have responsibilities in Belcourt.”

“I can stay for another week, my lady.”

That night, she penned another letter to St. Vincent.

Dear Oliver,

I came to Birth for a short vacation and has fallen ill. I do not think I can trust the doctor who came to examine me.

The woman who wishes her doctor can come soon,

Aliya

---

Oliver jumped from the carriage and strode up the front doors of the beach house.

His brows rose in surprise when he was greeted by a man.

“I was invited here by Lady Aliya. She claims to be sick?”

The man blinked. “Lady Aliya?”

“Yes,” he said, pushing through the doorway. “Where is she?”

“But—who are you, sir?” the man asked.

“Oliver St. Vincent, her doctor.”

“St. Vincent—” the man was instantly in front of him, eyes glimmering with gratefulness as he said, “Lord Hartcaster will be utterly grateful—”

“Hartcaster?”

The man blinked again, browse fused in confusion. “Yes, the Marquess of Hartcaster.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “And this is his villa?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“And where is Lady Aliya?”

“Upstairs with—”

“I will not be long,” he snapped, gritting his teeth. She dared invite him to her gentleman’s villa! The nerve of the woman! “Lead the way.”

The butler jumped to his feet and led him to a flight of stairs, two corridors, and a bedchamber.

He purposely made his presence known by swinging the door hard it crashed against the wall and strode inside the bedchamber to find Aliya standing arrested in one corner of the room holding a book, looking beautiful and… healthy.

When she jumped to her feet, his eyes veered to the bed.

A woman lay there, sleeping and was not roused by his rather loud entrance; therefore, she was sick. She did not seem like a servant; therefore, she was a lady. He sighed, rolling his eyes. Therefore, the woman was Hartcaster’s wife.

“St. Vincent.” His head snapped toward Aliya who was staring at him with disbelief.

“You tricked me, Ali.”

She blinked. “We are desperate.” She blinked at him again. “You look different.”

“I trimmed my beard and tied my hair. I told you I have been preoccupied with personal matters.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you tricked me,” he repeated.

She guiltily smiled. “It had to be done.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “I am an easy man after all. I am either lured by free brandies or a woman who claims to be sick.”

She bit her lower lip. “I apologize, please forgive me. You never responded to any of Lord Hartcaster’s letters and you did not come when I invited you here. I had to be creative.”

“Creative,” he said with a scoff, turning to face the bed.

“St. Vincent!” Hartcaster strode into the room, breathless, Mr. Jean right behind him. “This is… a surprise. How did you—”

Oliver brushed off the rest of the man’s words with his hand. “Thank Lady Aliya for her creative way of bringing me here. Now, go. I need to examine the real patient.”

Aliya jumped to her feet and pulled Hartcaster from the room. “You stay, Ali,” he said, frowning down at Lady Hartcaster’s frail form. The room was not significantly cold, but she was wrapped from neck to foot. She was not sweating either.

He heard Aliya’s footsteps come near. “Can you wake her up?”

Aliya nodded and slipped between him and the bed, bending over Lady Hartcaster to slowly break the woman’s slumber. She whispered something and stepped aside so Lady Hartcaster’s drooping eyes met his. Oliver did not say a word and the woman just nodded, her eyes closing once again.

“You can examine her now,” Aliya softly told him.

Oliver sighed and peeled the thick covers off Lady Hartcaster. “Tell me, Ali, why are you here?”

He pulled down Lady Hartcaster’s lower eyelids. White.

He checked her temperature. Cool.

“I serve as her companion.”

He paused to look at Aliya who had transferred at the foot of the bed. “You serve as the companion of your gentleman’s wife.”

“Lord Hartcaster and I have a different arrangement.”

He leaned over and listened to her breathing. Shallow and slow. His eyes met Aliya’s probing gaze. “You are staring.”

She blinked. “You look different.”

He turned his attention on Lady Hartcaster’s hand. Her nails were equally pale.

She had yellow patches everywhere. Bruises.

Good lord, this woman was barely alive.

He began to unbutton Lady Hartcaster’s dress which was conveniently made for a sick person. She had been this way for quite a while, he noted. “How long has she been this way?”

“She was sick for a year when Hartcaster became a gentleman, but compared to now… she was better then.”

Oliver checked the woman’s abdominal area and found that it was distended. His jaw clenched. Redoing the buttons, he proceeded to cover the woman’s upper body and inspected her legs and feet.

Aliya’s light brown eyes were wide when he straightened. Her gaze searched his. “Well?”

“I do not see how I can be of help here, Ali.”

“But surely, you have an idea of—”

He cut off her statement by pulling her out of the room. The marquess was outside waiting, pacing. He stopped and rushed to St. Vincent; his eyes filled with hope.

“As I was telling Lady Aliya inside, I do not see how I can be of help here, my lord,” he said to Hartcaster whose shoulders dropped. Head bent, the marquess pressed his hand on his forehead.

“I am not saying her case is unseen, but it is uncommon. I have witnessed merely a number of the same case. Has her strength diminished over the years?”

“Yes,” Hartcaster choked.

“And the bruises appeared mysteriously out of nowhere?”

“Yes, yes, they did,” Aliya said. “St. Vincent, if you are familiar with her condition, then perhaps you can—”

“She has a disease of the blood,” he interjected. “I am sure that the doctors from London would have told you that.”

“They did,” Hartcaster replied, lifting his head, eyes glistening with tears. “They all said the same thing.”

Oliver nodded. “And they are not wrong. There is no known cure for this disease. Blood studies are premature in our age and it would take years, perhaps even a century, for us to completely understand what this is.”

“She does not have years—or a century,” Hartcaster nearly growled.

“No, she does not,” he replied. He turned to Aliya whose face was already streaming with tears and sighed. “I may be the best doctor in Sutherland, but I am not God. I will stay here for a few more days. The only thing I can offer is to observe her condition and take notes which I shall contribute to the researchers in London.”

“You are saying that the only help you can give is watching my wife die while you bastards experiment on—”

“What I am saying, Hartcaster, is that we are going to contribute to science so the people in the future do not suffer the same fate as your wife.”

Hartcaster’s face hardened. “I cannot allow that.”

“Then I shall go home.”

He turned and walked away.

Aliya ran after him and stopped him. “Please, you do not have to go. I will ask Mr. Jean to provide you a room. I will talk to Hartcaster. He will listen.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ah, another lure, Ali.”

She touched his arm. “Please. I am certain that Lady Hartcaster will wish for you to stay.”

He looked behind him. Hartcaster had entered his wife’s chamber.

“I will stay because I need to take my notes. And because you lured me into this.”

Her lips twitched into a smile. “Thank you.”

---

Aliya had to remind herself that she took St. Vincent here because they needed his expertise. It was not because she wanted him here, really.

While her mind tried to erase the thoughts of Oliver St. Vincent’s face with significantly less beard—they were almost nonexistent the more she thought of it, her feet led her to the bedchamber assigned to him.

She knocked, and when he heard his voice answer, she pushed the door open.

She remembered correctly. His face was clean—too clean; his hair tied to his nape.

And now, as he stood there in the middle of the dimly lit room without his coat and only his white unbuttoned shirt draped around him, she realized something. “You are not fat,” she blurted out. “Well, you do have fat, but you are not… bulging or flaccid.”

He blinked in confusion at first and when he realized where her eyes were, he looked down at his belly and grinned. “You should tell my mother. The woman believes I am two months pregnant—and my butler for he agrees with her.”

Aliya scoffed. “Considering the belly size of all men in Sutherland, yours land on the higher rank. But it would be best if you cover yourself.”

“You are in my chamber, Ali. Should it not be you who should adjust?” He grabbed a glass of brandy from his bedside table without touching a button

“Can I have some?” she asked, walking over to him. She took his glass and emptied its contents much to his amazement. “I have been under a lot of strain in the past few days,” she explained, swallowing hard. “She is dying, is she? She will not last long?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes searched his face. The little amount of beard left on his face merely shadowed the sharp edges of his jaw. He had lost so much weight just by losing the beard. If this was what he had been hiding all this time, Aliya wanted to see more. But that was not possible. She had to stop herself for she was crazy to even desire this man. With a sigh, she returned to the conversation at hand. “I sometimes wish you are not too honest.”

“I also sometimes lie,” he said with a wink.

She chuckled. “Of course, you do, St. Vincent.” She gave him back the glass and he refilled it. She brushed her fingers through her hair and paced around the room. “Lord Hartcaster has given you permission to monitor his wife on the condition that you will try to help alleviate her suffering.”

“That can be done.”

“You cannot give her brandy, St. Vincent.”

He just smiled. “Is there anything else you would like to say?”

“And you cannot give her too many sweets. She loves them too much it is an addiction.”

“I am not here to serve her, Ali,” he wryly replied. Then he narrowed his eyes at her. “Is there more you wish to say?”

“Why did you clean up?” The words came naturally and without fear. In front of him, Aliya just found herself free to say anything. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“No, because my mother found the razor,” he replied. “And she said it is to impress you. Therefore, it is my mother who wishes to impress you, not I.”

Aliya closed her eyes, a breath of a laugh puffing out of her lips. “I do not even know why I find you funny, St. Vincent.”

“I do hope that is a good thing.” Her eyes flew open at the tone in his voice. It was not the jesting St. Vincent tone. It was the serious Doctor St. Vincent one that could send prickles of energy down to her fingertips, the kind that burned and tingled. He placed the glass on the table and faced her again. “Is there more you wish to say?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

Her heart leaped to her throat and she swallowed. The forgotten sensations only a lover can evoke was making a comeback. Her body welcomed it with full consent; the anticipation was building.

A very tiny part of her mind asked, “Why him? Why St. Vincent of all people, Ali? Why him?”

But the voice was drowned by the rush of blood in her ears as St. Vincent finally reached her, stopping just at the right distance so she could feel his heat and crave for it.

“I wish to thank you,” she said, her voice a sigh through her lips.

Her hand lifted and rested on his chest. So long… it had been so long since she felt this. And it seemed to be more powerful and more dangerous now. But she liked it. She liked this man before her. She liked how he made her want to laugh and feel all woman at the same time.

If his intentions were to sweep her off her feet, Aliya was already down on the ground.

“What are you doing, Ali?” he husked above her.

Aliya lifted her face and found his already bent. Their eyes searched each other. “If I kiss you, will you promise not to tell?” she asked.

His hazel eyes turned dark and his hand came to the small of her back and pulled her closer, so spontaneous, so natural. “Do you want to kiss me now because I lost the beard?”

Aliya allowed her hand to slide up the hard expanse of his chest, over his shoulder and to his nape. She freed his hair from its string and raked her fingers through the strands. “No, but I am glad you washed your hair.” She cupped his cheek, the rough bristles on his jaw abrasive, awakening more senses. “Will you tell?” she asked again as his head bent to tease her nose with his.

He breathed her scent, rubbing his face against hers, an animal caress.

“I will take it to my grave, Ali, and even the devil will not know,” he rasped; giant hands cupped the base of her skull and pulled to meet his kiss.

X | Ollie

The kiss was far from what she expected.

He was gentle, too gentle in fact.

And then, he was rough, a crazed man out of his cage.

And his kiss would turn tender again, confusing her, playing with her senses.

Aliya needed to feel more of him and she never expected that from herself. Her first gentleman waited nearly a year to kiss her and a few more months to get her to bed.

Oliver St. Vincent, on the other hand, had cracked her bones; stalked her from Coulway and into a cheap inn; talked to her in a garden party on a winter afternoon; found her villa, found her in a café and invited her to meet his mother who bluntly asked how much she was worth; came to Birth and asked to study the case of a dying woman.

That was all she shared with the man, but those moments were oddly satisfactory and prophesized this moment. Somehow, in some weird way, she knew she was going to kiss Oliver St. Vincent.

She stripped him of his shirt, pressing her body against his, urging him to be needier. She needed to feel his muscles clench and jump at her touch.

A growl rumbled in his chest; his arm pulled her closer and in a swift motion, swept her off her feet. He swiveled her around and she crashed against the window, the panes in impact. His teeth grazed her neck and along her jaw before returning to her mouth, opening hungrily, feeding on her breath, stealing it with a groan.

Her fingers raked through his hair and closed into fists; her legs parted as wide as her skirts would allow and wrapped around his hips.

They were driven by raw instinct and intense desire. It was explosive and they barely even started. Her gown was still intact and so was his trousers.

“Just a kiss,” she rasped in his ear as he nibbled on the pulse of her neck. “Just a kiss.”

He leaned back and looked at her, panting. Although he was smiling, his eyes were dark and expressed something intriguing, a mystery she wanted to uncover for later. Aliya moistened her lips and she swore she could still taste him there. She cupped his face and pulled his head for another kiss.

“Just a kiss, Ali,” he murmured against mouth, biting her lower lip.

She whimpered, allowing herself one more dive into his mouth; one more taste of him to last her a day or two because prudently speaking, her mind and body would surely pursue for more in the coming days. She would lie awake in bed dreaming of this moment. She would spend her waking hours absently thinking of his mouth, his hands, and the cold press of the windowpane. Her fingers would tingle at the memory of his hair, and she would no longer drink brandy the same way again after having had a sample of it from his mouth.

She knew she just doomed herself.

But she had been doomed for years, was she not?

At where she was, Oliver St. Vincent was the harbor in her sea of catastrophe.

Finally taking the courage, she gently drew away from him and leaned against the windowpane. She ran her hands down his arm, smiling at its contour.

“We should scold your mother and your butler,” she whispered with a smile.

“Jason. That is the name of my butler. He needs to have a word with you.”

“He was the one who welcomed me into your villa?

“The very one.”

“Do you pay him handsomely?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then he must be scolded.” She ran her hand over his arm again and felt them clench. “Although I wonder where you got the muscles.”

“Brandies can be quite heavy. Lifting and pouring bottles a couple of times a day is the trick.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“And fixing bones. Cutting flesh, stripping bones of flesh. There are many ways to get muscles.” His arms wormed around her, lifting her against him before putting her back down on the floor. “And this is one of them.”

She laughed. A soft smile tugged at his lips. “What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I will tell you tomorrow.”

“Tell me what?”

He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. “The day after tomorrow.”

“You said tomorrow. What is it?”

“Then three days from now.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He shrugged. “The delay will keep coming until you stop prodding.”

He held her shoulders and made a deliberate step back. Their eyes met and she saw him struggle. She wanted him to lose and pull her back, but he shook his head and turned her toward the door.

“Good night, Ali,” he said behind her.

---

She laughed. It took fourteen years to hear her laughter again and just as he suspected, it brought him back to that cruise; those days when they had nothing to do but run around, causing havoc with the monkeys; escaping their cabins at night to look out into the dark abyss of the ocean and night sky.

She was still the Aliya he knew. She must be.

Oliver went to bed that night, utterly awed and thankful that she tricked him here. He must be the only fool to feel that way, but he always knew Aliya was an exemption. He would always base his perceptions of her and her actions on that fourteen-year-old girl he met.

And that might just be his downfall.

If he was wrong.

But Oliver St. Vincent was rarely wrong.

---

Oliver was formally introduced to Lady Hartcaster the very next day. He learned that she was three and fifty, that she never bore children and that she had led an adventurous life.

Lord Hartcaster asked as many questions as Oliver. Could it be that she got the disease during one of their travels to Egypt? India? Could she have caught a microbe?

“Our recent studies on this condition, if she indeed has it—and which I believe she does, is that it is not acquired from being infected.”

“You mean to say that she developed it?” Aliya asked.

He met Lady Hartcaster’s blue eyes. She had a ghost of a smile on her lips as they all waited for his answer. “Yes. Recent studies suggest that it may be a problem with the blood, which might be supported with the enlargement of her abdomen where her spleen is.” He smiled and added, “I would not bore you with a lecture on the human body. You only need to know your chances, yes?”

“St. Vincent!” Lord Hartcaster roared.

“It is all right, dear,” said Lady Hartcaster with a chuckle. “He is speaking the truth.” To Oliver, she said, “Thank you for being truthful, Doctor.”

St. Vincent shrugged. “Anytime. Although I cannot tell you when you are going to be defeated by this illness, my lady.”

Lord Hartcaster was fuming behind his wife, casting Oliver a murderous look. Aliya was looking at him with horrified eyes, her mouth hanging open.

Ah, no one ever liked death be discussed with the dying and it always baffled him, for who would give death better justice than the one who is at its door?

“Oh, I love surprises,” said Lady Hartcaster with a laugh. “Do we not all?”

“No,” her husband gritted out. “I think you are done for today, St. Vincent.”

Oliver shot to his feet. “Of course. I have been waiting for the perfect time to respectfully excuse myself. I need to go and exercise.”

“Exercise?” Aliya asked.

“Yes,” he said, turning away. “I enjoy going on a run.”

“In this weather?”

He stopped beside her to whisper, “Shirtless.”

She choked on her laughter and he turned to exit the room, hearing Lady Hartcaster say, “I heard that.”

Oliver did not truly enjoy running, but he found that since he was killing himself with his problematic drinking, he might as well give his body a little help by keeping his heart healthy. He was not a complete traitor, after all.

He would often run during the evening whenever he was in Strait or Coulway, but since this was Birth and a prime vacation destination, no one would gawk at a giant man running down the beachside, shirtless. He ran barefooted because a teacher in India once told him that a man should remain connected to the earth.

The wind was a biting chill that morning, but as soon as his body gathered heat, he found it soothing as it blew against his skin.

He took the time to think as well.

Should he tell her?

Of course, he should.

An hour later, the same question was running around his mind. He found Aliya waiting for him by the wide balcony, her mouth pursed as if she was trying not to smile.

Could he kiss her again?

Perhaps not today. Her mien was guarded.

“Good morning again,” he greeted, panting for breath.

“When I said you are not fat and that your belly is not bulging, I did not say you can display your torso in the daylight,” she said, grabbing his dress shirt from the chair where he left it and threw it at him.

“My mother and my butler should truly hear your sentiments about my torso, Ali.”

He slumped into a rocking chair and spread his legs out before him. Neither of them uttered a sound for a while as they listened to the gentle waves in the distance. “She will not see summer,” he said in a deadpan voice.

Aliya dropped on the chair beside him, her face hard. He cursed himself under his breath. “Ali, I did not mean—”

“No, I know she will not make it, but to have you confirm it…” Her voice trailed off.

“I did not know you are attached to her this much.”

“She is a friend.”

He nodded, his eyes returning to the view of the ocean. He was back to that ship with her beside him, a monkey on her shoulder, staring at the horizon, arguing how far it was or if they could walk over that line where the ocean met the sky.

“Lord Hartcaster and I have reached an agreement. I shall serve as his wife’s companion and receive payment for it.”

Without taking his eyes off the ocean, he nodded. “I have heard that Belles and their gentlemen sometimes have different arrangements.”

“We do. One Belle I know had to pretend to be her gentleman’s dead daughter.”

His head snapped toward her. “You must be jesting.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “No. There are more bizarre stories, but I am in no liberty to get into details.”

“That is interesting. And Belcourt is aware of this?”

“No, not all the time. So long as we follow Belcourt’s laws, we can do anything we wish.”

“And so long as you succeed in your missions?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are trying to pry, St. Vincent. I will not fall for it.”

He let the silence linger for a while before asking, “Why do you need the money from Hartcaster?”

“For my gowns, of course,” she said with a wicked grin. “I need a drink.” At first, he thought he heard himself say it, but when she stood and disappeared back into the villa, he scoffed.

He did not feel like drinking now. He just sat there, getting drunk in the memories of those five days on the cruise. Remembering those moments now were new to him for the memories were coming in bright as they were when they happened; so far from how he would remember them last year because before he was permitted to approach her, he always remembered those days as the days that led to the darkest moments of their lives.

Did she know what he did?

Did she ever realize that he was part of the reason why she was driven to Belcourt?

He did not know his part of the tragedy until it happened.

His mother said he was not to blame; his father agreed with his wife; his sister claimed he was stupid to even think it was his fault.

But were they right? Were they only saying those things because they knew he lived with the guilt for years?

He was startled when Aliya returned with a glass of wine in her hand. She did not offer it as she settled back beside him.

“Did you have many lovers? Or do you?” she bluntly asked.

Blinking in surprise, he frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“You as much as told me last night that women helped you build your muscles,” she said, staring at him boldly. “Or did I misunderstand it?”

Oliver started to shake with laughter. “No, you did not.” He turned and found that she was still waiting for his reply. “I had a few lovers, yes. I have none at the moment. I would not be pursuing you, Lady Aliya if I am keeping a mistress. That would not be the honorable thing to do.”

She blinked a few times. “You are saying you are pursuing me.”

“Is that not what I have been doing?”

“You have been stalking me, Doctor. That is not pursuing a lady.”

“Ah, but I do not have much experience in courtship.”

Aliya was taking a sip from her wine as he spoke and she sputtered the contents in her mouth at his last word. “Courtship?”

“That is the main goal of my purs—stalking.”

For a very long, quiet moment, he just stared at him, her face blank and unreadable. “I suppose you do have the same problem as your mother, Oliver St. Vincent. Your brain does not communicate well with your tongue!”

“You very well know from last night, Ali, that my tongue can function the way my brain dictates.”

Her face flushed.

Before she could throw a rebuttal, he said, “Now, since we are on the topic of lovers, I would like to ask how many have you had?”

“One,” was her fast reply. “My first gentleman.”

“I assume Hartcaster is not that gentleman.”

“He is my third and he would never touch me. My second was short-lived.”

“And you were a willing lover to this first gentleman?”

“I was not forced if that is what you are trying to ask. He waited until I was ready and the experience was wonderful.”

---

They should not be talking about lovers, Aliya thought. But they were because it was comfortable. Her first lover was kind and generous; he made her feel wonderful and she would never deny it.

As she stared at him, his face glowing from his run, and his hair softly blown by the wind, Aliya had a feeling that Oliver St. Vincent would be different and it was all from one kiss. He did not make her feel as though she wanted to please him. Last night, he made her feel that she wanted to please herself and please him in return. She wanted to receive as much as she wanted to give.

But would she dare find out?

Of course, she would. She did not care if she would be keeping a secret from Belcourt.

But could he keep a secret?

A kiss was harmless. Countless of Belles had been kissed by men who were not their gentlemen. But to take a lover outside of Belcourt, without Belcourt’s knowledge, was a ground for punishment.

She had heard rumors of Belles enjoying a tumble in the bed with other men, but it was all just rumors. A few Belles had gone missing in the past and everyone just easily assumed they were banished to the island for disobeying Belcourt law.

Looking down at the wine stains on her dress, Aliya got up and said, “You must be wondering if I am considering taking you in as a lover.”

His brows shot up, his face lighting up with excitement. “Would you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, enjoying the harmless teasing. “Consider? Yes.”

His smile disappeared. “But not while you are a Belle.”

A bitter taste lingered at the back of her throat and it was not from the wine. “No.” There is too much as stake. She could not disappoint Belcourt now.

“But what if I rescue you from Belcourt?”

She blinked and then scoffed. “You would go that far?”

“I did try to be a gentleman of Belcourt three times.”

Aliya frowned. “You cannot mean it was all because of me. You just met me.”

He got up with a loud sigh. “Would you like to go for a walk?” He slipped his arms through his shirt and started to work with the buttons. Leaving it untucked, he descended into the sandy beach below.

Aliya emptied her glass and placed it on the table.

Noting that he was barefoot, she unlaced her slippers and joined him out of the balcony, her feet digging into freezing sand.

She shivered as the cold traveled up her spine, aggravated by the wind. She was having second thoughts about the walk when Oliver wrapped his arm over her shoulder, tucking her close to his side.

Never mind , she thought to herself. It was still chilly, but she would endure it.

Walking with this man was not at all similar to walking with a friend or a lover. She was simply walking with a man she was enamored with and it brought about a skittish, titillating feeling she never experienced before.

Looking up at his face, she asked, “When will you grow your beard back?”

His broad shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I do not know. I am a lazy bastard, so I must be soon.”

“Last night, you said you will tell me something.”

He pressed her closer. “You are impatient, Ali.”

“With you, I am, St. Vincent.”

He chuckled and stopped walking. With the movement of his arm, he turned her to him.

It was spontaneous, the kiss. She knew it was coming before he even stopped walking. Her nerves had been telling her to be ready and she was. She knew she would receive the kiss before he bent his head.

It was the same kiss. Strong and soft; tender and hungry. The wind blew stray waves of his hair against her face. She brushed them away by running her fingers through his scalp, cupping his bristled chin while she angled her head. He tasted like wine, but that was her wine.

Their breathing was opposing the gentle breeze of the ocean, the soft flapping of her skirt. Theirs were labored, heavy… needy.

She could stay here for a while longer, she thought as his hands went to her waist, pulling her against him, unapologetically making her aware of his arousal; shameless for his need of her. And she wanted more of this unapologetic, confident, and unorthodox man. He was not within her standards. He was simply a unique standard of his own.

When he finally tore his mouth from her and rested his forehead against hers, he said, “I truly hope you never went to Belcourt, Ali.”

There was something in his words that froze Aliya. It was not the mention of Belcourt, but the notion that he seemed to know how she came to be there. “What do you mean?” she asked, leaning back to look at his face.

His eyes were closed and when he opened them, something in her stirred. A memory she could not point out, a voice she could not hear but knew was there, simply being drowned by a hundred other voices.

---

It was time, his mind said.

What was the use of trying to keep it from her? It was just a memory. A few days on a ship.

He should not wait for his mother to do it for him because he knew for certain that the woman would do it sooner or later and would be brutal about it. She would tell Aliya everything all at once, something he did not plan to do.

“St. Vincent, what did you mean when you said you hope I never went to Belcourt?” Her voice was filled with anticipation. Was she hoping it was innocent—that he would burst out laughing and say that he wished she was not a Belle so he could take her to his bed? Yet her eyes were telling him she sensed he meant something else.

He stepped back, letting go of her, suddenly afraid of how she would react. If she reacted badly to this, how much more to the parts he was guilty of?

“The ship?” he asked. She continued to frown in confusion and he wanted to kiss her again. “You were fourteen.”

She blinked as though he was talking nonsense and for one passing moment, he doubted himself. Surely, he got the right woman? And then he saw it. He saw how her eyes finally unfolded a time in her life that was not in Belcourt—the confusion, the struggle to remember, and then the moment she did.

Her beautiful golden globes blinked and rounded.

“The surgeon’s apprentice…” she began and Oliver swore he could have survived the winter waves of the ocean if he jumped in. “O—Ollie?” His name rolled out of her tongue in a whisper, seemingly remembering a dream and confusing it with reality.

He just smiled and it was the answer she needed. Her wide eyes cleared and her mouth fell open with a loud gasp. “The cruise from Herst to Dockerly!”

He began to chuckle in relief. She remembered. All these years, she remembered.

But she was not too happy as her well-kissed lips curled into a snarl and she punched his arm. “You were that boy?” She punched him again. “That lanky, crazy boy?”

He blocked her attacks with one arm and a laugh. “Ali, wait—I did—You were an equally crazy girl!”

“Why did you not tell me sooner!” She pursued as he backed away. He looked over his shoulder to make sure he was not heading to the ocean. “You bastard!” Her eyes were not furious but rather filled with mirth, glimmering with remembrance. “You bloody bastard! I should have known!”

He laughed, catching her hands. “I am surprised you remember.”

She loudly sighed. She pulled away from him, stumbling back in disbelief, looking at him with wide eyes as if seeing him for the first time. “I cannot believe this. I should have remembered you. I should have known—It must have been the beard, but no, of course not for you lost the beard. But… I should have known!”

“What we should have done in the first place is to know each other’s name fourteen years ago.”

“But you know mine.”

Her father’s pained face flashed in his mind and he fought hard not to show it so he smiled. “Yes, I knew your full name.”

She lurched toward him again and attempted to push him away. She failed. She laughingly scoffed until she burst out laughing; disbelief and bafflement dancing in her eyes. “You must have been enjoying your time stalking me around while I was so ignorant!”

“Of course. And you should have known I enjoyed it from the very first moment I cracked your bones.”

She groaned and another snarl curled her lips. “You always liked playing tricks, Ollie. Oh, God, you are no longer Ollie. You are—you are a grown man!”

“I am still Ollie,” he said, tone serious.

Blinking multiple times, her brows fusing, she inquired, “How did you find me?”

He shrugged. “I knew you went to Belcourt.”

Something flashed before her eyes—fear and shame. “You knew about my father then.”

“My uncle, the surgeon, identified your father during the cruise.”

“Uncle Carl? That uncle?”

He grinned. “You remember him.”

“Of course! He was equally crazy! He told us about the monkeys, of course, I remember him.”

His smile mellowed.

“Where is he now? How is he?” she asked.

He shrugged. “He passed many years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Ollie. He was a wonderful man,” she murmured, her face suddenly solemn.

“Yes, he was.”

“And he knew my father?”

“Everyone knew about your father then, Ali. Even until now.”

“He has been reduced to folklore.”

“A scary one at that,” he tried to jest.

When she did not laugh, he sighed and prepared himself for more questions.

She tucked stray strands behind her ear. “Why did you look for me?”

He stiffened. Now, that was one question he could not answer for now.

“Ollie? Why did you look for me?”

He blinked, thinking of a way to tell her the truth without giving her the full truth. “I want to take you out of Belcourt.”

She frowned. “You think that I need to be rescued from Belcourt.” It was not a question, but he still said, “Yes.”

She shook her head. “No.”

His face hardened. This was not how he expected their reunion to turn out. “Ali…”

“I do not need you to tell me what to do.” Her voice was cold. “We may have been friends for a short while in the past, but we are very different people now. Can we not just remember those days on the cruise without you meddling with the life I now have?”

For the first time where Aliya was concerned, Oliver started to feel annoyed. And it was rare for Oliver St. Vincent to feel such emotion. “You are then telling me that you will stay in Belcourt and be a Belle forever?”

Her jaw tightened. “You speak of my being a Belle with judgment, St. Vincent. I do not like the sound of it.”

He was back to just St. Vincent. He should have bought more time, he thought with regret. But he did not have the time to slowly change her mind for he was expected to take her out of Belcourt soon.

“I am judging the institution that made you one,” he snapped.

She scoffed, tore her eyes off him, and looked at the sea. Strays of hair flew behind her clipped hair. “I would have loved talking about how our lives have been after we parted ways, but then I realize it would simply lead to me telling you about my years in Belcourt which would then lead to the same conversation we are having now.”

“I am not judging you, Aliya. I only want you out of Belcourt.”

---

Aliya wanted to be out of Belcourt, too. She was planning to escape Belcourt, but not this way. Not by dragging him along with her.

And could she even trust him?

If she said yes, and if she said she needed his help, what would he demand from her then?

He would want the truth.

And Aliya could not give him the truth.

She just met him after fourteen years. How could she trust him to help her?

She had her allies. That was enough for her.

Placing Oliver St. Vincent into the dangerous game she was playing would not do them good. He would be another conscience for her to carry.

“I have my plans,” she said, voice shaking. “Long before you even resurfaced. And I know that you have other plans other than taking a woman who had once been your friend on a cruise out of Belcourt. We have different goals now and they should not include each other.”

“Aliya, you had different dreams when I met you. You cannot achieve them while—”

She laughed bitterly. “That was fourteen years ago, Ollie!” she cried out in contempt. “We both failed our dreams, have we not? You said yours was bigger than Sutherland, but it seems to me it has been reduced to the size of a brandy. Is that why you have been following me around? Because you feel sorry for me? Because I ended up in Belcourt? Because I had such a cruel fate? Did you hear from your uncle how the Gambler ruined his life and that of his family? I am telling you, Doctor, that I am where I am because I had no one else to run to when a group of men hunted our entire family down all for a man who never even bothered to think about us when he murdered those people.” She was breathless now. “Whatever I do now will not be with anyone’s help either.”

His jaw tightened, his face grim, but what was difficult to see was witness the laughter in his eyes die.

Aliya wanted to reach out and apologize. She wanted to tell him it was all right, that she had a plan, that she was to escape Belcourt. And if he could wait, they could restart their friendship.

But for now, her plan was frail with a slim chance of success. Lives depended on it. Telling someone outside of Belcourt, let alone a man who could not even control his drinking, was an ingredient for disaster.

What she had with Oliver St. Vincent was premature. Their friendship grew and died in less than a week. They met again and shared two kisses, barely knowing anything about the other after nearly two decades.

That was not enough for her to trust him.

He could be a part of the Circus, the last thing she needed at this stage and it would be even worse if he were because Belcourt may find a way to use her against him. Just like how they did with Sasha.

She lifted her chin haughtily, her tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

She did not care if he was just an ordinary doctor, nor did she care if he was part of the Circus. She just wanted him spared.

She hated how this day was too long for events to badly develop as they did now. In less than twenty-four hours, Aliya found a possible lover and a long-lost friend; and lost both at the same time.

Oliver nodded, turned, and walk away. And she hated that, too.

XI | The Rothsker Plan

Oliver left Birth the very next day.

The Royal Circus had started sessions and he had an obligation to be there. One primary reason was that the Circus’s new theater as they would call it was no other than the Sinclair Hospital in Coulway.

He postponed his thoughts on Aliya on his way back to the capital city. He would figure out his next course of action once he returned to Strait.

Entering the hospital by the back entrance, he passed by narrow corridors and a few assistants to doctors, surgeons, accouchers, and other service staff. He descended into the basement that barely had any lighting and entered a cold chamber. On one side of the room were three corpses covered in white linen. And to the other side sat Clara Braxton, the Viscountess of Winthrop. Her slender form and graying hair almost resembled that of a ghost. If not for her blue gown and the wide smile on her face, Oliver would have thought she was an apparition.

“I truly like this new waiting chamber, Oliver,” she mocked with a sweet smile.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, walking toward another door.

“Your mother informed me that you went after Aliya in Birth.”

“I am certain that she did, as certain as I am that you will find out how it ended after she does. I will see you later!” He swung the door open and closed it just as Lady Winthrop was saying, “You look marvelous today, Oliver!”, then climbed the stairs that led to another corridor which then led to another chamber he had closed off exclusively for the Circus. “My apologies,” he said with a sigh as twenty or so gentlemen turned their heads. He rushed to the liquor cabinet. “Press on, please,” he said.

But no one was about ready to resume their discussion as nearly half of the Royals gaped at him.

Taking a swig from his glass, he swallowed and frowned. “What is the matter?”

Tanner Macmier, Marquess of Leighton, opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. He blinked at Oliver and finally found his voice after another attempt. “Your hair is gone.”

“I tied it,” he said.

“And you lost the beard.”

“My mother is the culprit.”

And then he remembered a conversation he had with the man and he grinned. Pointing at his face, he said, “I told you I have charms hiding behind the beard and brain, Leighton. Can I collect your eyeballs now so I can feed them to my rodents? They are falling off as we speak!”

“Well done, St. Vincent!” the Viscount of Winthrop said with a chuckle. “Did my wife see you upon your entry?”

“Yes, but she was more concerned about her new waiting chamber, Winthrop.”

“Ah, I will have an earful tonight then,” grumbled Winthrop. “But I did ask for a better waiting chamber for the wives.”

A gentleman laughed behind Winthrop. “Whyever do you think I leave my wife at home, Winthrop?”

Oliver turned to the man standing in front of the room. “Please, continue, Eaton. Let us not allow the waiting chamber to be the center of the debate.”

West Blackwood’s cold blue eyes were not pleased with the interruption, but he easily ignored Oliver and continued what he was saying. “As I have reported before St. Vincent’s timely arrival, Lord Darcy demands for us to get the Marquess of Rothsker to our side the soonest we can. As he has been paired to a Belle, Darcy reports that he is now being watched by Belcourt.”

“Who?” asked St. Vincent. “I mean who is the Belle?”

“Sasha,” West Blackwood coldly replied, face impassive.

Oliver cleared his throat. “Then I do not see a problem,” he said. “We know the Belle.”

West Blackwood’s eyes veered toward him, deadpan.

“Sasha is friends with Aliya and I am friends with Aliya.”

Tanner let out a mocking laugh. “Since when?”

“Since I was sixteen,” he said with a shrug. “You ask Eaton. He knows.”

Tanner and the other gentlemen turned to West with a look of surprise. West sighed. “That is true. Darcy has given him permission to approach.”

“And she knows this? Aliya knows you?”

“Of course. She remembers me. She is also the daughter of the Gambler. Are you aware of that? Do not look at me that way, gentlemen, for Eaton knows about it as well. So does Darcy.”

The room was suddenly filled with curses of disbelief.

“I am telling the truth.”

“The Gambler killed three of our own, St. Vincent.”

“I do not see the point, Ross,” he shot at the earl. “Are you suggesting that she also carries the crime of her father?”

“No, but she—”

“No matter, the two Royal Masters believe that the detail is insignificant. Aliya is friends with Sasha. I can approach Rothsker easily through her.”

“You do not take missions, St. Vincent,” West reminded him.

“But Lord Darcy gave me permission to approach Aliya. Surely he expects me to use her.”

“What Darcy expects from you is take Aliya out of Belcourt as you have begged to do.”

“Well, it is quite true I did a little bit of begging, but who else in this room has better access to Rothsker? Belcourt has more eyes around Sutherland. They have eyes on Rothsker. I will not talk to the man. I will bring him to you, so fret not.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

He shrugged. “I can stage an accident. I will be the doctor he will run to. I will take him to you.”

Everyone looked at him wryly. “That is probably the most outrageous thing you can do,” Ross spoke, his face the same color as his ginger hair.

“Why? I worked for me once.”

“And it is the oldest and most conspicuous tactic there is in existence!” Tanner cried out.

“It is?”

“Yes!” cried everyone in the room except West and probably Rider, the ever silent brooding man sitting in the center of the room.

“Very well, I can think of other ways,” he said with confidence. “But I assure you that the carriage tactic works—but,” he added when the Royals opened their mouths to protest, “I will use a different one.”

“I do not trust he can do this,” Rider Fairborne, Earl of Keene, finally spoke, looking at West.

Oliver scoffed. “Ah, very well. You more capable Royals handle it then. I will just wait for one or two of you to acquire an injury as I always do.”

West Blackwood seemed thoughtful. “Will Aliya be attending the season?”

“I am not certain. She is currently indisposed because of Hartcaster’s hush-hush business. But she is a Belle. She will always find a way to go back to Belcourt this season.”

West Blackwood nodded. “Rothsker may decide to come to Coulway for his aunt’s Humbrick Ball. You should find a way to be there with Aliya.”

Tanner let out an outrageous cry. “You cannot be serious, West!”

“Then what do you expect, Tanner? That Lord Darcy delivers Rothsker to us himself? He would if he could, but that is not possible. He gave the orders and we follow.”

Oliver bowed at the Royals before him. “It will be an honor to bring you Rothsker, gentlemen. You all better be in Humbrick to watch me do it, I tell you.”

Rider and Tanner shook their heads while Oliver finished his brandy.

Now, how in the bloody hell could he take Aliya to Humbrick?

---

Aliya stayed another week in Birth, but despite being in such a beautiful place, she felt as if her burden was mounting.

Lady Hartcaster noticed and asked what was wrong. “Is it because of Dr. St. Vincent departing earlier than expected?”

The lady’s statement was laced with meaning and Aliya could only sigh. Being the woman’s companion and friend for nearly five years now, lying was becoming a challenge. “We had a slight misunderstanding.”

“It seems that you regret it, dear.”

“I do, but I had to drive him away.”

“He is pursuing you then?”

“I call it stalking, but he prefers to call it courtship.”

Lady Hartcaster’s weak laughter clenched at her chest. The woman was losing life every passing day. “I can imagine how you must enjoy his company.”

“I do not—I do not think I can enjoy anyone else’s as much as I enjoy his, yes,” she admitted. “But I am a Belle.”

Lady Hartcaster nodded. “Life is cruel that way, Aliya. It puts us in a position where we just find ourselves trapped and helpless to pursue the things we want.” The lady reached for her hand. “You are trapped in an institution; I am trapped in a dying body.” The weak squeeze brought tears to Aliya’s eyes. “But our souls are not, Aliya.” Lady Hartcaster closed her eyes and took a lungful of air. “I smell rather than breathe. Do you see the difference? I breathe to smell because that is what my soul longs for. It wants to experience as much as it can while my body allows it. I can smell the breeze and my mind takes me to places I have been and places I want to be, but this body will not allow it.

It is sad, is it not? To have a soul that wants to be unleashed and the only way you can give it freedom is to give in.“ She opened her eyes and looked Aliya in the eye. “My soul will be free soon, Aliya, because my body will give in to its demands. I wonder how your soul will fight for its desires as well.” Raising her hand to touch Aliya’s face, she added, “You have so many secrets, my dear friend. I wish I know them so I can tell you how to render them weak.”

“You have so much passion for life,” Aliya whispered, a tear rolling down her face. She held Lady Hartcaster’s hand against her cheek. “I hope that your soul reaches the farthest ends because it deserves the adventure.”

“Oh, Aliya, I will get there. I will have the most amazing adventure. It excites me most days, although I do not tell Malcolm. He will only cry. And I cry for his pain and the pain he will endure after I leave. But my soul is ecstatic to be free. Fret not, I will linger as long as I can so I can watch over Malcolm. And perhaps, when I get the time, I will also be with you, darling.”

Aliya smiled. “Will you guide me then, as I attempt to make my own escape?”

The lady’s eyes narrowed, filled with knowing. “I know that you are a strong, wonderful woman and you will be free. I will cheer for you, my young friend.” Withdrawing her hand, Lady Hartcaster turned to the ocean. “I wish to be alone with Malcolm in the next few days, Aliya.”

The pain in her chest climbed to her throat and she fought hard to restrain her tears. A whimper escaped her lips.

“Do not cry, Aliya. Remember everything I told you about the world. It is not cruel; it only is when we only choose to see the darkness instead of the light.”

Aliya nodded; her tears now unstoppable. She wiped them with her hands and sniffled. Leaning forward, she kissed Lady Hartcaster’s cold cheek. “I will see you again, my lady,” she brokenly whispered.

“We will meet again, darling…”

---

Aliya left the next day and spent the journey back to Strait in a medley of emotions. She cried and laughed to herself, remembering the wicked little things Lady Hartcaster used to do—hiding a sherry under the bed, the hidden cakes in the drawers, dressing in her favorite pair of trousers—and the lessons the lady taught her simply by just sharing her adventures and travels.

Three days after her arrival from Birth, Aliya was searching for St. Vincent. Not deliberately, of course, but nonchalantly whenever she was out and about doing errands or having tea alone in the same café where he once found her.

And many times, she had expected him to appear out of nowhere, calling her name loudly.

That did not happen and by the end of the week, she was stopping herself from going to Sinclair or his villa.

Good God, what had she done?

Had she finally driven him away?

Another week has passed and the effects of Birth were starting to wear off. Her problems revealed themselves again, reminding her that she had no time to spare thinking about the man she chose to shoo away.

Perhaps, someday, their paths may cross again.

Perhaps then, she would be ready to tell him the reasons for the words she said on that beach.

As the week ended, Aliya received two letters.

The first was from Lady Renee, regretfully announcing that the Humbrick Ball would be suspended until further notice.

The second was from Lord Hartcaster in Birth.

His wife, Lady Alannah Walcott, Marchioness of Hartcaster, departed this world.

XII | An Offer from a Doctor

The death of Lady Hartcaster was a surprise to many of Hartcaster’s peers, but not to those who had seen it coming. Aliya was advised by Lady Winthrop against attending the funeral as she was certain that many would not understand her presence there.

She had to mourn her friend’s death in her villa, where the problems were also mounting.

A week after Lady Hartcaster’s funeral, Aliya’s flower called for her. She came to his estate and was greeted by Mr. Jean who looked the worst since she met him. Lord Hartcaster was the same, his eyes barren—dead. The entire estate was mourning. The windows were covered in dark curtains; it was like walking into Death’s hallways.

Hartcaster was in his study which looked worse than the rest of the house. Save for a lone lamp on his table, the room was utterly filled by darkness.

“I know what she meant to you, Aliya,” Hartcaster said after she offered her condolences and sat in the chair opposite his desk. He gave her a small smile. “She would have wanted you in the funeral.”

“I understand why I cannot go, my lord.” Her eyes looked straight at his, unwavering. “I also understand that you called for me to say farewell.”

The man’s expression was that of apology and respect. “You have always been a very wise woman,” Hartcaster said, pushing a note toward her. “This is my parting gift for you. Please, receive it.”

Aliya looked at the note, quite surprised that it was more than she expected. She no longer felt shame to take Hartcaster’s money. Over the years, she realized that pride over such trivial things was plain stupid. She took the note and carefully folded it. “Thank you. You are so generous, my lord.”

“If only I could grant my wife’s wishes, Aliya, I would.”

Shaking her head, Aliya gave her gentleman a reassuring smile. “You and I both know, my lord, that it will never work. I believe she also knew the same.”

He chuckled lightly before sighing. “Of course, she did. She knew many things I did not even know.”

“She taught us many things,” she agreed.

Hartcaster sighed again and Aliya guessed it was a way for him to deal with the pain. “I plan to travel back to the places we went to.”

She did not know how it would help. Would he not only be subjecting himself to more pain?

Hartcaster must have read the question in her eyes. “The longing is now part of the love I have for Alannah. She said it cannot be helped and I will have to learn how to deal with it. She wanted to have another adventure even after death. I am hoping she will be with me on this one.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“For as long as I have to.” He stood and walked over to her. He held her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for everything, my dear. If there is anything you need—anything at all—you tell me. Send word to Mr. Jean and he will inform me. I may no longer be your flower, but I will always be your friend.”

Aliya slowly nodded her head, certain that this shall be the last she will take anything from Hartcaster. He was no longer a gentleman of Belcourt. She had spied on many of his friends without his knowledge and gained many secrets from it—even caused a problem to a few of his peers. She took his money in exchange for friendship with his wife. Asking for more without anything in return would be abuse.

She would set him free now for he deserved a life that was free from Belcourt’s little manipulations.

By the time Aliya arrived back in her villa, another devastating news awaited her.

Fatima was pacing outside, waiting for her, and then jumped to meet the stagecoach. “The realtor sent a letter, my lady,” the woman informed her. Carrie jumped from the front of the coach, saying, “I will keep Maya in the kitchen.” Aliya took the letter from Fatima and they entered the villa front doors, climbed straight to her bedchamber, and locked themselves in.

Hastily, she opened the letter, her heart pounding fast against her chest.

Dear Ms. Guideville,

It is with the deepest regret that I inform you that the estate you wish to procure, Thornridge, has been sold to a higher bidder last week.

The price of estates around the south of Sutherland has seen an increase due to the announcement of a new port

passed by parliament.

Her eyes scanned through the letter, her face tightening as she read further

If you wish to discuss more opportunities, please do not hesitate to reach out.

Our offices are working with our clients’ best interests…

“What does it say?” asked Fatima, eyes wide with anticipation, as Aliya’s hand dropped on her lap in utter disbelief.

She felt like she was losing control of her breathing. “We lost it, Fatima,” she whispered, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Fatima grabbed the letter from her hand, read, and stumbled back with disbelief in her eyes.

“My lady, what do we do now?”

Aliya shook her head. “I… I do not know.”

“There must be another estate we can procure. Anything within the budget—”

“We should have seen this coming,” she said, standing from the bed. “We should have known this was bound to happen.”

“If we proceed with our plan, we can still get Delaney—”

“Given that we get Delaney, Fatima, we will have no estate to run. That is the very purpose why we wanted Thornridge. It is supposed to give us a more stable source of income!” she said in a low voice, tone filled with frustration. “But now that chance is gone. Whatever we have saved throughout the years will diminish in under a year. And both Mason and Delaney will find themselves without a home in no time.”

At the mention of her son’s name, Fatima started to sob, shoulders shaking with anguish.

Aliya, on the other hand, could not allow her emotions to cloud her mind at this crucial time. Their plan was to get back her father’s estate and use the income they can get from it to sustain Mason and Delaney while she, Aliya, waited for the perfect time to pay her dowry out of Belcourt. It sounded so simple and achievable.

But things had changed.

The market has changed because of the upcoming port in the south.

Her father’s estate had been the cheapest given the history of the Gambler, but it was a promising estate with lands they could cultivate and lease. She found no other means but own a land. Businesses were too risky, especially for a woman.

Trying to ignore Fatima’s desperate sobbing, Aliya closed her eyes.

Time was running out.

Sniffing, Fatima tried to say, “I can ask Mason’s father to take him for a while—”

Her eyes snapped open. “No,” she interjected coldly. “That man left you to marry another woman, Fatima. Will you truly trust your son in his care? And what if Belcourt finds out? You will be punished and sent to Sinhold. The only way is to keep Mason safe where he is while we find a place for him and Delaney. And then we save ourselves.”

A helpless whimper escaped Fatima’s lips. “That was our plan, my lady, but now it has been shattered. We can no longer get Thornridge.”

“I will find another estate. It can be anything. A farm very far from Coulway. Anything.”

“And will you be able to do that in time?”

Aliya’s eyes closed again. Delaney.

If only time was not against their favor.

“I need to think, Fatima,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “I need to be alone for now.”

Fatima nodded and burned on a candle sitting at the corner of the room.

Aliya watched as the fire consumed the worst news she had received since Lady Hartcaster’s death.

It was only when Fatima left and closed that door that Aliya allowed herself to cry.

Devastated was too flimsy a word to describe how she felt.

There was nothing. She had nothing left to hang on to. The only thing she had been working on had been snatched from her by someone with more money.

Throwing her face into the pillow, Aliya screamed in fury.

She had been too confident. She always thought that Thornridge would be available, always in the belief that the estate’s relation to the Gambler would leave it uninteresting to others.

Her fury turned to despair fast. She jumped from her bed and rushed to her notebook. She studied her accounting and looked at the numbers. It would not be enough.

Angrily brushing her tears with the back of her hand, Aliya absently stared out the window. She had to think of another way around this.

Thornridge was no longer an option. Getting another probable estate would take more months if not years.

Unless…

Unless she walked out of Belcourt now.

She shook her head. She had thought of that before and she was certain it would not work.

But if she got out of Belcourt, she needed more money fast. Hartcaster could help, but no, he had done enough.

When evening came, she was crying again. The helplessness was creeping in.

I know that you are a strong, wonderful woman and you will be free…

As Lady Hartcaster’s pale, smiling face flashed in her mind, Aliya cursed under her breath. She was not strong enough and she was not wonderful enough. If she were, she would not be crying.

I will cheer for you, my young friend…

“You must be utterly disappointed now,” she said to Lady Hartcaster. “Utterly disappointed.”

But what if I rescue you from Belcourt?

St. Vincent’s voice echoed in her head and her eyes snapped open. No, she would not drag him into this.

And then, as easily as it always did, his grinning face came to her. She felt a tightening in her chest. The picture of him walking away from her that day was still so clear.

I drove him away…

But it would not hurt to try…

“No,” she murmured, her jaw clenched. “Not St. Vincent.”

---

Aliya sat in a chair, cursing herself.

Why was she here?

She looked around the empty room. The cabinets were still where they used to be. The table was positioned where she remembered it.

She looked out the window. It was very late and she should not be here.

Changing her mind, Aliya jumped to her feet and rushed to the door.

As she swung it open, she half-expected him to greet her, but the corridor outside was empty. Moistening her lips, she sighed and allowed her feet to drag her out of there.

And just as she was about to make a turn, his voice boomed from the room she was in moments ago.

“Ali!”

Aliya skidded to a stop, her heart racing. That one name. That booming voice. It was all it took for her throat to tighten and emotions to stir.

Closing her hands into fists, she willed herself to turn.

He looked like a bloody mess and if she was not in her right faculties, she would have believed that she was back to that day of the carriage accident.

His hair was a mess—filthy and greasy. His beard was a bush around his face.

But at the very least, he did not look angry. In fact, as she walked toward him, as his face was becoming clearer, he simply looked foxed and curious.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes roaming over her. “Are you ill?”

Unexpectedly—but not really—she was out of words and only one question rolled out her tongue, followed by another statement that betrayed her pride. “Why have you not gone to see me? It has been weeks.”

She saw the surprise register in his hazel eyes. And then he frowned. “Ali, you made it clear you do not want anything to do with me.”

Her muscles tightened and she felt a pang in her chest; it radiated down to her clenched hands. She hurt him and she hated that she did.

He may be a giant of a man, a little careless with his words, a bit obnoxious if he wanted to, but he was… he was Ollie. Her Ollie; and she was the only one who could see that. And yet she hurt him.

She moistened her lips. “You must already know by now, St. Vincent, that I do not like being followed around, but you were clearly an exception—”

He reached out for her in one fluid motion, snatching her breath and words from her, and sealed his mouth over hers, kissing her thoroughly in one of the many corridors of Sinclair.

Her arms were suddenly around him. She cared not that he reeked of brandy, or that his hair and beard were in an undesirable state. She wanted this man and she could not even begin to explain why.

Finally, he let go of her and held her shoulders, steadying her when she swayed. And her Ollie was back. The wicked grin on his face, the twinkle in his wonderful hazel eyes.

She moistened her lips and tasted brandy. “You have been drinking.”

“An exception now, am I?” he asked instead.

Aliya rolled her eyes and walked past him to enter the room she came from earlier. She settled back into the chair, growing restless. Apparently, she had strayed off her main goal.

“What happened, Ali?” he asked, voice serious. He had followed her inside, closed the door, and was now leaning against the table, looking at her with a concerned look on his face.

“She’s dead,” she burst out. “Lady Hartcaster… she’s gone.”

Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears. Aliya always prided herself for her self-control and gracefulness, but why was she being an irrational mess in front of this man? First, she demanded why he never went to see her when she drove him away in the first place. Second, she kissed him. And now, she was talking about Lady Hartcaster.

“I know,” he said, his voice low and gentle.

Aliya struggled. Her throat was closing up on her. She looked around the room. She looked at her fumbling fingers on her lap while she sat in the same chair where he fixed her arm months ago.

And then she jumped to her feet.

“I need to go,” she burst out, her feet briskly walking to the door.

His hand caught her as she passed effortlessly and gently forced her to face him. “Clearly, you are struggling with something. What is it?”

His eyes told her it was all right to say anything. Had he not been accommodating thus far?

“Are you a member of the Royal Circus?”

He blinked.

“No matter, do not answer that. I care little if you are,” she snapped before he could open his mouth. She was rambling now, she knew that. She paused and closed her eyes. His hand slid down her arm to clasp her hand.

Her lids fluttered open, looking down at their hands. She lifted her eyes and met his patient gaze. “You said you want to help me get out of Belcourt.”

His hand squeezed hers. “Yes.”

She answered his grip. “Then I need money to do so. It is a lot.”

“On one condition.”

“I never thought there would be one.” The words rolled out of her tongue before she could stop them. Of course, you dimwit, he would want something in return , the voice in her head droned.

“Being away from you for a few weeks made me think,” he started.

She shook her head. “Just tell me. What condition?”

“I know I have had quite a few drinks in my study,” he continued anyway, “but I want you to know that I am not too foxed and my head is very clear while we are having this conversation.”

“Yes, of course. What condition?”

His other hand searched for her free one and he peered down to look her intently in the eyes. “Marry me.”

XIII | Tea on a Blizzard

Aliya came back to her villa in Penrose Lane utterly stunned and baffled.

Oliver did not explain why he wanted to marry her. He did not even ask that she give him an answer that very night. He gave her a quick kiss, turned her around, and told her to think of an answer. He walked her to her stagecoach and watched it drive away.

As she took off her pelisse, her brows were fused, and Fatima found her in the same state moments later.

Her maid helped her into her nightdress before asking where she came to.

“Sinclair,” she replied in a daze, her mind still on Oliver’s face, his voice clear as he said, “Marry me.”

“To Dr. St. Vincent? But why? Did you hurt your arm?”

Shaking her head, Aliya sat on her bed. She looked at Fatima. “Dr. St. Vincent is someone I know from my past—before Belcourt.”

Fatima blinked her grey eyes in astonishment. “He is?”

Aliya nodded. “We were on a cruise together, the last I took before the night of the Gambler.”

“Then he knows who your father is?”

“Yes, and apparently, he does not care.”

“I do not understand.”

Aliya met Fatima’s eyes. “Fatima, Oliver St. Vincent just asked me to marry him.”

Her maid’s hands flew to her mouth, grey eyes wide.

Aliya scoffed. “That boorish man just asked me to marry him.”

Fatima was suddenly kneeling before her. “My lady, surely you are not considering him. Carrie said he is an obnoxious man!”

“No, he is not—Fatima, he is not.”

The woman blinked at her with confusion. Then she read the unspoken truth behind Aliya’s gaze and she gasped. “You fancy him! Oh, my Lord! You fancy—”

Aliya muffled Fatima’s words with her hand. “Hush!”

Fatima nodded and Aliya withdrew her hand. “But, my lady, supposing you agree to marry him, that cannot be done. He is not a gentleman and he cannot—” Her maid paused, realizing the same thing Aliya had been thinking. “Unless you pay for your dowry using your money and set yourself free.” Finally, Fatima understood Aliya’s plan. “Oh, my lady! We can be saved after all! Mason! Delaney! If you marry the doctor, he can help you with Delaney. And you can—oh, it will be perfect!” Fatima hissed.

“ If I decide to marry him,“ Aliya pointed out.

“But was I mistaken when I thought you fancy him?”

“I do, but how can I willingly pull him into our problems, Fatima? He is innocent. If Belcourt finds out, he will also have to pay for our sins. I do not think I can carry that in my conscience. All he wants is to help me get out of Belcourt. He does not know about Delaney and Mason. He does not know that I will have to give Belcourt a Vow, and that same Vow could ruin everything for us in the future. I know it did for previous Belles.”

“Then you are going to say no?”

“No!” she snapped. “Well, yes, of course, I have to say no. I mean… I do not know. He is the perfect solution to all of this. And—”

“And you want to marry him.”

She scoffed with incredulity because Fatima was correct. And it was incredulous! Her, Aliya Guideville, a prime Belle, wished to marry a man she barely knew simply because he was a good kisser and he could make her laugh.

Burying her face in her hands, she moaned. “Oh, Fatima, he is a very nice man. I remembered doing nothing but laugh when we met on that cruise.”

Fatima reached for her hands and peeled them off her face. Peering, the woman said, “Tell me about it—the cruise. You never mentioned it.”

She sighed, turning her face to look at the wall across her bed. “He was a very lanky boy then. He was on the cruise with his uncle. On the first night of the voyage, I slipped out of our cabin to go to the deck. I wanted to see what the ocean was like during the night. He was also there and told me the ocean was a disappointing sight. He was sixteen, but he acted like a child. We talked for hours and decided to meet the next day to explore the ship. We did and we were inseparable. His uncle found two caged monkeys below the deck where they hold the ship’s cargo. The crazy man set them free and let us play with the monkeys. Every day, we would go there. At night, we would take the monkeys out. On our last day, the monkeys caused havoc. You should have seen the face of the people there as they ran up and down the deck in panic. Ollie and I—I called him Ollie and only knew him as Ollie—were laughing so hard. My father found out we were responsible for the commotion and prohibited me from seeing Ollie again. He promised to write me a letter once he reached Coulway with his uncle where he planned to study medicine. For days and months, I waited for his letter. It never came.” She paused, her smile fading. “And the night of the Gambler happened.”

Fatima was smiling broadly when she finished. “You must have had an amazing journey, my lady.”

“It was amongst my favorite memories. It is a wonder I did not recognize him, really.”

“He grew up. Both of you did.”

She sighed. “Yes, I guess we did.”

Fatima covered her hand with hers. “Whatever you decide, my lady, I will support it. You have always made the right decisions, even the most difficult ones. You protected me and hid my pregnancy from Belcourt and I will forever be in your debt. Whatever you decide, know that you are not alone.”

Aliya nodded and kissed Fatima’s forehead. “Thank you, Fatima. We are a family, you know that.”

Moments later, Aliya lay in her bed wide awake.

She was desperate, but was she desperate enough to involve St. Vincent?

---

The very next week, Oliver received a missive from Aliya.

He looked out the window and frowned.

The snow was raging outside and she wanted to meet at the café?

He was starting to believe that the only time she thought of him was during a catastrophe. He crumpled the note and threw it in the fire.

Half an hour later, he burst into the café almost completely covered in snow, a giant snowman walking into a warm room filled with proper ladies.

His eyes scanned the café and he cursed under his breath. He never understood why these women would wear hats when there was a roof over their heads.

Scouring through a flurry of feathered hats, Oliver found her in a quiet corner beside a window, sipping her tea, wearing a hat with ribbons and white feathers. She was looking at him over the cup’s rim. Their gaze met and he smiled, and at that moment, he realized he knew why the women wore the hats.

He walked toward her, murmuring apologies as his cold and damp cloak brushed through sleeves, hats, and gloved elbows.

“Do not shout my name,” she warned when he opened his mouth. Taking off his cloak, he grinned and sat across from her.

“Ali,” he greeted in a melodic tone, enjoying the look of annoyance flash in her eyes. His laughter rumbled in his chest. As he peeled off his leather gloves, he realized that the attention of nearly half of the people in the room was on them, and he smiled when Aliya seemed unperturbed by it.

“This is not the best weather to invite me to tea, you must know,” he pointed out after he gave his order to the server. She did not say a word and he sighed. “Very well, we can talk about the weather later as I am certain we will be trapped here for quite some time.”

She frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

He motioned his head to the windows. “A blizzard has just started.”

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh, no.”

He dramatically sighed. “Too bad, I did not bring my carriage.”

“My maids think I am in Maple Row. I came all the way here on foot.”

He looked around them. One by one the guests were taking their leave. Carriages started to line outside the café.

They watched as one lady opened the door and yelped when the strong wind from outside rushed in. More shouting from the other guests followed as they clamored outside where footmen strained their necks to find their mistresses.

Oliver sighed. “I am afraid my butler will not lift a finger. He is used to me going home in the wee hours.”

When he turned to face her again, she was smiling. “I believe we are trapped here, St. Vincent.”

He feigned a frustrated groan. “Ah, blazes. Whatever should I do now? This will be a boring night.”

His tea arrived, and so did the other carriages that took the remaining three ladies in the café.

He watched Aliya take off her hat.

“Why do you have to wear your hats inside a bloody building?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Perhaps I am not the right person to ask. You should blame the women in London. They started the fashion.”

“Fair point,” he retorted, sipping his tea. “For someone who hates the sight of dead animals, you wear their feathers on your hats.”

She groaned. “Do you have to say such improper things?”

“I made a rather good point.”

“You did, but it was… mind not,” she said with a sigh. “I will never wear my hats the same way again.”

“The animals owe you their feathers then.”

She quietly chuckled.

A quiet stillness passed and they just sat there looking at each other, a small smile on their lips.

“Gregory Cook,” she said with a smile and he laughed.

“Oh, good God,” he said in between laughter. “You barely remembered me, yet you remember the bloody monkey’s full name.”

“Gregory Cook was a very—very—good monkey.”

“It did manage to wreck a luncheon party, of course, it was a very good monkey!”

Her laughter echoed in the empty room. “Although I cannot remember the name of the other one.”

“We never got the chance to give it one,” he said, shaking his head. “I wonder where they are now.”

“I truly hope they managed to escape. Did you not hear?”

“About what?”

“While we were disembarking, the crew were still looking for them. I thought you set them free!”

“No, I did not…” his eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. “But I do recall Uncle Carl wearing the most wicked smile as he rushed us away from the ship.”

Aliya chortled and it was the same one he remembered. “Uncle Carl was the best, would you not agree?”

“He was.” He looked to the window, at the waves of snow outside. “He was…”

They watched as the servers gracefully cleaned the other tables, both of them lost in their thoughts.

Finally, she caught his gaze. “Why do you want to marry me?”

Oliver shrugged. “I can list down numerous reasons, Ali.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you find my condition odd?”

She shook her head. “I find it… premature.”

“You want a longer courtship?” he asked.

She scoffed. “More stalking?”

“I am very efficient.”

“No, thank you,” she said, taking a lungful of breath. “Do you not realize how rash a marriage between us will look like?”

“Thousands of couples get married without even having a second meeting, Ali. I even know one man who met his wife on the day of the wedding.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“So why would you think it rash?”

It was her turn to shrug. “People will think you made a mistake by taking a lady from Belcourt for a wife. It will not be the marriage that will be seen as rash, but rather your decision to marry someone from Belcourt.”

“You are Ali— my Ali. I care not if you are from Belcourt. I met you before you came to Belcourt. We can always tell them we have been on courtship for fourteen years.”

She shook her head.

“I want you out of Belcourt, Ali. I care not if I have become your mission, or if you are manipulating me.” He lifted his finger to stop her protest. “I just want you out of there.”

“Why?” she asked, her curiosity genuinely painted on her face. “Am I your mission as well?”

She did not look suspicious despite the allusion of her statement that he may be part of the Circus. She was a Belle and they must have been given warning that any man they encountered could be a Royal.

Since it was not the perfect time to admit anything, Oliver simply had to rely on his charms so he said, “Believe whatever you want, Ali, but whoever I am, and whatever I do, you are my personal mission. You do not deserve to be there.” And because my conscience will not allow it.

XIV | The Answer

Aliya was walking with her arm looped around Fatima’s, both of them enjoying the heat of the afternoon sun that melted the snow from last night’s blizzard.

“Carrie also shared that he smells, my lady,” Fatima was saying. “And that he is a notorious drunkard.”

“There is no reason to fret for now, Fatima, as I have not yet made my decision,” she said with a laugh. “Do not look so disgruntled!”

“I can only imagine what he looks like. Long, greasy hair; bushy beard that covered his face—”

“Half his face, Fatima. Carrie must have been overly annoyed to have covered his face in her mind.”

“She also shared that he is quite loud.”

“Well, he can be—”

“Ali!”

Aliya froze in her spot while Fatima jumped, startled by the booming call.

“Is that him?” Fatima asked, eyes narrowed and head moving forward as she peered at the approaching giant. “His hair is not long, then it must be someone else. But he is a giant, so it must be—”

“It is him, Fatima,” Aliya dryly said as she withdrew her arm and walked to meet St. Vincent. “I thought we have already agreed that you no longer follow me around, St. Vincent,” she hissed.

He smiled down at her. “No, we made no such agreement. And no, I was not following you. I saw you from across the park.”

Aliya sighed. Fatima reached them; her eyes wide as she looked up at St. Vincent. “Oliver, this is Fatima. Fatima, Dr. Oliver St. Vincent.”

“G-good afternoon, Doctor!” her maid greeted with a quick curtsy, shamelessly staring at his face.

“Fatima, do I have something on my face?” St. Vincent asked with a frown, consciously rubbing his shaved chin. And then he slowly grinned as Fatima’s face flushed. “Ah, I believe you have heard about me. Did they say I look like a madman?”

Fatima’s eyes wandered down to his torso. “I was also told you are quite overweight. And yes, I was told you are a madman. And you are evidently not!” Aliya frowned at her maid, thoroughly confused.

“Where are you going today, my lady?” Oliver asked her.

“Fatima is joining me for a walk to the café. I am meeting a friend.”

“Ah,” he said, squeezing between her and Fatima. “I will do the honor of walking you to the location. Is that fine with you, Fatima?”

Fatima, still gaping at St. Vincent, slowly nodded.

Aliya scoffed in disbelief.

Taking her elbow, St. Vincent guided her away from her maid to continue down the cobbled footpath. Aliya looked over her shoulder. Fatima remained where she was, seemingly enchanted.

St. Vincent bent his head near her ear and furtively whispered, “I have a very good feeling that your maid is enamored by me.”

Aliya leaned away from him so he had a good picture of her scowling face. “You cut your hair. Why? And—” she said, raising her finger to stop him from answering, “—do not tell me that your mother found the scissors.”

He blinked at her with mock innocence. “My mother has returned to Herst.”

“Then I should be relieved, yes?”

“No, I am afraid not.”

“Why?”

He brushed aside a gentleman blocking their path as he talked. “She came to Herst to fetch my father and my sister.”

“And why would she fetch your father and your sister?”

He did not answer immediately for he scowled at the flock of women chatting in the middle of their path, saying, “This is not a bloody ballroom, ladies!”

The ladies threw him a scornful look as they took a step back.

“Oliver,” she prodded, voice filled with warning. “Why is she fetching your father and your sister?”

He guiltily grimaced. “I may have told her I asked for your hand—”

“You did not!”

“Well, I did and—”

She slapped his arm. “Why would you do that!”

Ignoring her question, he said, “I need an answer soon, Ali. I am afraid my mother is starting to plan for a wedding. We badly need a bride.”

Aliya’s eyes rounded. “Ollie, that is preposterous!”

“I told her the same. But I warn you, Ali, she is one persistent woman.”

“But I have not yet made my decision!” she hissed at him.

“Fret not, they can always pack and go home,” he said with a brush of his hand.

They walked through the shoppers that crowded outside a new bakery. A man recognized him and tried to catch his attention, but St. Vincent lifted his hand to stop him, as he said to her, “But you will have to tell me that it is indeed possible to get out of Belcourt.”

“Of course, it is,” she retorted. Up ahead, she could already see the café where she was supposed to meet Sasha. “But it comes with a price.”

“What kind?”

“I need to pay for my dowry . And I have to sign a Vow.”

“The dowry is understandable, but tell me more about this Vow.”

Aliya sighed. “Every lady who can pay her dowry out of Belcourt will have to sign a Vow. It signifies a favor you either have to give or do for Belcourt even after you leave.”

“This Vow can be anything?”

“Yes.”

“And if they say your Vow is to return to Belcourt?”

“No, that is not possible. Belcourt respects a lady’s choice to leave if she can. It is in their law.”

“And they can claim this Vow anytime and anywhere they wish?”

Aliya nodded.

“Then you are not entirely free of Belcourt.”

“Unless they claimed a Vow, no, you are not, but you can enjoy everything that a normal Sutherland citizen can.”

“So long as you give them what they want or do what they wish when they want to claim the Vow.”

“Yes. Some former Belles are still waiting for Belcourt to claim their Vows. Some of them may have died and never had to grant a Vow.”

“And if you do not like the Vow?”

“I will have no choice. I will be subjected to Belcourt law should I choose not to grant the Vow.”

“Now, that is the preposterous one, Ali.”

She shrugged. “Rearing a child and providing them everything they need to survive the world outside of Belcourt costs not only time and energy, St. Vincent. It costs money as well.”

“But you are basically prisoners.”

“No, not really,” she said through her teeth. “You get used to it.” While he scowled at her statement, she said, “You have not answered my question. Why did you cut your hair?”

Aliya did not particularly dislike the new look. His once shoulder-length hair was now reduced to a Brutus haircut, but still equally disheveled. She knew the rumpled look was in fashion, but having brushed her fingers through St. Vincent’s tresses—clean and unclean—she was quite certain that the messy waves were natural. He looked handsome, he truly did. Blazes, he even looked ravishing. Fatima’s expression earlier was enough testimony.

“Can I answer that I just woke up and realized that it grew short overnight?”

Aliya rolled her eyes. “I liked your long hair.”

“I did tell my butler the same thing when he called for the barber. They did not believe me, although they assured me that the hair will grow back.”

A chuckle escaped her lips and she fought hard to control it.

“The short hair saves me a great amount of time in washing it.”

She stole him a look. “You look different.”

“You are not pleased I am doing it for you?”

“No, because you ought to be doing it for yourself. I would be much impressed if you can control your drinking, Ollie.”

“Ah,” he said, dramatically clutching his chest. “My heart…”

Aliya frowned to cover her amusement. “Whatever is wrong with you?”

He sighed and laughed. “I like it when you call me Ollie.”

Aliya shook her head and slowed her pace. They would reach the café soon.

“Have you thought of an answer?”

“I just told you that I have not yet made my decision.”

He blocked her path with a wicked grin. Good lord, he looked marvelous. The short bristles on his chin accentuated his sharp jaw and his hazel eyes gave life to the rest of his face. But she missed the slightly longer beard. “At least tell me that you are considering my condition—or offer.”

“No… yes…” she paused to reorganize her thoughts and looked at him straight in the eye. “I will come and see you when I have made a decision,” she sternly said.

His eyed her thoughtfully. “Very well, fair enough.”

She moistened her lips and circled him to continue her walk.

“You do not have to enter—” she began when they reached the café, but he already opened the door for her. With a sigh, she murmured, “If she asks, you are naught but a friend.”

“Of course,” he said.

Sasha stood to greet her when she approached the Belle’s table with St. Vincent walking behind her. They greeted each other, but before Aliya could make introductions, St. Vincent bowed and said, “I am Oliver, my lady, a friend of Lady Aliya. I am assuming that you are Sasha.”

Sasha slowly nodded, her bluish-grey eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Have we met before, Mr. Oliver?”

Aliya turned to St. Vincent to hear his answer. He shrugged. “I have met many beautiful ladies before. Perhaps our paths have crossed while I was foxed.”

“Which is nearly always,” Aliya grumbled under her breath before saying, “Thank you for the company, Ollie.”

“My pleasure, Ali,” he said, mocking another low bow. “Have a great day, ladies.”

Aliya noticed Sasha’s curiosity reign even after St. Vincent had taken his leave.

“You two seem quite chummy,” said Sasha after a while, picking up a biscuit.

“We know each other, that is all. Friends,” she said with a shrug. “Surely you have other gentlemen friends, Sasha?”

“But he is not a flower,” Sasha pointed out.

“We were introduced long before,” she dismissively replied.

The look on Sasha’s face turned different as if she suddenly remembered something. “Oliver St. Vincent, the drunk doctor.”

Aliya went cold. “You know him?”

“Yes, of course. He—he was the one who operated on me after Willoghby’s attack.” The Belle turned her head as if hoping to see St. Vincent still outside. “He acted as though he did not recognize me.”

“He often does not recognize people he met while he was foxed, Sasha,” Aliya said in jest, adding a chuckle. She reached for her tea and tried her best to calm down.

“You have to be careful around him, Aliya.”

Aliya felt her jaw going tight and she fought against it because Sasha was intently looking at her. “Why?”

“He is the owner of Sinclair. Surely you must know that.”

“Of course. And he happens to be the best doctor in Sutherland.”

“He is friends with We—Blackwood,” Sasha said in a nonchalant, detached tone as though she did not deliberately correct herself from saying her first flower’s first name.

“Sasha, West Blackwood is a duke. He knows many people and not all of them are from the Circus.”

“He was the person Blackwood trusted enough to save me and that meant something.”

“Are you suggesting he is part of the Circus?” she asked in a low voice.

“He may be one of the Royal Circus’s doctors, Aliya. And if he is, then he can be a key to our success. I am certain he has a list of all his patients. “ The hairs at the back of Aliya’s neck stood as she watched Sasha pick up her cup with complete calmness and control. “And since you claim to be friends with St. Vincent, you can investigate.”

“My friendship with him is not—”

“West Blackwood was a lesson we all learned from, Aliya. These men can make us feel differently. They will confuse us and play with our vulnerabilities. We cannot let that happen. You always tell the other Belles the same thing, yes? Friendship or not, Oliver St. Vincent may be a potential threat.”

Aliya’s hand balled into a fist under the table as Sasha easily diverted the topic about her new flower and the balls they were planning to attend in Coulway.

---

Aliya was not even surprised when St. Vincent caught up with her as she passed by the bakery an hour or two later.

He walked beside her without a word.

She should find this gesture of him odd and disturbing, but she did not. She was comfortably walking with the man in silence.

“St. Vincent! I almost did not recognize you!” one gentleman in a passing carriage shouted.

Aliya watched as he scowled at the man, shouting, “And I do not bloody know you, but I remember the look of your innards!”

“That was rude!” she said with a laugh.

“I did not have the chance to know his name as he was dying from a bullet wound. Found the bullet lodged in one of his intestines. Lucky bastard, really,” he dismissively said. “How was your time with Sasha?”

“Interesting,” she admitted. “She remembers you to be the man who saved her when she was attacked.”

“Ah, yes. I had to open her up and burn a severed artery with a hot iron rod.”

She blinked in horror. “I did not ask for the details of the procedures you did for both that man in the carriage and Sasha.”

“Apologies. But if you ask me, I did not save her life. Blackwood did. He ordered one of his friends to drag me to his villa.”

“Still, you were the one who did the operation.”

“Because it was my job.”

“As a doctor?”

He looked at her, his hazel eyes filled with laughter as always. “Yes, of course.”

They crossed the street and entered the park. They could have just kept walking straight to Penrose Lane, but they seemed to both know the route was too short.

“If you marry me, I will be a good husband,” he said.

A very simple statement that would have surely been spoken by thousands of other men, but Aliya still felt a tingling sensation rush down to her fingertips. Her heart began to thump hard and fast, her mind giving her images of St. Vincent–the different stages of his hair and beard; his laughter; his ridiculous way with words; and good God, even his mother!

“If we marry, we will have to deal with each other’s secrets,” she bluntly said. “I know you have some and you very well know I have my own. Will you be able to deal with the fact that I may not readily share them?”

He took his time and she waited.

“I can wait for another fourteen years for you to reveal your secrets,” he said, breaking the silence. “But I am confident you will share them with me in less than a year.”

Aliya scoffed. “You are too confident, St. Vincent.”

“I am. And have I also said that I am rarely wrong?”

“You do not have to.”

He grinned at her.

She looked ahead. They reached the end of the park.

“You should grow your hair back,” she told him.

“It shall start to grow the very day of our marriage.”

Aliya let out a helpless chuckle. “Good night, St. Vincent,” she said. “I shall give you an answer soon.”

“How soon?”

“I do not have much time, so it shall certainly be soon.”

“Why not now?”

Aliya smiled. “I need to ask for votes.”

“Votes?” he frowned.

Leaving him with a mysterious smile, Aliya crossed the street and walked down Penrose Lane.

---

Aliya only had to ask Carrie and Fatima and both ladies voted differently.

She asked Carrie by pulling the woman to the side while Fatima helped Maya in the kitchen. “What say you to me marrying Oliver St. Vincent?”

“Will you be using your money to pay for your dowry?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you will use his money for Mason and Delaney?”

“Yes.”

Carrie towered over her and she looked up as the woman thoughtfully rolled her eyes to the side. “No. Do not marry him,” Carrie hissed. “He is an obnoxious human being. He will make your life hell.”

“You truly think that?”

“Yes.”

Moments later, she cornered Fatima in the corridor. “What say you to me marrying Oliver St. Vincent?”

Fatima’s face softened. “Yes.”

She blinked in surprise. “Yes?”

Fatima eagerly nodded. “Yes.”

Aliya frowned. “That makes the votes even.”

“Then the decision rests upon you as it should, my lady,” Fatima said with a smile.

Much later, Aliya paced around her bedchamber after her meal, biting her lower lips with a frown.

She paused in front of the window and looked up at the starless sky.

Sasha’s words came back to her.

He may be one of the Royal Circus’s doctors, Aliya…

Aliya never truly considered him as part of the Royal Circus. Of course, she suspected him, as she suspected almost every other man she met since Sasha uncovered the secret club.

But Oliver St. Vincent as a member of the Circus?

If Sasha’s allegations were false, Aliya would gladly accept it. Oliver St. Vincent would not be important to Belcourt and he would be spared.

But what if it was true? What if she married a member of the Royal Circus?

The realization clicked in without warning and when it did, Aliya whirled around and grabbed her cloak.

“Carrie! The stagecoach! Now!” she cried out as she ran down the stairs.

Nearly half an hour later, Aliya was welcomed into St. Vincent’s large villa.

Jason, his butler, took her to his study.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hastily covering the animal on the table. “It was delivered to me dead. I did not kill it,” he added, noticing the look on her face. His gaze turned serious and he approached her.

She sniffed. He did not smell like brandy, but he smelled like burnt flesh.

She searched his face.

“Ali?” he asked, brows raised. “Has something happened? Has someone passed away again?”

Aliya took a long breath and stepped closer. She reached up and cupped his face, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She could not name the emotions swirling inside her, or the flurry of thoughts running in her mind. But she knew one thing.

She raised to her toes and planted her lips against his, surprising him.

Stepping away before the kiss deepened, she squared her shoulders.

She did not know what she felt for this man for it was an endless mess of bad and good and funny. She did not know if she was making the right decision, but her mind was screaming this was the best option.

“Why are you here, Ali?” he asked, voice filled with knowing. She knew he could not help the smile. Looking into his hazel eyes, she knew that he knew why she came here.

“If you are a member of the Royal Circus, Ollie, then yes, I will marry you.”

XV | Farewells

Aliya was quickly summoned to Belcourt after she sent her letter. She expected it and came prepared.

Although she did ask for her letter of request to be kept private, she was not surprised when the Belles inside the Flower Garden stared at her as she passed. They knew , she thought.

They knew she was leaving.

Lady Mariam’s blue eyes were filled with questions and she asked the most pressing one the moment Aliya settled. “When you came here fourteen years ago, Aliya, you promised to serve Belcourt. Why are you leaving now?”

“While I did promise to serve Belcourt, I did not say it shall be forever, my lady. I have given it the prime of my years and have given you the best results,” she replied, giving the answer she had prepared beforehand. “It is high time I give myself what I truly want.”

“And that is?”

“A chance at the world I left behind.” She could feel tears at the back of her eyes, for her answer was as true as the other reasons she could not share with her Mistress. “You must be thinking it was a mistake to have taken me in. I was too old and I had known a life other than Belcourt.”

Lady Mariam studied her with a frown. “No, Aliya. I do not judge the children who come into Belcourt—not by their age or the life they left behind. But I cannot help but wonder what could have driven you to do this. Is Belcourt not enough?”

“Belcourt is home, my lady. It has given me refuge. It is the only sanctuary I know from since I was fifteen.” Aliya lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps I do wish to go back to the storm and challenge myself.” With a smile, she added, “And you know how much I love challenges.”

Lady Mariam let out a long sigh. “I hate to see you go, Aliya. You are my best Belle.”

“I am sure that there are others who will follow my footsteps. Sasha is proving to be better than I.”

Lady Mariam closed her eyes and shook her head. “I find this hard to believe. When I read your letter, I had to drink a glass of sherry.”

Aliya nodded in understanding. “You know that I am still part of Belcourt. I will be signing the Vow and I will honor it when Belcourt sees the need to claim it.”

The Mistress gazed at her quizzically. “Is this about a man, Aliya? Someone not from Belcourt? You can tell me the truth for I have seen enough Belles who left Belcourt for love and they were never judged for it.”

“No, of course not, my lady, but I do admit that there were men who might have taken interest and wished to be suitors but were denied. I may give one of them a chance once I am free of my status as a Belle. But my decision is not because of a man. I have been considering this matter for quite some time now.”

“You are leaving Belcourt at its most vulnerable state, Aliya. The battle against the Royal Circus has just begun.”

“I am confident that Belcourt will be victorious in the end, my lady, as it always has been in the past. You have the most loyal and capable ladies Sutherland can ever have.”

Lady Mariam bent her head and stared at the piece of paper lying there. She slid it toward Aliya. “It must have been a challenge to summon enough money to pay your dowry, Aliya, and I am proud of you for it.” As Aliya reached for the paper, the woman added, “The moment you sign your Vow, you will no longer be considered a Belle.”

I will be free, she replied in her head.

Unlike their Courting Ceremony where they meet the seven Maidens for the first time, the signing of the Vow did not require a rite. Belcourt did not find the need to do so for why would they waste their time on someone who was no longer part of their society?

Aliya nodded, reached for the dipping pen, and signed her name.

She did not even hesitate. And once done, she felt nothing.

All she could think about as she read her name on the paper was that she was now free of Belcourt. And that did not even summon any emotions. Perhaps because she always knew she was going to get out. Or perhaps she never truly felt she was a prisoner here.

She gracefully returned the paper to Lady Mariam with a sad smile on her face, the last act she hoped to play in Belcourt.

“Sasha said that you are good friends with Oliver St. Vincent.”

Aliya’s jaw tightened. “Oliver and I met as children before I came to Belcourt. He is a good friend.”

Slowly, Lady Mariam nodded. “How did you reunite, Aliya?”

“We were introduced by my former gentleman,” she lied. “And we eventually learned that we shared the same memories of a certain part of our childhood.”

“And I am certain that Sasha warned you of St. Vincent’s possible connection with the Circus?”

“She did, but I am confident that my dear friend has nothing to do with Belcourt’s enemy, my lady. He is naught but a doctor.”

“A very interesting doctor.”

“That, he is, too,” she said with a bright smile.

“And you shall continue your friendship with him?”

“Of course. He is now part of my life. I knew his uncle and his mother is a dear.”

“And he knows about the Gambler?”

“Yes,” she said with confidence. “He does.”

Lady Mariam nodded. She reached out to hold Aliya’s hand on the table. “I wish you the best, Aliya. Many Belles have taken the same path before you and most of them have led a great life—still living a great life. And they still consider Belcourt home.”

“As will I, my lady,” Aliya said, standing to her feet. “Thank you for the confidence you showed me over the years, my lady.”

Lady Mariam smiled at her. “You deserved it, Aliya. And remember—you can always come home to Belcourt.”

---

Aliya was only grateful to leave Lady Mariam’s study. The woman had always been nice to her. But as she walked to the parlor where the other Belles were waiting, Aliya reminded herself that she could not yet afford to be careless.

Now was the time to be more careful and astute with her actions.

Mariam was too loyal to Belcourt and she would still find a reason to have Aliya followed for months after she left. Aliya herself was given the assignment three times in the past, all from Lady Mariam’s office. She followed Belles who chose to leave Belcourt and reported everything they did. She befriended people they associated with, discovered their secrets, and any gossip that surrounded them. She did it until the Mistress was satisfied.

The ladies in the parlor were speechless upon her entry. Most of them were in their gowns, ready to go to a ball in Coulway. “This was not how I expected my last day in Belcourt to be like,” she told them with a smile, walking into the familiar parlor. She had spent so many hours here, entertaining gentlemen, gossiping with the Belles, observing every action and word spoken.

It was part of her life and she could not say she would not miss the smell of mixed scents from the Belles in this parlor. She would miss the nights they would sing and play the pianoforte, just them ladies without their gentlemen. They had played many parlor games here, stayed up many nights drinking sherry and brandy, all the while sharing outrageous stories from all over Sutherland.

Her eyes watered as she looked at each lady. “I will still be seeing you around Sutherland, so please, get rid of the forlorn looks on your faces.” Squaring her shoulders, she narrowed her eyes at the new Belles. “While I may have decided to leave Belcourt, I do hope that you ladies will not immediately follow my path. Enjoy being a Belle for it is amongst the best adventures I have had. Be wise, all of you.” To the older Belles whom she considered her friends, she said, “The only regret I have in leaving is knowing that I will no longer be able to share your adventures—”

She was not able to finish her sentence as five or eight Belles jumped to their feet and rushed toward her. Suddenly, Aliya was enveloped in hugs and tears. Summer was wailing, while Ruby and Jade hugged each other as they turned away. Aliya had no particular best friend amongst the Belles, for she considered them all equal.

Wiping tears from her eyes, she lifted her chin. “I cannot stay long, but I am happy to have spent many memorable days with all of you.”

“You will attend the season, Aliya, yes?”

“I shall try.”

“Then perhaps we can have a date—all of us Belles—together in Coulway,” Summer suggested.

“My villa will be perfect for the occasion,” Ruby offered.

Aliya nodded. “I will see you then.”

---

Aliya prepared herself for the worst goodbye yet as she entered The Village.

Fatima, Carrie, and Maya had already left Strait the very moment Belcourt accepted Aliya’s dowry. She noticed the stares the ladies in the Village threw at her, most of them mere curiosity.

No longer wearing her red cloak, Aliya entered the tea house and once more ignored the stares from ladies wearing different colors of cloaks—red, green, blue, and black—that represented their respective courts.

As the tea house was the only commonplace for all ladies from other courts, it was only natural to expect that her exit from Belcourt had already spread.

Aliya found Fatima and Carrie as they waved at her in the center of the room. She walked toward them and smiled at Shay, her previous cook, a slender woman with straight brown hair.

“My lady, please forgive me. I should not have engaged in such a useless squabble!” Shay said, hugging her tightly.

“It is quite all right, Shay. Maya has been a nice cook, but we did miss you. The villa has been awfully quiet without you.”

Shay laughed. Carrie rolled her eyes and said, “If you did not pull Krissa’s hair and dragged her—”

“Let us not talk about that,” Fatima sternly said, standing to her feet to pull Aliya in an embrace. “Please be careful, my lady. They will still be watching you,” Fatima whispered in her ear. “They may use your Vow against Dr. St. Vincent, or worse, on you.”

Aliya nodded, closing her eyes. “This is our best chance, Fatima,” she whispered. “This may be our only chance.”

Fatima nodded and started to cry. Her heart ached for the woman. Fatima could no longer leave Belcourt until she was assigned to another Belle. But even if that were to happen, it would still be a great risk if she visited Mason. Fatima had to make a sacrifice and it was a big one.

At that moment, Aliya swore that she would take these women out of Belcourt someday.

“Please, my lady…” Fatima whimpered against her shoulder, the rest of her desperate words left unspoken but completely understood by Aliya.

Aliya nodded, her tears blurring her vision. She knew Carrie and Shay were silently weeping as well, and many other ladies were staring at them, witnessing their open goodbyes.

“Do not worry, Fatima,” she choked, “Everything will be all right.”

Fatima’s anguished cry resonated with Aliya, clenching her heart in the process. She pulled away and wiped the tears from Fatima’s face. It hurt that she could not say the words she wanted to say because they were no longer in the privacy of their villa. “Fatima, do you believe me?” she asked, looking straight into Fatima’s eyes. “Believe that everything shall be all right.”

Fatima nodded, fresh tears falling straight to the floor. “Yes, my lady,” her maid and companion of ten years brokenly replied. “I owe you my life. For everything you did—for the things you do…”

Aliya pulled Fatima in another embrace and reached for Carrie and Shay. The three of them cried in each other’s arms. “We are family, remember that,” she sternly told them a while later. “We are family.”

---

She had spent two more hours with her previous service ladies in the tea house, laughing and crying at their decade-long memories. They did not even have to finish sentences for the others to understand. They knew what the other had to say before she finished, just as how they had always been.

But the three of them knew she had somewhere else to go and they bid their tearful farewells.

Aliya was too exhausted—emotionally and physically—by the time she reached the Manor. She walked the two miles from the Village, looking out at the lake she never had a chance to visit since becoming a Belle, and remembering the three summers she spent there with friends in the Manor, the three summers when she thought that Belcourt was the perfect haven—the three summers before she was courted into the Court of Flowers and realized what she had willingly thrown herself into.

Lady Miranda, the Mistress of the Common Court, was waiting for her by the main hall. Aliya smiled and hugged the woman.

“I knew you will do this,” Lady Miranda whispered. “I knew the moment you entered my court, Aliya, that you will not stay long.”

Aliya narrowed her eyes. “Was it when I carried a hamster into one of the classrooms?” she asked in jest.

The lady laughed and looped her arm around Aliya. “I am certain the children will miss you,” the woman said instead. “They always ask when you will come and visit them again. Not many courted ladies come back here.”

“Then I should send my fellow Belles a short note to do just that.”

They entered a large drawing room and Aliya looked around. She sighed. Too many memories here, too. The three years she spent in the Manor before she was courted had been quite fun; the days she spent here during her visits to play and talk with the children were wonderful.

Lady Miranda turned to her with a gentle smile on her lips, her brown eyes always kind and gentle. But she was aging, Aliya thought. She wondered if anyone could ever replace this amazing woman.

The Mistress leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Be wonderful out there, Aliya,” she said, “the world needs a beautiful, confident soul like yours.”

Aliya’s already puffy eyes watered. “Thank you for everything, my lady—everything. If it had not been for you, I would not have made it.”

“Belcourt always accepts, darling,” Lady Miranda said, squeezing her hand before turning to leave the room.

Aliya waited, staring at the portraits on the wall around her.

When the door opened, she whirled around and tears suddenly filled her eyes.

The young woman rushed into her arms in a powerful embrace. “You did it,” Delaney whispered.

Aliya leaned away and brushed off her tears. She caressed Delaney’s straight black hair and whimpered as tears rolled down the woman’s grey eyes. “Plans had to change,” she whispered.

Delaney shook her head. “It does not matter. You are free.”

Aliya pulled her sister back into her arms. “I will get you out of here soon,” she promised. “I will save you from this place before your Courting Ceremony.”

XVI | Birth Day

When Aliya said that they did not have to marry soon, St. Vincent was baffled.

“And you wish me to say to anyone curious that you are staying in my villa as my mother’s guest ,” he droned, turning to Jason who met his gaze. “Did you hear that, Jason?”

“Yes, Doctor, I did.”

“And will you report that to my mother?” he asked. “The part about Aliya wishing to delay the wedding?”

“Lady Aliya has asked that I do not mention it,” the butler replied.

“And he complied,” Aliya said with a smile. “I owe you, Jason. Thank you very much.”

“It is my duty to serve you, my lady, as a future member of the family.”

St. Vincent blinked at Jason with incredulity. He downed his glass of brandy, cleared his throat, and leaned his elbows on his thighs, his fingers clasped together as he stared at Aliya. “Ali, I am a very patient man.”

“I can very well see that, Ollie,” she said with a smile, her eyes on his hands. She met his gaze and blinked innocently. “So, what seems to be the problem?”

“My problem is that I need some answers.”

With a sigh, Aliya turned to Jason. The man bowed and soundlessly left the parlor. “Your first question, of course, is why we cannot marry sooner.”

“Yes,” he spoke in a mockingly patient tone, showing his suspicion by squinting one eye.

“Belcourt will be watching my every move, Ollie.”

“Why?”

“They suspect anyone that is not from Belcourt. I am now amongst those people.”

He did not say anything and simply nodded.

“And your next question is why I said yes to marrying you.”

He grinned. “We are not yet married and you can now read my mind.”

Ignoring his quip, Aliya looked into his eyes. “Ollie,” she started seriously, “You may not admit it now and I will not force it out of you, but I strongly believe that you are part of the Circus.” He pursed his lips and nodded at her, listening to her every word. “And if you are not, I still believe that you have connections to the Circus.”

“Supposing you are correct—and you cannot tell anyone that I admitted to anything—” he sternly added with one finger in the air, “supposing that you are correct and I am part of the Circus—or has connections to anyone in the said club—why would you want that? What advantage is there for you?”

She smiled. “You and the Circus will be my security.”

“From what?”

“I have my reasons,” she said, tearing her gaze from his. “Secrets I cannot share with you for now.”

She stole him a glance when he let out a long sigh. “Ali,” he began, obviously trying to be patient, “I told you I am willing to wait another fourteen years for your secrets, but please do answer one thing for me.”

When her eyes returned to him, his hazel ones were no longer the foxed Ollie she was used to, but the serious Dr. St. Vincent that rarely showed himself. “Are you in any type of danger? Is your life on the line?”

She blinked for she heard the etch of anger and immense concern behind his words. “No. I mean, I am keeping my secrets not to protect myself, but the people I care for and that includes you, Ollie. I cannot allow Belcourt to make rash choices simply because they think I am working against them; and once they do start to think that way, they will suspect everyone I am involved with, and given our relationship, you will be one of the people they will be interested in.”

He looked at her for a long time, the air around him grave and dangerous. Aliya was unsure if she wanted to see more of this side of him. Finally, he sighed, and in a blink, her Ollie was back. He leaned against his chair and rolled his eyes in frustration. “You make a good point that I hate it.”

Her lips stretched into a smile. “I am glad that you understand.”

“I could say that I do not care if I get involved, but I do have to think about my family. They almost did not cross my mind. And Jason. Good Lord, how will he ever survive an attack from Belcourt? If they get their hands on my perfect butler, he will give them thorough and specific details about the St. Vincents. We cannot let that happen.”

Aliya’s laughter echoed in the parlor. “Stop it, Ollie.” She stood to her feet and reached for his hand. “I have been living in your villa for three days now and you are yet to prove to me that Jason is less than loyal.” He stood and towered over her. “We have to be very careful, Ollie. Belcourt suspects you, Sasha most of all.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. “My lady, I am Oliver St. Vincent. Even my mother is unsure of what breed of animal I am from. Belcourt can suspect and investigate me all they want, but they will never prove anything.”

She grinned, “Then I am glad you chose me,” she said, rising to her toes to kiss his lips. His mouth followed hers when she stepped back and they shared a laughing kiss before it turned hungry and hot.

With a groan, St. Vincent withdrew and stumbled back. “Wedding first, woman.”

Aliya snorted and turned to the door. “People know that I am staying here as your mother’s guest, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And that we are dear friends.”

“Yes.”

“And dear friends can go out together to the park?”

“Of course. Have we not been doing that for the last three days? Nothing but that , as a matter of fact.”

She turned to face him. “Then I wish to go to Birth.”

He blinked. “Birth?”

She nodded. “But we cannot stay in the same villa. We must find something—”

“My father owns a villa in Birth.”

“He does? Then why did you stay—”

“You insisted that I stay in Hartcaster’s villa and I obliged.” He continued to frown at her. “But why do you wish to go to Birth?”

“To celebrate my birthday with a friend, of course.”

His eyes rounded in surprise. “Good God, you are getting old, Ali.”

She rushed toward him and he laughingly stepped to the side to escape her attack. In three big steps, he reached the door and flung it open. “Jason! Pack my clothes and have a maid help Ali with hers!”

---

Two days later, Aliya and Oliver were in Birth, in his father’s villa.

She went straight to the beach and watched the waves, and Oliver went to join her. It was quite chilly, but it was bearable.

“You have very little hair for the wind to blow,” she said, turning her head to look up at him.

He playfully grabbed her to his side. “I might start thinking that you said yes to marrying me to see my hair grow back again.”

“That may be one of the reasons.”

He smiled. “So, there are more reasons why you agreed to the marriage?”

“Of course. Why would you think I would marry you just to be close to the Circus? If I wanted only that, Ollie, I could just go straight to West Blackwood who I am certain is a member.”

“He is a rather dry man.”

“And you can be obnoxious.”

“Quite true, but you would not enjoy a dry man.”

She grinned and looked back at the ocean before them. “No, I would not.”

He kissed the top of her head and murmured, “Happy birthday, Ali.”

“Thank you,” she replied, wrapping her arm around his waist.

“The wind is feeding me with your hair,” he said, stepping away from her. “Let us go back inside. We can dine later on the balcony if you wish.”

She wordlessly allowed him to lead her back to the villa and while he did, Oliver could not help but wonder if she was feeling all right. She had been under Belcourt’s control for ten years. Freedom must be new to her.

“I have to change,” she said, letting go of his hand.

He watched her climb up the stairs.

The Royal Circus would not find his impending marriage to a former Belle thrilling.

They would think he was insane.

But then, Oliver St. Vincent had always been insane.

---

After a simple dinner at the balcony, they decided to take another stroll by the beach. The sun was setting and the sand was cold under their bare feet.

Aliya felt like she was living someone else’s life. Her hand was being held by a man who was not a gentleman of Belcourt. She was having a conversation about the most trivial of things, and she was thinking of how her wedding would be like.

It felt odd. She should be ecstatic, but she was not. Her reality still hovered above her despite her freedom.

St. Vincent was right. She was not free of Belcourt until her Vow was redeemed. And she feared that Vow would be her next nightmare. It would haunt her waking hours, torment her nights.

Had there been another way, she would have already taken it. But this was her reality. She simply had to face the fact that Belcourt had the upper hand. And it would continue to do so until she was done with her Vow.

Or if Belcourt was destroyed.

“What if the secrets we keep from each other become a hindrance in the future?” St. Vincent asked, squeezing her hand.

Aliya tucked her hair behind one ear. “Then we have to be wise. We have to discuss them.”

“And what if they start to create the problem?”

“I am quite certain that we will recognize it when that happens. For now, I simply cannot share everything with you, Ollie. I do not know how you fair with torture.”

He burst out laughing. “You are quite right. One look from my mother and I spill everything.”

She stopped walking and faced him. “Ollie, what do we tell your mother?”

“That she is to be a mother-in-law, of course.”

“I am serious.”

“And so am I. She does not need explanations, Ali. She is a very perceptive woman.”

“And your father?”

He grinned. “You will know once you meet the man.”

“And your sister?”

“I do not have one.”

“You said you do.”

“Ah, that woman who came from my mother’s womb?”

She snorted. “Ollie, I am serious.”

“One thing you have to know about Ellise is that she is a bloody mirror.”

“A what?”

“Talking to her is like talking to a mirror—cold and brutally honest.”

“Would you say that I should be extra wary of her than I should around your mother?”

“I say that you treat her like you would a mirror. You stare at her and talk, but only if you have to. Then you turn your back and leave after you are done.”

“Surely she is not that—”

“She is.”

Aliya sighed. “Sometimes it frustrates me that I cannot tell if you are speaking the truth or not.”

“Fret not,” he said, “I will very rarely lie to you.”

“That does not sound reassuring.”

“So does your decision that we keep to our secrets. But for future reference, if you do discover I am lying, it is mostly because I am trying to protect you, or I am simply being a fool—to which you can respond harshly.”

She shrugged. “Fair.”

He looked into her eyes and bent down to kiss her. “You taste like sherry.”

“I sure hope that you are talking about the drink and not a woman’s name, Ollie,” she murmured against his mouth.

He grinned. “I had a patient named sherry.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I am not interested,” she snapped, angling her head to the right, opening wide for his hungry onslaught. Soon, sherry, both the drink and the patient, was forgotten.

And soon, she found herself on the sand with St. Vincent on top of her, his hand under the skirts of her dress.

“No one will see us here,” she rasped in his ear, gasping as his hand slipped into her drawers.

“Yes, but we cannot do it now,” he said with a groan against her throat. The rough bristles on his jaw heightened her senses.

“Of course, we can,” she whimpered, moving against his hand.

And all of a sudden, he stilled. He leaned away and looked down at her with a grin. “No.”

Her hand desperately searched for his breeches and he jumped away from her with a laugh. “You are one dangerous woman, Aliya,” he said, scrambling to his feet. He pulled her up in one swift motion and righted her dress. Kissing the scowl off her face, he said, “Wedding first, darling. And then I am all yours.”

Aliya rolled her eyes. Brushing his hand off, she walked away.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a chuckle.

“To get a cold bath!” she furiously shouted over her shoulder.

---

“Not until the wedding,” Aliya sleepily groaned the next day. She was staring blankly at the curtains from across her bed. She had thought Birth would do the trick and yet here she was, alone in a bloody bedchamber while St. Vincent was at the other end of the villa.

She rolled out of bed and dressed.

He was already breaking his fast when she arrived. Her eyes went straight to the glass of brandy beside his plate. Making no comment, she settled in the chair to his left.

“How was your sleep?”

“Utterly still,” she replied as the servant served her a plate of eggs and rolls. He looked quite fresh. His hair was disheveled as it naturally was, the bristles on his chin shorter—he shaved again—and the white shirt seemed ironed. She looked down and realized her dress was a mess and her hair, she was certain, was far from perfect. “I slept without my nightdress,” she could not help but say. He choked on his food. “Under the covers,” she added, enjoying the dark look in his eyes. And finally, giving him the sweetest smile, Aliya whispered, “I will still be in the same state of undress later tonight.”

“Ali,” he said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat, grabbed his brandy, and took a big gulp. He swallowed hard. “Ali,” he repeated, taking her hand over the table, “I have the best restrain amongst the male species all over Sutherland. What you are trying to do is not working.”

“Why do I feel that I should be insulted by that statement?” she asked.

He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her lips. “You are hard to resist, darling, but I have made my vow. I will not copulate with you until you are wearing a ring.”

“Copulate—can you use a different word?”

“Which one? Mate? Sex? Fornicate?”

She blinked. “Mind not, I shall pretend that you said the words make love .”

“Ah,” he grinned. “You are a romantic.”

“And you are not?”

“Do you want me to be?”

Again, Aliya blinked and let out a helpless sigh. “Just be Ollie.”

---

That afternoon, Oliver took Aliya to the small town in Birth.

With no one to recognize them, they enjoyed their stroll. She walked into a shop that sold trinkets and refused to come out.

“I will be at the bookshop next door,” he told her as she frowned down at a round pendant. “Ali,” he prodded.

“Yes, yes,” she murmured.

Oliver rolled his eyes and glared at the owner. “This is witchcraft,” he told her. “You enchant women!”

The woman just laughed as he walked out. He entered the shop merely a few paces away and looked through the selection, aisle by aisle, picking a book now and then only to realize he had read it. Quickly losing interest, Oliver went to grab a copy of the Sutherland Post and perused it with very little attention.

He was reading the current bills being fought over in parliament when Aliya found him. “What are you reading?” she asked. He showed her and she turned around with disinterest. He blindly followed her as she walked down one aisle.

“Did you procure anything?” he asked, flipping a page.

“No. That shop was selling odd things.” She turned to face him, walking backward. He looked up and instantly recognized the wicked smile on her face. He looked over both shoulders and narrowed his eyes at her. “What?” she asked, batting her innocent eyes.

He shook his head and she chuckled. She walked toward him and Oliver stepped back. “No, Ali, are you bloody crazy!” he hissed when she caught his arm.

“Just one,” she whispered, pulling his coat. “I have always wanted to do this.”

He looked around. “You mean this is one of your fantasies?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her to the far corner of the shop.

“Yes, of course,” she said, pulling him behind the shelf, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I think I am marrying a wanton,” he growled against her mouth, pressing her against the wall. He wrapped his arms around her, his one hand still holding the paper. She tasted like how he remembered and he did not want it to change. They stilled when they heard the door open. And then a man’s voice started talking with the shop owner and Aliya’s mouth was back on him, hungry and almost angry. If this was his punishment for last night, he was gladly suffering.

“Stop, stop, darling, Ali—stop,” he murmured, pulling away from her. When she scowled, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Should I remind you that it was you who wanted to delay the wedding?”

“Yes, but we can—”

“And you know that I will not touch you until we are wed,” he sternly reminded her. Stealing a kiss, he chuckled and turned around.

His laughter rumbled in his chest when he heard her loud sigh. Pretending to have not been unnerved by the kiss, he opened the paper again.

And then he froze.

She came to stand beside him when he hissed, “Ali!”

“What now?” she asked.

He showed her the paper. She read and snatched it from his hands.

Her eyes widened. And then she groaned.

Assessing her reaction, he carefully said, “Should I remind you that it was your idea to stay in my villa? And coming to Birth also happened to be your wish—”

She covered his mouth with her hand to stop his words. “I know,” she groaned.

He chuckled, snatching the paper from her. “Ali, you just made your first scandal.”

“It is not a scandal. It is gossip.”

“It will sprout as a scandal soon.” He read the page again. “However did they know you have been living in the villa?”

“We did not truly make it a secret,” she groaned.

“And Birth? How did they know about—”

“I care not,” she said, walking past him. “We might as well marry the soonest we can.”

“You are jesting, or are you serious?”

“I am saying that your mother will soon find out, Ollie. And I know what she will do.”

“Are you angry?”

“No, not really,” she said, walking out of the shop.

Oliver hastily paid for the paper and found Aliya waiting outside. She was frowning.

“Honestly, I wanted to point out that however long or short our betrothal is, Belcourt will still eventually know that we are married. We might as well not give them the chance to do anything because I will not have a tragic ending with you, Ali.”

She snorted. “Why would you think we will have a tragic ending?”

He blinked. “Well, I have heard about Sasha and the Duke of Eaton.”

“Of course, you heard about

it,“ she droned, rolling her eyes. Then she fixed her gaze on him. “I am not Sasha, Ollie.”

“I know.”

“My loyalty lies somewhere else.”

The statement was skeptical, but he would have it. “That is good to know.”

“And when we are married, my loyalty will belong to you as well.”

He grinned and grabbed her hand to steal a chaste kiss. “Perhaps we can stay here for the rest of the week. How would you like that? We can let the gossip die a little.”

For the next two days, Aliya and Oliver did not leave the villa.

He would go on a run in the morning while she would read books or make an accounting of her money as she would call it.

In the afternoon, they would take a walk by the beach. By evening, she would try to seduce him again and fail.

But on the morning of their fourth day in Birth, they were awakened by a loud, rowdy voice from down the hall.

Cursing under his breath, Oliver rushed to the door and found Aliya already at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed as she hugged her silk robe around her.

“You must be Aliya!” Oliver heard the boisterous voice say and he groaned.

He rushed to Aliya’s side and the two of them stared at the three people standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“I am assuming this is the rest of the St. Vincents?” Aliya murmured beside him, consciously brushing her fingers through her sleep-tousled auburn hair.

He sighed, forcing a smile on his face as his father’s giant form climbed up the steps, face brightly smiling at Aliya. His mother’s impassive face was tilted high as she stared straight at them from the bottom of the stairs. And beside Natalia St. Vincent was his sister, her apathetic eyes studying Aliya. He groaned. “I am afraid so.”

XVII | The St. Vincents

St. Vincent’s family was entirely odd.

Aliya easily learned where her future husband took his boisterous personality. Simon St. Vincent was as loud and unforgivingly honest as his son. His large built, hazel eyes and greying unruly hair gave Aliya a picture of her husband’s future.

She was not given enough time to assess Ellise St. Vincent, the brown-haired woman sitting very quietly beside her equally stoic mother because Simon St. Vincent was monopolizing the conversation.

“Now, tell me, child, why did you decide to marry my son?” St. Vincent’s father asked, his hazel eyes very much like his son’s—filled with mirth and excitement. “What did he promise you?”

St. Vincent loudly cleared his throat behind Aliya who was sitting in the middle of the parlor where they convened after the couple hastily dressed.

“He did not promise me anything,” Aliya said, unsure if her statement was a lie.

“He promised to take you out of Belcourt, did he not?” asked Natalia St. Vincent.

Aliya veered her eyes toward the woman. “He did, yes.”

“I also promised that I will be a good husband,” St. Vincent growled.

“How much did you pay Belcourt?” his father asked, looking past Aliya to curiously gaze at his son.

“I paid for my way out on my own,” Aliya replied.

Natalia St. Vincent frowned. “Why would you do that? You should have let him pay.”

“Because it is my freedom? And because he is not a gentleman of Belcourt. It is against the law to solicit money from someone who is not a gentleman, or a flower as what we call them.”

The word flower elicited a scoff from Ellise before she sighed beside her mother, her eyes drooping as though the conversation was starting to bore her.

“The first thing we read when we arrived in Coulway is the scandal that the two of you have wrought,” Natalia told her son. “You did not only openly welcome Aliya into your villa, but you also brought her to Birth without a companion, all in the pretense that she is my guest. Did you truly believe the townfolks could easily be dimwitted by your obvious lack of strategy, Oliver?”

“It was all her idea,” St. Vincent said, planting a band on Aliya’s shoulder, which she immediately shook off. “But I do admit that they were done with my full support. We are not hiding our relationship, Mother. No strategy was ever concocted.”

“Of course, you are not. You were flaunting it, my boy!” his father said with a laugh, standing to fix himself a drink. “I would not call it a scandal, darling,” he said to his wife.

His father scowled from the liquor cabinet. “Do you mean to tell me then, Oliver, that you will let your wife suffer such a bad reputation?”

“No, of course not—”

“You marry immediately,” Natalia ordered, cutting St. Vincent’s statement. “Your reputation is bad enough.”

“Now, now, Mother. Aliya’s reputation is not—”

“She did not mean Aliya’s reputation, Oliver,” Ellise dryly interjected while she gave her brother a sardonic look.

“My reputation is quite all right.”

“You are visibly demented,” his father said with mock awe.

“Old man, I am the only living thing in this room that can be possibly related to you,” he shot at his father. The man chuckled while Natalia rolled her eyes. “And Belles have a fairly bad reputation as well,” Aliya heard St. Vincent add under his breath and she looked over her shoulder to throw him a sharp look. He cleared his throat. “Aliya wishes to wait a while for the wedding,” he said to his mother.

“No, of course not,” Aliya hastily added, looking at Natalia with a smile. “I already told you we can wed soon, Ollie.”

“You can take your time, dear,” Simon said, facing Aliya with brandy in his hand. “I do not want the two of you regretting the marriage later on.” Over his shoulder, he said to his wife, “Of course, I was not talking about us, dear.”

Ignoring her husband, Natalia St. Vincent stood to her feet. “If you are fine with the idea, Aliya, I wish for the wedding to happen here in Birth.”

Aliya blinked. “But we have not prepared anything thus far.”

“Those are already taken care of,” Natalia said dismissively.

“I did tell you she has been planning for a wedding, Ali,” St. Vincent said, stepping beside her. “But she has to agree first, Mother,” he added to Natalia.

Natalia, Simon, and even Ellise looked at Aliya.

This was not how typical Sutherland families arranged marriages, Aliya knew. This was by far the oddest meeting between a bride and her in-laws.

“We can wait longer,” Simon St. Vincent said, smiling at her through his grayish thick, bushy beard. “You can take your time.”

But they were still looking at her as though she would say, ‘No, I shall give you an answer now.’

She cleared her throat. “I feel uncomfortable at the moment.”

“Stop staring at her,” St. Vincent ordered his family who all blinked and looked away. He took her hand and guided her to her feet. “Ali and I will talk first, and no—” he added, raising a finger at his parents to stop any protest, “—you are done trying to convince her.”

“You may convince her to run away, son!” Simon called out after them.

“I convinced her to marry me, Father! There is no more convincing to do!” St. Vincent roared over his shoulder as he guided Aliya out of the room, up the flight of stairs and into the study.

She whirled around to face him as he locked the door. “Your family is peculiar, Ollie.”

“I never said they are normal.”

She scoffed and then she started to laugh. “Good Lord, Ollie, how do I live with them?”

“You do not have to. You will live with me.”

She laughed harder and took the steps toward him, wrapping her arm around his neck. He dipped his head to kiss her.

“Your sister is quite beautiful, but she is too stoic. I fear she is worse than your mother.”

“She is not my sister,” he said, kissing her again. “She is not even human.” At the sharp look she gave him, he chuckled against her mouth. “I am jesting. She stays in Herst with our father and has her own life there. Now, give me a proper kiss.”

Aliya opened her mouth and closed her eyes, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, pulling her up against his chest, lifting her almost off the ground. He tore his mouth from hers and trailed kisses along her jaw; his hand was just right beside her breast, teasing her as he always did. She squirmed in his arms. “Should we follow my mother’s advice?” he asked in her ear, blowing hot air that sent waves of tingling sensations through her arms.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, moving her head in search of his mouth. They started to aimlessly sway around as they kissed, lost in the sensations, and the new truth that they were going to be married soon—here, in Birth. Cupping his face, she leaned away to look into his eyes. “Yes.”

He grinned and cocked his brows at her. “You cannot wait to get me to bed, can you?”

Pulling his head back down toward her, Aliya murmured, “Yes.”

---

As Aliya exited her room later that afternoon to join the St. Vincents for supper, she was surprised to find Ellise St. Vincent standing just beside her door wearing a white muslin shirt tucked underneath a pair of buckskins.

Her straight, long brown hair was tied high behind her head and the tail was left to dangle like a horse’s tail, baring her full face to Aliya. Earlier, her hair had been donned and she was wearing a dress, complete with a beautiful pelisse.

Tonight, she looked quite different.

Since she was still wearing the same stoic look on her face, Aliya could only judge St. Vincent’s sister by her choice of clothing. Her outfit earlier when hey first arrived must have been Natalia’s doing. This—this woman before her—was the real Ellise St. Vincent.

Being this close to the woman, Aliya also realized that her future sister-in-law was not just tall—she was slender and exquisitely beautiful. And she shared St. Vincent’s hazel eyes.

“We had no chance to talk earlier,” the woman said, voice flat and calm.

“No, we did not,” Aliya said, assuming a cold tone. She did not even know why, but she felt she had to protect herself from this woman. “I did not realize you wanted to talk.”

“No, I did not,” said Ellise, meeting her gaze. “I just want to relay something. I fear that our parents will occupy most of your time from now on if my besotted brother does not. Before anything else, I want to make something clear. I will only have this discussion with you once, Aliya, for I hate repeating myself.”

For someone younger than her, Ellise St. Vincent could easily make Aliya feel inferior simply by her tone and her gaze.

“First of all,” Ellise said, looking at her up and down before settling on her eyes again. “I do like you.”

Completely taken aback, Aliya blinked a few times in disbelief. “You do?”

“Yes.”

Good Lord, St. Vincent was right. Talking to his sister was like talking to a bloody mirror. You get what you get and you could not expect anything more.

“But I do not like my brother. Do you know why?” Ellise asked. Aliya simply stared at her, aware that the woman would answer the question regardless of her answer. “People overestimate his size and his intellect, but he is far from belligerent and wise. He can be very sentimental and soft as a silk stocking.” Aliya opened her mouth to disagree, but when Ellise added, “So be very careful,” she blinked in confusion.

“Careful?”

“Do not hurt him.”

Aliya coughed in surprise and she covered it by clearing her throat.

“Do you understand me?” Ellise asked. “You do not hurt my brother.”

Aliya nodded. She was lost for words.

Aliya had always prided herself with her talent to remain in control, but there she was, biting her lips to fight off the laughter, while Ellise St. Vincent faced her with her expression the same as it was their conversation started.

“That is all,” Ellise said, turning away from her.

Aliya scoffed as she watched the woman walk away, strides long and certain, her hair swaying with each step.

Belatedly, she followed Ellise downstairs into the dining room and arrived just in time to hear Natalia St. Vincent comment on her daughter’s clothing.

“You are not in Herst, darling,” she said. “Did I not tell you not to bring your pants?”

Ellise wordlessly sat beside the woman.

“Let her be,” said Simon. “She will wear a dress on the wedding day, will you not, darling?”

“Of course,” Ellise replied. “If you do not drag me into a ball this season.”

“I will not dream of it!” Simon cried out with a laugh. “But your brother will.”

“No, I will not,” St. Vincent said, standing to assist Aliya in the chair beside his. “She is a wallflower. She is practically on her way to the shelf!”

“I am,” said Ellise. “And I have no qualms about it.”

“Nonsense. You will find a husband. And you will attend a few balls, Ellise,” said Natalia. “You missed last year’s season.”

Ellise ignored her mother and Aliya bit her lips again.

Natalia sighed and turned to her. “Once you marry Oliver, you will have to help me with my daughter.”

Aliya smiled. “I will be very happy to do that, my lady.”

“And you can stop addressing me as such, Aliya,” said the woman. “You may call me Natalia.”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“Simon for you, my dear,” St. Vincent’s father said from the head of the table. “And Father after the wedding.”

Aliya swallowed the lump in her throat. She smiled at her future father-in-law. “Yes, of course, Simon.”

---

Oliver finished his glass of brandy and poured himself another while his father watched from his seat by the fire.

“Are you certain about this, Oliver?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, going back to his chair across the old man, crossing his leg over the other.

“And how certain are you that she is not spying on us?”

He shrugged. “I cannot say. I simply feel that she is not.”

“The Circus will force you to use her.”

He shrugged. “We shall see. Once she is my wife, the Circus will be forced to protect her.”

“Son, she is from Belcourt. Considering what we suffered after Elizabeth Blackwood, you are bound to be tested.”

“I know, but Aliya is not Elizabeth Blackwood.”

“What does Eaton think?”

“He is not against it, but he is not happy about it.”

“And Lord Darcy?”

“Always doubtful and suspicious, of course.”

His father nodded. “She will be tested.”

“I know.”

“And as her husband, you will have to let it happen.”

Oliver hung his head back and stared at the ceiling with a sigh. “I know.”

---

By now, Aliya had gotten used to Natalia St. Vincent. The woman invited her to tea in the parlor with Ellise who chose to stay in one corner, sitting as still as a statue, doing nothing.

“Being Oliver’s wife will not only mean being a wife of a doctor, Aliya,” said Natalia. “You will soon realize that it requires great responsibility from your part.”

“I understand.”

“People in his circle, the very few of them, will not be friendly in the beginning.”

Aliya felt chills run up her spine. Was Natalia talking about the Circus?

Seeing the question in her eyes, Natalia’s lips twitched into a small smile. “You will discover things sooner or later. You are a wise woman.”

“Yes.”

“But I want an honest woman for my son.”

Again, the chilling sensation. “Oliver and I have talked about how to deal with our secrets.”

Natalia slowly nodded. “Soon, you will realize that secrets in a marriage will bring nothing but destruction. I hope that the two of you will learn to trust each other.”

“We do trust each other, and we care for each other. Which is why we are dealing with our secrets accordingly.”

Again, the woman nodded. “Good. Because you will be tested.”

Aliya frowned. “Tested?”

Natalia sighed. “You will learn soon enough.” Giving Aliya no time to ask further, she asked, “Are you ready to be a St. Vincent? It shall not be easy—and I am not talking about us. We are talking about the variety of burdens that are attached to the name.”

Aliya swallowed, turned to stare at Ellise who only stared back at her, and looked back at Natalia’s blank face.

She squared her shoulders, looked into her future mother-in-law’s light green eyes, and smiled. “Yes.”

XVIII | A Very Normal Wedding

Aliya did not hesitate to invite all Belles to the wedding. Merely a few managed to arrive, which was fine with Aliya.

If the other Belles were thinking that she had been deceptive by not announcing her engagement with Oliver St. Vincent earlier, she cared very little. As St. Vincent had told her, the Belles could investigate him and they would not find anything.

Aliya wanted Fatima, Carrie, and Shay at the wedding, but that was not possible. The three women had not yet been assigned to any Belle and were bound to stay in Belcourt. And she would have wanted Delaney there, but her sister was the last person Belcourt would permit to attend her wedding.

She had to be satisfied with the fact that she had some of her friends in attendance.

Wearing her giant white dress, Aliya peered through the door that hid her from the guests. She scanned the Belles sitting on the other side of the church. Ruby, Summer, and Jade were in attendance. Sasha was not.

“Aliya, it is time,” Ellise said behind her. She turned away from the door and saw St. Vincent’s sister wearing a dress that had been prepared for her by Natalia for the occasion, the one dress that was the center of a lot of arguments in the week before the wedding. “How long do you suppose the wedding will last?” the woman asked as she helped Aliya gather the train of her dress.

“Why?”

“I feel terribly itchy all over.”

Aliya smiled. “Ollie and I will try to make it as short as possible.”

Ellise nodded and straightened to full height. “Oliver did not invite any of his friends for a reason. I hope you do not think he does not have any.”

“I completely understand, Ellise,” she replied.

With another nod, Ellise opened the door for her. “Let us get this over with, Aliya. My brother has been standing by the altar for an hour now.”

Aliya took a lungful of breath.

This was her wedding. Wedding! Good Lord, who would have thought she would be in this situation after leaving Belcourt?

This was never part of the plan.

Ellise turned and cocked her brows in question.

Aliya nodded and she waited until Ellise was standing at the end of the aisle and everyone in the small church in Birth fell silent, turning their heads with expectation.

Aliya squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She knew she looked beautiful today. She only needed her pride and confidence to appear perfect.

She summoned both and then she walked out the door.

---

Oliver’s chest swelled with pride as he watched Aliya walk toward him—alone and confident.

She was far from the fourteen-year-old girl he met on the cruise. She had no monkey sitting on her shoulder. She had on a veil and a bouquet in her hand. Her hair was tied in an intricate bun behind her, curls left to the side of her face to tease her beautiful face.

Soon, she would be his.

He took off his bowler hat and threw it to the side, much to his mother’s chagrin. Ignoring the look of displeasure from the woman, his eyes locked with his bride.

Finally, she reached him and he hesitated. Was this truly what she wanted? The only family she had was not here to witness the moment. She had her friends, but were they truly her friends?

But the smile on her face as she reached for his arm told him otherwise.

“Who are you?” she asked, looking at him with mock horror. “What have you done to my fiancé?”

“Mother found the scissors,” he droned, leading her to the vicar. “And Jason has been holding the razor since last night.”

“We should talk with them, Ollie,” she murmured as they both smiled at the vicar. “From this moment on, your hair and beard are all mine.”

Oliver looked at the vicar. “I believe we have to make the ceremony short, Reverend. My bride has much to claim after this.”

The vicar’s eyes widened with displeasure. The parish clerk cleared his throat and covered his smile with a fist.

“Shall we begin?” Oliver asked, his voice loud, echoing around the church, causing a few guests to chuckle.

Simon St. Vincent stood as Oliver’s attendant and official witness. Aliya, not wishing to choose any of the Belles to stand as her attendant, had chosen Lady Winthrop who gladly accepted the role. She would have chosen Lady Hartcaster if the lady was still alive.

As the vicar read from The Book of Common Prayer, Oliver patiently listened, taking Aliya’s hand in his, teasing the back of her gloved hand with his thumb. She threw him a look of warning. His mother cleared her throat behind them and they both straightened their backs.

Their vows were not special as they were read from the book and repeated by them both. Oliver slipped the simple silver ring around Aliya’s finger after it was blessed, following the vicar’s words. “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body…” he said with a wicked grin and Aliya bit her lips, “I thee worship,” he continued, giving her a wink at the last word before adding, “and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Aliya was struggling to keep her laughter under control as Oliver turned to the vicar and whispered, “Are we done?”

“No,” was the vicar’s stern reply, eyes glaring as he continued with the communion. As if testing Oliver’s patience, the man recited scriptures and prayers from his book in a manner so slow he was obviously punishing the couple.

The ceremony merely proved to be even more tedious until it was over and their marriage was finally registered.

The cheers were delayed until they were outside the church where seeds and rice were tossed at them, mostly by Lady Jane’s two granddaughters who seemed to enjoy the throwing more than the celebration.

Their wedding reception took place by the beach behind Simon St. Vincent’s villa.

“Weddings ought to be held in the afternoons,” he grumbled beside Aliya very much later. “Not in the morning.”

“That is not done, Ollie, you know that,” she said, taking his hand. “Ellise said that your friends cannot attend for certain reasons and I think I know why.”

He rolled his eyes. “My mother’s friends are here, that is more important,” he sardonically stated. “This is her wedding after all.”

She laughed, looking at the guests before them. “Lady Jane and Mrs. Johnson seem to have taken an interest in my friends.”

“The Royal Circus is not Belcourt’s greatest enemy, Ali. It’s the bloody gossipmongers.”

“Ms. Beverly is nowhere in sight.”

“She and Dian took to the parlor to be with the dogs.”

“Do not call children dogs, Ollie.”

“Once they stop barking and biting, I will.” He faced her and held her chin. “How does it feel to be carrying my name, Mrs. St. Vincent?”

She blinked. “Odd, really. I will now be considered part of the oddest family in Sutherland.”

He dipped his head and kissed her lips. “Come, wife, let us pretend to enjoy our guests. And then you can take a nap.”

“Nap?”

Her eyes darkened he almost changed his mind. They could disappear into their bedchamber now.

He growled low with frustration. “ Nap . Later. Now, guests first.“

---

Aliya spent the rest of the afternoon saying goodbye to the Belles who attended the wedding, but was instead bombarded with questions.

How did she meet Oliver St. Vincent? How did he convince her to marry him?

She had been unable to control her giggles at church earlier. She was besotted! Did she fancy him that much?

Avoiding any answer, Aliya promised to satisfy their curiosities the next time they meet.

The last Belle to leave was Summer and she stood watching the woman’s carriage drive away with a smile.

She had left Belcourt and she ought to be happy. But having the Belles at her wedding was testimony that Belcourt was still part of her life.

The Belles would still be her friends.

She would still be welcome in Belcourt whenever she wanted to visit.

Was leaving truly the best option?

Her jaw tightened.

Of course, it was.

She was now free.

And she was now married.

Mrs. Aliya St. Vincent…

It was St. Vincent’s idea that she took his name. “Your father’s enemies may still be holding grudges,” was his statement and she agreed. Many still believed that the Gambler was alive.

“My lady, a bath has been prepared for you upstairs,” a maid said behind her. “And Doctor Oliver says you may want to have a nap.”

Aliya snorted. A nap .

“I will be right there,” she said, staring blankly at the road with a smile.

Ruby’s carriage was long gone.

Aliya turned and walked into the hallway.

A few guests had lingered and were being entertained by the St. Vincents.

As she took the flight of stairs, all other thoughts escaped her mind.

She was now married.

St. Vincent was no longer just St. Vincent. He was now officially her Oliver.

With a wicked smile, Aliya rushed to the bedchamber prepared for her and Oliver.

She burst inside and found him untying his cravat.

She closed the door and furtively locked it from behind. “Husband,” she greeted, walking toward him, her heart hammering against her chest.

“Wife,” he said, throwing his cravat toward her. She caught it with a laugh. He started to unbutton his waistcoat. She paused to stare, pulling at both ends of his cravat with anticipation building at the pit of her stomach. The waistcoat was smoothly discarded and flew to the air. She chuckled as she caught it and he winked at her as he worked on his shirt. “You have been impatiently patient.”

Aliya bit her lips. “I am almost at my limit, yes.”

He wriggled one eyebrow. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Aliya threw the cravat and waistcoat to the side and ran toward him. He caught her and she wrapped her legs around him.

He lost his balance and they stumbled toward the bed.

“Careful, careful…” he warned. “I do not want to fix more bones.”

Aliya rolled on top of him. “I have not had a lover for a long time, husband, so it is I who must ask the question. Are you ready?”

He shifted beneath her with a grunt. “You are heavier than I expected, Ali, but—” he said as she narrowed her eyes, “you are a perfect weight, a delicious burden I am willing to bear.” His hands came up to pluck the pearls from her hair. They jumped and rolled on the carpet nearby as he threw them one by one. Once her auburn waves were free, Aliya gathered them to one side so Oliver could open his mouth on her neck. “Bloody hell, Ali, why do I feel like a virgin? My stomach is jittery.”

Aliya buried her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder and laughed. “Do not make me laugh, Oliver.”

His hands worked on the buttons of her dress; hers on the rest of the buttons of his shirt. Once done, she restlessly slid her palm between them, biting her lip as his muscles tightened.

When her hand slipped under his pants, his eyes darkened and he growled, rolling with her on the bed, realizing too late that they had been lying on the edge. They both fell on the floor. Aliya cried in surprise, but Oliver was fast to wrap her in his large frame and curled to a ball around her, protecting her fall.

Lying very still, they assessed if they were still alive. And then they both burst out laughing. Aliya scrambled on the floor and moved to the nearest wall. “You stay there,” she said, shoulders shaking with laughter. “This is not working. We must be very calm and graceful about this.”

“Ali, this is not the time to be bloody calm or graceful,” her husband said, unbuttoning his pants. With not much struggle, he managed to kick it toward her where it landed near her feet.

She snorted and her hands flew to her mouth to cover the loud laugh that followed as he worked with his shoes. “Stop throwing your clothes at me!”

He pulled out his left leather shoe and threw it next to his pants.

Her laughter now uncontrollable, Aliya pulled away from the wall to discard her dress which he had successfully unbuttoned earlier. She let it drop to the ground, leaving her with naught but her shift, stays, drawers, stockings, and lace shoes. Bending down, she quickly unlaced her footwear and kicked each one toward his direction. As one shoe slipped under the bed and the other bounced on his thigh, Aliya gathered her dress and hauled it across the room toward Oliver who was struggling with his right shoe.

His low chuckles echoed in the room. His shoe landed with a thud against the wall, right next to her left leg.

“One of us is bound to get hurt, Ollie,” she said, walking toward him, loosening her stays behind her. He started toward her, body hunched with wicked intent and she threw the hard material toward him. He batted it aside with his arm and Aliya ran to the bed, this time landing and bouncing at the center.

He was instantly above her, crouched on all fours, grinning at her with his beautiful hazel eyes glinting with desire and mirth.

His mouth claimed hers, hungry and unforgiving. His hands pinned hers above her head, the movement hitching her breasts higher. Aliya was tormented, desperate to touch him as his mouth traced down her neck and at the peak of one breast.

“Oliver St. Vincent, let me go,” she rasped, squirming under him. With a chuckle, his hands freed her. She slipped her hands under his undesirables and he dutifully helped her slip it off him, rendering him completely naked above her.

Aliya reached for him but he pulled away, kneeling above her. “A little bit more patience, Ali,” he darkly whispered as his hands slid up her left stockinged thigh.

“You just told me this is no time to be calm and graceful,” she snarled.

“Ah, but this is the calm before the storm…” Ever so slowly, teasingly, he pulled at the ribbon that secured her stockings. Aliya held her breath, biting her lower lip as he stripped her stocking, his fingertips teasing her skin. He threw the silk material over his shoulder. The pair followed thereafter and by then, Aliya was completely breathless, her skin rendered too sensitive. She was too aware of many things—his hands and fingertips; his thighs and that part of him that made him a man— her man.

She lifted her hips with a moan of impatience and pleasure as he pulled her shift higher, revealing her drawers. He pulled at the strings. He bent low and kissed her over the thin material, drawing a growl from her throat. He chuckled and left the drawers loose around her hips as he transferred his attention on the shift, pulling it higher and following the trail with his mouth—over her belly, her ribs… and higher.

She loved this, she thought as the thin material revealed her breasts, his mouth quick to cover to tease and suckle. And he was there when the shift passed her head, claiming her mouth with intense hunger and heat.

She loved how easy and fun lovemaking with Oliver St. Vincent was. She loved that she could boldly stare at him—all of him—and feel no shame. She watched as he pulled her drawers off her legs, finally baring her to him. She was shamelessly confident and he was unforgivingly the same.

They pleasured each other with their mouths, their hands, and their breaths; with words spoken and growled; with the teasing trails of mouth and teeth, of palms and fingertips.

And when they finally joined, him slipping inside her with ease and warmth, stirring a new wave of desire, hunger, and need, Aliya wrapped her arm around his neck, hiding her tears. She knew it would be beautiful, but she did not know it would feel like home.

And when he moved gently, as though afraid he was hurting her, Aliya kissed him and told him in not so many words and pleas that she needed more.

And he showed her more than she asked for because that was how Oliver St. Vincent was. He always exceeded expectations. She asked for a tide, he gave her a wave. She asked for a hold and he gave her a powerful embrace.

His lovemaking was throwing her in the middle of the ocean during a storm. She was fighting for breath. And then she was being pulled down, drowning deep into the waters. She struggled, her body fighting the ultimate end, only to realize the end was just as satisfying because beneath the waters, there was calm and he was there with her to whisper words of comfort.

But Oliver was also the storm and he was not done. He sent more waves to bring her back to the raging surface where the torture resumed. He guided her to her destruction and he was there when she shattered, a million stars spreading across the clear sky after the storm—a beautiful wreckage.

Breathless, sated, and in a daze, Aliya’s hands languidly traveled down the hard planes of his back, feeling her yearning start to grow at the slick glide of her hand over his sweat-covered skin. She pulled her legs up, reveling at the feel of his hips against her thighs.

Gathering her in his arms, he rolled on the bed, still intimately connected to her, until she was straddling him. Her auburn waves a curtain around them, Aliya kissed his mouth, her tongue lazily dancing with his.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked against his mouth. She nuzzled his nose with hers, loving the feel of his bristles against her skin. “That you are not the first?”

His palms slid down the side of her hips and to her buttocks, pulling her closer to remind her of where she was. “No,” he said, his hazel eyes searching her face. “I care not how many men were before me, Ali. But I will bloody fight anyone who would try to be your last.”

She grinned, cupping his face. “Because you will have to be the last?”

“Permanently and consistently,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck. His arms closed around her tightly, pulling her against his length. “I can be quite possessive. Consider yourself warned.”

She chuckled. “Should I be threatened?”

“No, of course not. I know you like to be possessed.”

She wriggled her hips, a moan escaping her throat. “I do.”

He growled against her neck and rolled her on her back again. “You ought to be very grateful I am not done with you yet, wife. What we did was stormy copulation.”

She excitedly moistened her lips and swallowed. “And what are we going to do next?”

He loved her breast with his mouth and tongue. “Wrathful mating.”

She shut her eyes. His other hand covered the other breast. Stretched at his touch, lifting her hand to joining his as it teased and kneaded. “And after that?” she rasped.

“Sensual sex,” he murmured against her skin.

“And then?”

“Erotic fornication,” he said, his mouth traveling lower. Her other hand raked his hair, her breath hitching at the feel of his bristled chin and jaw grazing down her ribcage. The muscles on her abdomen tightened as his mouth opened to say, “And then we will have passionate, romantic lovemaking in the morning.”

“I would like that, but we do not have to wait until morning—”

The rest of her words were left unsaid as her husband showed her that they had more things to do.

XIX | Mr. and Mrs. Oliver St. Vincent

Natalie, Simon, and Ellise left Birth two days after the wedding to provide the new couple more time to be alone. It was Simon’s idea. Natalie only said yes when she realized that Ellise had gown fittings scheduled that week and a few balls to attend to in Coulway.

Aliya, of course, was only happy to be rid of her new family. She did not abhor their presence, but she would rather have her husband for herself for now before she faced the pressing problems that awaited her outside Birth.

During the first week of their marriage, Aliya also realized that Oliver had been deprived as much as she was. It seemed that he had been holding out, too, and had struggled greatly more than he let on before the wedding, for it was he who would grab her at every chance, steal kisses whenever he wanted, and make love to her wherever he thought they had a semblance of privacy.

And making love to Oliver St. Vincent was not just purely sensual and erotic. It was also fun. Aliya had never spent too much time laughing while watching a man strip in full daylight with the sunlight spilling behind him; she had never had to break from the heady, steamy desire of being consumed by him just to laugh out loud at a remark he rumbled against her ear; and Aliya had never been tickled mercilessly in bed until she was weeping.

Then, there were moments when hilarity and waywardness would leave him, and he would just look at her with tenderness and passion. She often found herself searching for him at the most unexpected moments whenever the picture of him silently unbuttoning his shirt would flash in her mind. Those rare moments when he would allow her to see the different side of him—the solemn, enigmatic Oliver St. Vincent.

When they were not naked or hiding behind closed doors to ravish each other, Aliya and Oliver spent their time walking along the beach during the morning after his run and at night after they had their tea.

For five days, they did not discuss anything but the number of moles he counted all over her body, or how he would wake her up at night and start to slowly make love to her until she was wanton with desire.

She also witnessed him grab a drink whenever he could. He would do so after they made love when he thought she was asleep; he would steal a few moments to be alone in the study where she knew he was emptying a bottle of brandy. Aliya knew he was aware of the problem and she wanted him to willingly figure out on his own how to address it. And so she let him. She did not distract him as she was initially inclined to do. No, distraction was never a good strategy. Perhaps in the future, when she could no longer stand the uncontrollable habit, they would find a way to reach a compromise.

With Aliya choosing to be temporarily blind to Oliver’s drinking, the five, glorious days they shared alone were free of any serious discussions. No secrets were shared, and no plans for the future were brought up.

Ultimately, it was Oliver who finally broke the spell during one of their nightly walks. The water was quite harsh that night, the wind blowing harder than it did the previous day.

“We have to discuss our married life now, Ali,” he said, eliciting a chuckle from her. “I am very serious, wife.”

“I know, but you must hear yourself. You address the matter as if it is one of your many experiments.”

“Any relationship is an experiment. There are tests and trials to go through. There is an ultimate result. And in our case, I wish for this experiment to be a success.”

She looped her arm around his. “Then what do you wish to discuss? Both of us are new to this.”

“For one, how is this supposed to work?”

She frowned. “Well, I do not know. My father was a killer.”

“And mine sawed limbs.”

“Your mother might have an inkling.”

“My mother is a dead woman.”

“But Ollie, surely you must have witnessed how they managed to make their marriage work!”

He did not answer for a long while and when he did, Aliya’s jaw clenched. “They never kept secrets.” Noting her reaction, he said, “But we are different, darling. We are a different breed, the two of us.”

Aliya paused in her tracks and her husband did the same. Facing her, he ran his fingers through her hair and push them to the other side before he cupped her face with his large hand. “Now that you are out of Belcourt, I assume that there is something you must do.”

She smiled, leaning into his hand. “Yes.”

“And you could not have done it while you were a Belle?”

“No.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Because if Belcourt finds out, you will be punished.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I can even keep you safe by keeping my secrets. You always seem to know how to draw them out of me.”

Laughter rumbled out of his chest and he sighed, pulling her closer. “Do you know what else I wish to draw from you?”

Aliya shivered when she felt his hand furtively work on the buttons of her back. “What?” she inquired, chuckling at their wickedness, looking over his shoulder and hers to see if anyone was about. Her hand slid down to unclasp the band of his trousers as soon as she realized that nothing but the harsh waves and the open night sky stood witness.

“I want to draw the loudest cry from you,” he said in between soft, light kisses.

“Do not dare me, Ollie,” she said, slipping her hand inside his trousers, biting his lower lip as he groaned. “I howl like the wind.”

---

Their arrival back in Strait was respectively reported on the Sutherland Post, followed by the arrival of Natalia and Ellise, much to Aliya and Oliver’s disappointment.

“We thought you said you will be staying in Coulway for the season?” Oliver asked.

“We were,” Natalia said wryly.

“And Father?”

“Coulway, where else? He takes every chance to announce that his son is now married.”

“And why are you here again?”

“Your sister is proving to be rather difficult.”

“Being difficult was not my goal. I meant to be impossible,” Ellise droned from the corner of the room, dressed in a white shirt and a pair of buckskins.

“If you have the time, Aliya, will you be her companion?” Natalia asked. “Show her how a season should be enjoyed.”

“Now, mother, my wife has things to do—” Oliver started to protest, but Aliya stopped him, saying, “I will be happy to do so, Natalia. I may be visiting Coulway soon.”

“Thank you. We are also here because of a more pressing concern than Ellise’s inability to enjoy the season in Coulway,” Natalia said, ringing for Jason. “The two of you should change for the afternoon. We have callers on the way. Unless you have not noticed, you are the talk of the town again. It is best we feed these people’s curiosity and have them move on to the next big gossip.”

The days that followed were busy. Aliya had to endure afternoons with Natalia’s friends and she also grew to understand why Oliver insisted for Lady Jane’s two granddaughters to be called the dogs. On the second afternoon that she had to suffer the two young girl’s wrath, she told Oliver that she ‘would rather suffer watching him open a cat than spend another hour with the two dogs!’—her very own words.

Ellise was often inside her bedchamber doing whatever it was that interested her, and Aliya would either find that a convenience or a frustrating situation, depending on her mood.

By the third week of April, Aliya and Oliver had their first argument.

It was all because her mother-in-law made a trip to the modiste.

It happened while Aliya was doing her accounting in the library when he suddenly burst inside, clearly in rage.

“My mother had a trip to the modiste, Ali,” he said, eliciting a groan from her.

“I do not see it as a problem, Ollie.”

“Ah, but I do, darling, most particularly when Natalia St. Vincent is privy to your activities.”

She closed her notebook and sighed. “They are just gowns, Ollie.”

“Yes, they are, but my mother does not see it that way. She is enraged that you found the need to sell your gowns and demanded if I am giving my wife enough allowance!”

“You give me an allowance.”

“And clearly, it is not enough—and that was Ellise who said that.” He paced around the study, brushing his fingers through his growing hair. And then he stopped and turned to her sharply. “I will not question why you need more money, Ali, but I wish to express my concerns.”

She slowly nodded, unsure if she wanted to hear his sentiments. He carefully walked closer; his eyes boring into hers. “Although I do accept you have secrets, Aliya, and I do have feelings for you, I still abhor Belcourt. Your secrecy does not help either, but I do understand for it is to keep us safe—for now. And although I do trust you, I still have my moments of doubt.”

“Ollie, I told you that my loyalty lies with you.” She raised her hand to show her ring. “This is proof of that.”

“You are loyal to me, yes, to a point. But why do I get the feeling that you are still loyal to Belcourt? Your friends send you missives—your Belle friends—and you respond in kind. You go out for tea with Sasha whenever you get the chance. I know you take trips to Maple Row and God knows what you keep there. And as much of a rational being as I am, I still cannot help the questions—Why did you want to get out? I know what Belles do. Am I a mission? Am I your mission?”

“You said you will be patient.”

“I am trying to be, which is why I try to answer those questions myself. They are not for you.” He added the last statement with frustration.

“Ollie, Belcourt has been my home for years. Of course, I will still keep in touch with my friends. Sasha is new in Strait and barely has any friends. Of course, I will be her friend. It is best to hide in plain sight. If I start to cut ties, I will only draw more attention upon myself.” His jaw clenched and Aliya sight. He was finding it hard to understand. “You abhor Belcourt. Do you think I feel the same?” she asked.

“Is that not why you wanted to get out?”

“No. I have many reasons why I wanted to leave Belcourt, but hatred toward the institution and the women inside was not part of it. Why would I hate Belcourt? It was I who begged them to take me in. It was I who was rescued by them. Do I find Belcourt bad? No, I do not. Do I agree with their ways? In many ways, no. Then should I also say the same for England and France and the other powerful nations?”

He groaned. “I feel you are going to give me a long thorough speech.”

“I will because I do need to make a point. Belcourt is a society, Ollie. Just like Sutherland and the other powerful nations that take care of their own. Belcourt preserves itself by making allies and outwitting their enemies. Just like how other kingdoms invade places that did not want to be bothered. Even Sutherland is sending help to win a war. Why? To help one kingdom win over another? We say we are trying to help and it is for a good cause. But how certain are we that we are not doing so to prove our power? Do we simply believe we are being the good allies because Sutherland says so? Because England says so?

“Hartcaster told me stories during his travels with his wife. They saw how the people the rich countries say they are trying to help suffer. England and the other allies of Sutherland—they tell us we are bringing good to these people and we believe them blindly. We do not know what happens in the war, do we? Yet we still send our soldiers to fight because that is what we are told.

“Belcourt is the same. Most of the women inside believe we are bringing good to the children. And not just the children, Ollie. We also have to take care of the older ladies of Belcourt, the ones housed in different places in Sutherland, now free to live their lives for they had given enough of their years. Belcourt takes care of its young and old in exchange for the freedom of the younger ladies. It builds allies and spy on their enemies, all to preserve their power and protect those under their governance.”

Aliya paused, surprised that she was defending Belcourt now. For many years, she had wanted nothing but to get out, and when she managed to do so, the first thing she did was stand for Belcourt.

“Do you blame me for the Gambler?”

“Of course not,” he said with disgust.

“Then perhaps my mother? She should have done something, yes? She knew the kind of man she married. But then a woman is powerless in society, even in her own family. Belcourt gives women power, Ollie. We are our own person when we are outside Belcourt and we have qualities not all women in Sutherland have. Yes, we have uncomfortable laws that we even have to follow after we are free. But every society has laws that do not ring well with everyone. Every society cannot please its constituents. I am not the only one who wants a life outside Belcourt, but we are but a minority for the rest of Belcourt believes in Belcourt and they offer what they can. Not with money, but with loyalty and service.

“So, is Belcourt evil? No, I would not say so. Does Belcourt have a problem? Yes, most definitely, but so does every society with a system. Like most societies, Belcourt may have a rotten core, but do not blame the entire fruit when the problem is in the roots. If you are a member of the Royal Circus, you must also believe that Sutherland is suffering the same disease. The kingdom is rotten because you believe we do not have the rightful king and I personally do not care who sits in the throne because I have been raised in a different society with struggles of my own.

“I wanted to get out of Belcourt because I do not believe in some of its ways, not because I abhor it. I still hold Belcourt dear to my heart because it was the only family I had. Is it not the same with those who left Sutherland to seek a better life somewhere else?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, measuring each other’s resolve.

Finally, her husband let out a resigned sigh. “Very well, I see your point. You are defending Belcourt as I would my eccentric family whom I would love to disown as much as I would hate to leave.”

“Good. I am glad that you respect my point.”

But he was not done. He looked into her eyes and said, “But I want to understand, Ali—if you can please tell me—why you need more money.”

Aliya blinked and looked away.

“Is it Delaney? I remember you have a sister, Ali. When you went to Belcourt, did you also bring her with you?” He peered down at her. “Delaney is in Belcourt, is she not?”

XX | The Beauty and Her Beast

“My aunt took us to Belcourt to save us,” she answered. “We rode in one of my aunt’s carriages and I begged the guards outside Belcourt to take us in.” There was nothing in her husband’s eyes as he waited for her next words. “Yes, Delaney is still in Belcourt.”

Slowly, he nodded. “And what happened to the aunt?”

Aliya sighed. “She escaped Sutherland. That was the last I heard.”

“And now you left Belcourt so you can save her again. You do not have to answer, of course.”

She nodded. “I have to get her out of there, Ollie. But how I do that will not be shared with you for now. Our marriage is fresh. Belcourt will be watching our every move. You as much as do something suspicious, they will know. And we cannot have that.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, walking around the table to stand next to her. He pulled her from the chair to face him. “One secret at a time, Ali.”

She kissed his lips and smiled. “Thank you.” Stepping away, he went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink.

“Are you still mad at me about the gowns?”

“No, but my Mother is cross with me about your allowance.”

With a chuckle, Aliya returned to her seat. Stealing a glance, she watched him empty his glass. As he refilled it, she asked, “Was one not enough?” He turned to her with brows cocked high in question as though he did not understand her inquiry. “I am merely asking.”

He looked at his half-filled glass. “One and a half is enough.”

She smiled and opened her notebook.

Oliver sat near the fire and she allowed the silence to reign between them.

She knew he was a member of the Royal Circus. He did not have to admit it because he never denied it and that was answer enough. His family, most particularly Natalia, had hinted now and again of their family’s attachment to the said club.

For now, she did not need the confirmation because Belcourt would certainly use it against her. They would not hesitate to do so.

“I also sought you out to announce something,” Oliver said moments later.

“What announcement?”

“I am needed in Coulway. You may stay here with Mother and Ellise if you wish.”

“No, I will come with you.”

He clutched his chest. “Ah, you make my heart flutter, Ali!”

Aliya scoffed. “Do you not have something better to do? Are you not needed in Sinclair?”

He stood to his feet and approached her. “Now that you have mentioned it, I believe someone in desperate need is waiting for me.”

She blinked. “You cannot be utterly serious. You are deliberately making someone who is suffering wait for you?”

“Well, I did not ask him to get himself shot in a bloody duel.”

Her eyes rounded in horror. “Oliver!”

He laughed. “Fret not, darling. He will live. That bastard ruined a girl’s reputation, thus the duel with the brother.”

“You are so shamelessly immoral, Ollie.”

He emptied his glass. “I am done with my last glass for the day.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain it is the last one for the day?”

“Of course,” he said, walking over to kiss her. “But you will keep wondering because you know I am shamelessly immoral.”

She pushed him away. “Go and pluck out some bullets.”

He stole another kiss and left.

---

Much later that afternoon, Aliya went to visit Mason in Maple Row.

It was difficult to make the child understand that he may not be seeing his mother for quite some time.

“Why?” Mason asked.

“Because she needs to work so she can save more money to be with you,” she replied, trying her best not to cry. A lie, she knew, but one she hoped Mason would later understand.

He asked more questions. How about Carrie? And what of Shay?

“We will meet them someday, Mason.”

“Do you promise?”

It was hard to make such promises when she knew that her priority was not his mother. She needed to save Delaney first before she could find a way to get Fatima and the others. But she promised anyway because it was the only way she could ease his mind.

After sending Mason off to bed, Aliya gave Dorothy her pay and more money for the household, adding that she may not be visiting often than she wanted. It was for their safety.

Dorothy did not question her plans. Instead, the governess wrapped her in an embrace and they both silently cried. They cried for Fatima and Mason, and Carrie and Shay. Not so long ago, Fatima, Carrie, Shay, and Aliya were arguing whether or not they should hire Dorothy as Mason’s governess when the woman applied for the position they posted on the Sutherland Post. Dorothy had then cleared her throat and told them that their argument reached the parlor where she had been waiting. She was hired that same afternoon and since then, they had been happy, the six of them, including Mason. The apartment in Maple Row was always filled with laughter. Aliya and the other women in her villa were free to come and go. That stopped when Shay had a row gone wrong with another service lady in Belcourt. It completely changed after Sasha discovered the Royal Circus and everyone was on guard. Now, they were down to three.

With her eyes puffy from the tears, Aliya made her way back to her new home in a hired hackney.

When she entered the house, she murmured her thanks to Jason.

“Where have you been disappearing to, Aliya?” Ellise’s voice asked behind her. Startled, Aliya whirled around to find that the woman was closing the door. Jason was nowhere to be seen.

“Have you been waiting for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” her sister-in-law replied, walking over to her, hazel eyes blank. “You have been selling your gowns to earn money, and you constantly go somewhere unknown and return late. One cannot help but wonder if you are doing something that may later be a problem.”

“Oliver and I have discussed the same issues you have pointed out.”

“And you believe he trusts you?”

Aliya could not reply. Did Oliver truly trust her?

“My brother and I may not always meet eye to eye, but we are both not stupid. And I know that you are not stupid, Aliya. You entered this family with very little knowledge of what we are into, and the same could be said to us. We barely know you. All we know is that you were once someone Oliver met on a cruise when you were younger. Your father murdered several men in a single night, leading to your mother’s death and your escape to Belcourt.”

Aliya sighed. “What do you want to say to me, Ellise?”

“I hope that you can trust my brother enough. I hope that you can trust us. We are more capable than you may think.” The woman gazed at her as if she could read Aliya’s secrets. “I truly do not want to lose you. No one else will have Oliver.”

Again, out of nowhere, Ellise St. Vincent said something that rendered Aliya in a state of disbelief, frustration, and awe.

“I do trust your brother,” she said, squaring her shoulders to control the urge to laugh. “And I do trust that he can wait until I think it is safe to share my secrets.”

Ellise shook her head and sighed. “Secrets. I grew up hearing them and I can most certainly say how they end a certain situation. But I do not own your secrets so I cannot demand it from you.” Ellise’s bored, hazel eyes did not blink as she talked. And when they did, it was slow and almost sleepy. “Very well,” Ellise said, “I will not be a burden to you and your secrets—on one condition.”

“Of course.”

“You will be a very lenient companion.”

“What?”

“Oliver is going to take me with you to Coulway upon our mother’s orders. He will force me to join the season with the two of you as my companions. He will be quite busy, so he will definitely give the responsibility to you. I want to have a lenient companion.”

“How lenient?”

“You do not force me to dance.”

“Of course.”

“Or introduce me to any gentleman. Only I shall decide who I wish to be introduced to and that will not happen often.”

“If that is what you wish.”

“And you do not tail me around.”

Aliya’s eyes narrowed. “Now, we may have to discuss that one further. I cannot simply allow you to roam around any of the balls without company—”

“I just recently turned six and twenty, Aliya,” interrupted her sister-in-law. “I know what it takes to be ruined. I will not be roaming around if that is what you fear. I typically stay in one corner. You can leave me and still find me there.”

“Of course,” she slowly retorted, the image of Ellise sitting still in one corner very vivid in her mind.

“We have a deal then.”

“Yes.”

Ellise nodded. “Good night.”

---

By the first week of May, Coulway was aware that the new Mr. and Mrs. St. Vincent were in town and ball invitations came pouring in.

Natalia St. Vincent ushered both Ellise and Aliya to her most trusted modiste and ordered gowns for the two ladies.

Aliya had been to five consecutive balls in their first week, rendering Ellise very much exhausted and immobile during the day.

Even Aliya, who was used to gracing multiple balls in a row, started to feel weary. For one, Simon St. Vincent would drag his daughter-in-law to every corner—including the gaming rooms—of the balls they attended together and introduce her to his friends. And Simon St. Vincent, unlike his son, had many friends!

And even after a ball, she could not simply go straight to bed and sleep. Oliver would be there, ready to pleasure her at night; or it was the other way around. Whichever or whoever initiated the act, it still left them both physically exhausted the following day.

One morning, Aliya moaned in protest as her husband snaked an arm around her waist, his hand moving lower to trace the curve of her waist and hip. “Ollie, I am very tired,” she husked, snuggling closer to his chest.

“As am I, but you feel wonderful this morning.”

A lazy grin stretched her lips. She rolled her head up and kissed his neck. Caressing his jaw she said, “Your beard is growing again.”

“Too tedious to trim,” he murmured against her forehead.

“I will not allow it to grow to a bush, but I like how it is now.” She felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin.

“You do?”

She moved closer and lightly bit his neck. “I do. It serves many purposes.”

His hand found hers and they rolled on the bed. He stretched her arm above her head, grinning down at her before he nuzzled her neck with his bearded chin and jaw. “You are giving me naughty thoughts, Ali.”

Aliya spread her legs so he could snuggle closer, her heart starting to pick up speed against her chest as he slid lower. This would be one of their many short, but satisfying lovemaking, she thought as she closed her eyes.

His mouth cruised between her breasts and then even lower, making sure she felt his beard graze her skin.

“Now, I am quite ready for—”

The rest of Oliver’s words were left unsaid as the door suddenly burst open and Aliya yelped in surprise. Her husband pulled the covers over them and shouted, “What the bloody hell do you want!” as his head popped out of the cover.

Aliya ducked her head under Oliver’s chest in terror.

“Forgive me. I did not realize you are in the middle of something… intimate,” Ellise’s voice replied.

“Good God, Ellise! Get out!” Oliver roared.

“Since I am here and have already earned your anger, I might as well deliver the news that father wishes you to know.”

“What is it?”

“You are expected to attend the Stapleton Ball.”

“We are not attending any balls tonight.”

“Father says you should attend the Stapleton Ball.”

“Why?”

“Do you wish me to answer that now?”

A small pause. “No.”

“Then I shall take my leave. Mother and Father are wondering when you are coming down for breakfast.”

“We are having breakfast now!”

Aliya grabbed his hair and pulled. “Ollie!”

“That is very vulgar of you,” Ellise said, voice calm and cold.

“And you are overstaying.”

When Aliya heard the door close, she pushed Oliver to the side with a helpless laugh. “You are impossible! Why would you tell your sister you are having—”

“Fasting is not just about food, Ali. Anyone can fast. The two of us have been fasting on lovemaking for…” he counted in his head, “six hours? And I was breaking my fast when she burst in unannounced.”

She slipped out of bed and hastily dressed. “I will not have Natalia and Simon wonder about our breakfast for too long.”

He chuckled. His eyes glinting as he watched her dress, her husband said, “No matter, I am getting my breakfast as we speak. And it is a very beautiful breakfast.”

---

The Duke and Duchess of Calbridge were probably amongst the most powerful couples in all of Sutherland. Their yearly Stapleton Ball was the total opposite of the Humbrick Ball, for, in Stapleton, everyone had to be in their best behavior.

Aliya had to admit that she had only been to a Stapleton Ball once and never tried to go again. She did not like the experience for the ladies who were in attendance were mostly from the highest stations, and Belles did not truly belong in any station.

“This is the worst ball,” Ellise St. Vincent said beside her as they climbed down the flight of stairs leading to the ballroom. “I despise this night.”

Aliya would have said the same thing if not for Oliver’s reassuring presence beside her. He guided them through the crowd, giving her the confidence to not mind the stares or the curious frowns.

As soon as they joined the crowd of guests, Aliya found that she was familiar with more people than she feared. She was stopped by a man or two whom she was familiar with from when she was a Belle, and she hesitantly accepted their congratulations and introduced them to Oliver who was well-mannered enough to greet the men in kind.

She spotted a Belle or two who deliberately ignored her as most Belles would whenever they were in a luxurious ball. Belles attending something as grand as the Stapleton Ball were on a mission.

“Do not stray,” Oliver whispered near her ear. “Father is somewhere around so hide well if you do not want him dragging you around the gaming rooms. I will find you later for a dance.”

She nodded, already anticipating the moment, but she knew he was here for something else. Ellise walked toward the direction of one corner and she immediately knew the woman was ready to retire to a place where she could pretend that she was alone.

From the corner of her eyes, Aliya noted the presence of some gentlemen of Belcourt. She saw Aaron Stanway, Earl of Emsworth, together with his friend Trent Durham, the Earl of Chalbarth. Both men had always been together since Aliya could remember, and both were flowers to Ruby and Jade respectively.

But tonight, they were not with their Belles. They were with their circle of acquaintances. From the far corner, Aliya also saw a familiar figure walking across the room: West Blackwood, Duke of Eaton.

And leader of the Royal Circus.

She nonchalantly turned and followed Eaton with her eyes as he passed behind Oliver as though her husband was amongst the many guests he found unimportant. He stopped by a group of men, some of whom Aliya was acquainted with.

“My brother says he is a bore,” said Ellise, following her gaze.

“I would not say so, but he is definitely nothing like your brother,” Aliya murmured.

And then her brows cocked high as Eaton walked past someone utterly familiar to him and Aliya.

She had her back turned to him as he passed, but surely one of them must have seen the other? She scoffed in disbelief as Sasha continued talking to a black-haired man who could have been Oliver’s bloody twin. His chin was shadowed with bristles and his hair was tied behind him in a small bun. Not a famous fashion, but not unseen.

Her eyes left the man’s and transferred to Sasha who was still facing away from them. Aliya searched the ballroom once more for Eaton and found him sipping wine, and for a passing second, she saw his eyes veered to Sasha’s direction before he turned away from her as though it was the best way to ignore his former Belle. He faced his friends, the Earl of Keene and Marquess of Leighton, and resumed a conversation, seemingly unbothered.

She did not personally know West Blackwood’s friends, but ever since the secret about the Royal Circus broke, Belcourt made certain that every Belle was familiar with every person in his life. All information was given by Sasha herself, from West Blackwood’s valet down to his dog. Rider Fairborn and Tanner MacMier were included in that list.

“Is that the Belle that you often meet in Strait?” Ellise asked beside her. Aliya turned to find her sister-in-law looking at Sasha.

“Yes.”

Her face unreadable, Ellise nodded. “I heard she is called the Fainting Belle. Perhaps because she frequently has fainting spells?”

Aliya was about to ask how Ellise found out, but the look on the woman’s eyes gave her the answer. If Sasha told Belcourt everything she knew about West Blackwood, the man did the same with the Royal Circus and it seems that the information was also passed around to families of his members.

“I cannot say she is still the Fainting Belle,” she murmured instead, taking a glass of wine from a server. “Will you be fine alone here?” she asked. Of course, Ellise would be fine. She had been to enough balls with the lady to know that Ellise had not been lying when she said she would be found wherever Aliya left her. “While you are doing nothing, will keep an eye on your brother?”

“Of course. If you must know, he is now holding his second glass.”

Her jaw tightened as she stiffly turned and walked across the room to approach Sasha, pausing by her husband and two men he was chatting with to whisper, “How many have you had?”

“What?” he asked with an innocent smile.

Her eyes lowered to look at the glass in his hand. “Ah,” he said in understanding. “This is one.” Aliya met his eyes and he added, “And a half.”

She lightly touched his arm and smiled at him and his companions. “Good night, gentlemen.”

They gave her a slight bow as she left.

Sasha turned just in time to find her approach. “Good evening, Sasha,” she greeted.

Sasha broke into a smile. “I see marriage is keeping you quite busy? Are you serving as a companion to your husband’s sister?”

“I am afraid so,” Aliya chuckled, her eyes going to the man standing beside Sasha.

“My apologies,” Sasha said, reaching for the man’s arm. “My lord, I would like you to meet a good friend of mine, Aliya Guideville who is now Aliya St. Vincent.” Aliya went cold as she heard her surname from Sasha’s lips. She never told anyone about her last name and the only way they could have found out was if they went through her records. “Aliya, this is is Ivan Miller, the Marquess of Rothsker.”

Aliya had to force herself to lift her hand for the marquess. His dark blue eyes were pleasant as he took her hand and lightly kissed it. “Congratulations on your wedding, Lady Aliya.”

Aliya did not reply as she continued to stare at Sasha, a chill running up her spine. Sasha smiled and hooked her arm around Aliya’s gloved one. “I know I have said this many times since you returned to Strait as Mrs. Oliver St. Vincent, but I still find myself surprised, Aliya. You have always been the most… adored lady in Belcourt.”

“Are you in disbelief still that I married Oliver?”

“Yes, of course, I honestly am.”

“I heard St. Vincent is a terrific doctor,” Rothsker said, searching the crowd for the man himself.

“He most definitely is,” Aliya replied. “And he is a particularly good friend from my childhood.”

“I would be delighted to call for him should I ever need one,” said Rothsker. “A doctor, not a childhood friend, of course.”

Aliya laughed. Sasha did the same before addressing Rothsker with a request. “Will you be so kind and get me another drink, Ivan?”

“Of course,” the man said, turning to find a server.

“I warned you about your husband, Aliya,” Sasha said the moment they were left alone.

“I remember you said the same thing when we met in Strait the other week. And while I appreciate your concern, Sasha, I also know the man I married. He is not part of the Circus. He knows many people, but not all of them is a member of the Circus, are they?”

Sasha smiled, her bluish-grey eyes assessing Aliya’s face. “I only hope you are right. He could be using you.”

“Then he shall not find me useful. My loyalty is with Belcourt.”

“Because of your sister?”

The smile on her lips froze as a chill ran through her. “I never told you about my sister,” she said, voice cold. “Nor have I told you I am a Guideville.”

“I was from the Cour of Libraries, Aliya. Surely you must know that your records are available for everyone.”

“Yes, of course,” she said through clenched teeth. “I understand why you find the need to waste your time looking at my records.”

Sasha watched her as she sipped her wine. “You still owe Belcourt a Vow, do you not, Aliya?”

She snapped her head toward Sasha. Just as she opened her mouth, a hand grabbed her arm and Ellise’s voice said, “Aliya—” she turned to Sasha, saying, “Pardon,” before continuing, “I need your company. And no, I do not need to be introduced to your friend.”

Looking at Ellise, Aliya could not tell if the woman was lying or not. But she took the opportunity to get away and so she faced Sasha again and said, “I am afraid my sister-in-law requires my company, Sasha. I hope you have a grand evening. This is a grand party, after all. Too many dukes in attendance, would you not agree?”

She saw Sasha’s jaw go tight and she smiled, turning around with Ellise in tow. “Where do you wish to go?” she asked her sister-in-law.

“Oh, nowhere. I saw you looking deathly pale and I realized you needed to escape. We can go to the garden if you need fresh air.”

“Or we can join Ollie,” she said, turning to the direction of her husband who was now in the company of Lord Winthrop.

“Aliya, dear!” Lady Winthrop’s voice called from her left. She paused and found the woman rushing toward them, stopping their approach toward her husband and Oliver. “I need some fresh air. Perhaps we should go to the garden? Ellise?”

“Of course,” Ellise dutifully said, turning around to lead the way to the garden.

Aliya looked over her shoulder at where Oliver and Lord Winthrop were.

Eaton was at the other side of the ballroom, surrounded by his friends.

Rothsker had returned to Sasha’s at the opposite side of the Duke of Eaton and his friends.

What a scene , she thought with a scoff.

Belles were everywhere and she could swear a Soldier or two were also present amongst the crowd. And perhaps a dozen or more members of the Royal Circus.

All of them in one bloody ball.

Bombs could go off anytime and Aliya would not even be surprised.

---

The ball would have ended like any other if not for one interesting turn of events.

After she shared a dance with her husband, and with Ellise insistent that her dance cards be remained empty, they were ready to leave.

As Oliver ushered them out of the ballroom and through the large hallway, Aliya and Ellise stopped when they heard two women whisper Oliver’s name.

“The true meaning of the beauty and her beast, really,” one of the women said, clucking her tongue.

Aliya and Ellise started to turn, but Oliver was fast to grab their arms. “Now, my beautiful ladies, it is time to go home. Please be reminded that this is the Stapleton Ball and our father is somewhere in the estate.”

Aliya glared at her husband. Surely he heard that?

But certainly, he did not mind.

Oliver St. Vincent? There was no way in bloody tarnation that he would simply let that comment slide!

But he was letting it slide.

He did so by pulling her and Ellise away from the two women who were openly gawking at him.

As they passed more people, Aliya began to notice that everyone’s eyes were not on them, but rather just on her husband.

Perhaps he was not foxed enough? She wondered as he ignored the open stares and whispers. She looked at Ellise who was, for the life of her, frowning.

Their carriage was already waiting outside and opened the doors for them.

Once inside, Ellise faced Aliya, the frown on her face turning into a dangerous scowl, and asked, “Did those two ladies call Oliver and you the beauty and the beast?”

Aliya felt a kind of rage burning inside her, itching at her limbs, radiating over her head. Her face hardened and she waited until Oliver had settled beside her before she reached for the door and jumped out of the carriage.

“Ali!” Oliver called out behind her with a warning.

“Let her be, Oliver!” she heard Ellise drone out.

“Aliya, come back here!” Her husband’s voice was coming near. She hastened her steps, gathering her skirts in her hands to run up the stairs and back into the hallway.

“Ali!” Oliver hissed somewhere far from her.

She could not understand why of all people, the obnoxious and unmannered Oliver St. Vincent would just let two brats get away without a word from him!

Breathless, she finally found the two ladies. Invading their personal space, she smiled at them broadly. “Please, forgive me, ladies, but I could not help but hear what you said about my husband and me.” The two women scowled, stepping away from her as if being near her was a scandal. Aliya stepped closer until the two ladies were nearly pressed against the wall. “Please, do not take offense when I tell you that I abhor such behavior for I am certain that you feel highly privileged enough to believe that you can intone anything and still be considered cultured and graceful.” She gave them her most unnerving, cold smile. Their mouths opened but no words came out. She saw the anger in their eyes, but she could also almost smell the fear. “I am not trying to judge you as you are judging me and my husband—particularly my husband, but please let me remind you that he is the most gentle being you can ever encounter. He can fix your bones with his gentle hands. He may choose to ignore the snide remarks and the harmless gossips,” she paused to look at each lady in the eye before she added in a grave tone, “but I do not.” She could feel Oliver’s presence nearby, glad that he was not making any more scene by coming closer. Locking eyes with the two ladies, she added, “Between my husband and I, I am the beast .” Stepping even closer, eliciting a shaky whimper from the two women, she asked, “Do I make myself clear, ladies?” Aliya turned her head to stare at their scared faces one by one, her golden-brown globes glinting with tamed fury. “Do I?”

“Yes,” one of the ladies replied.

She smiled and stepped away. “I am glad that your understanding is as wide as the skirts of your gowns.”

She gracefully turned around, hearing one woman say, “How scandalous!”. She chose to ignore it for Oliver was waiting for her by the grand entrance, looking equally scandalized.

He did not say a word until they reached the carriage. Ellise was still inside with a slight curve in one corner of her lips.

“What the bloody hell was that about, Ali?” Oliver demanded. “Are you insane? This is the Stapleton Ball!”

She rolled her eyes. She shared a look with Ellise as she addressed her husband’s first question. “I hate it when the attention is not on me. You attract more people than I do, Ollie. I hate when that happens.”

“Good Lord, I need a drink,” Oliver groaned beside her, taking her hand. “But you make me proud, darling.”

Aliya chuckled, tipping her head to kiss his bearded jaw.

Ellise turned away with a scoff.

XXI | Mother and Laws

“Ali, darling, you know that there might be danger along the way,” Oliver spoke very patiently while they were having supper. “I cannot allow you to travel back to Strait alone.”

“Then you come with me,” she said.

“As much as I would like to endure the two days journey, I cannot. I am…” he looked around the table but none of his family cared to provide the perfect word, “Shall we just say that my presence here in Coulway in required?”

Aliya sighed. It had been weeks since she had seen Mason. “I have traveled from Coulway to Strait many times before, Ollie,” she insisted. “This one would not be so different.”

“Yes, but was it not you who said that Belcourt may be watching us—you?”

“Yes, but Belcourt will not cause me harm—”

“This conversation ought to be discussed elsewhere,” Natalia’s authoritative voice said as she stood to her feet, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

Simon blinked up at his wife. “Darling, we are halfway through supper…”

Natalia ignored her husband, her green eyes fixed on Aliya. There was something there that gave Aliya a reason to lean back against her chair, putting as much distance between her and her mother-in-law.

“We need a chat,” Natalia coldly said, turning to leave the dining room.

Aliya groaned and closed her eyes. “Go,” her husband urged, nudging her side.

She slapped his hand away and followed Natalia, but the woman stopped at the doorway to look over her shoulder and say, “Oliver.”

“Yes?”

Raising her brow, the woman gave her order.

With a groan, Oliver slowly stood.

“Ellise,” Natalia called next.

Ellise let out a long sigh, stood, and followed behind Oliver.

Everyone else paused by the doorway to stare at Simon who was cutting his meat. The man was pretending to not notice the attention.

Natalia continued to stare at her husband.

Grumbling something under his breath, Simon grabbed his wine and finished it in one gulp. “Very well,” he said, standing to his feet.

Satisfied, Natalia walked across the hall to the parlor.

She settled in her favorite winged chair and waited until everyone strolled inside one by one. “The door,” she ordered at no one in particular. Being the last man to enter, Simon grumbled some more and banged the door close and locked it. “Apologies,” he belatedly murmured, coming to sit at the end of the settee while Ellise settled in her corner with one foot under her.

Aware that Natalia would mostly be talking to her, Aliya sat at the center of the settee between her husband and her father-in-law.

“Oliver has told us that you are doing something that you do not want us to be privy of,” Natalia began.

Aliya nodded. “Yes.”

“And you claim it is to protect us.”

“And myself,” she added.

Natalia’s eyebrow twitched. “Unlike my son, Aliya, I cannot just trust you simply because you say so.”

“Mother,” Oliver said, voice grave and laced with warning.

“I understand,” Aliya said nonetheless, her hands clasping together on her lap. “I would think the same if our situation is reversed.”

Natalia veered her eyes to her husband and then to Oliver. And then she said, “I am used to secrets, Aliya, but I hate it when they are conflicting with mine.”

Aliya swallowed. She ought to have thought about this. Oliver was fine with their arrangements, but she should have considered that his family would not be, most particularly his mother.

“But we can control it,” said Natalia. “By sharing the secrets within this family. You are now a St. Vincent, Aliya. You are part of the family and we have to learn to compromise.”

“Mother, if Aliya is not comfortable—”

“I am not done, Oliver,” Natalia snapped without taking her gaze from Aliya. “Let us be clear, Aliya. The St. Vincents are part of the Royal Circus. You no longer have to guess now. What you do with that secret will be up to you, but we expect that you hold it with as much care as you do your secrets. As the women in this household, you, me, and Ellise are not Royals—members of the Circus—but we are still very much a part of ensuring that the men in the family who are will not be placed in grave danger because we are being careless.”

Aliya blinked, lost for words. She knew they were part of the Royal Circus, but to hear it from Natalia’s lips was still unnerving.

“Now, why don’t you try to be honest with us and tell us what it is that you are truly into?”

“Mother, stop this,” Oliver started just as Simon said, “Natalia…”

“What are you keeping in Maple Row, Aliya?”

“Stop this, Mother. This is not your concern!” Oliver snapped.

“It is when your wife is putting you and our family at risk. We are better protected knowing the truth and the dangers of her actions,” Natalia said, eyes never leaving Aliya.

Oliver grabbed her hand. “You do not have to answer her, Ali—”

“She has to if she wants our help!” Natalia’s voice rose a notch and echoed around the parlor. Her green globes were glinting with controlled anger. “Soon, Aliya, you will bear Oliver’s child. You will have your own family to protect. I suggest you start doing it now.”

Aliya pulled her hand from Oliver’s hold. He jaws tight, she hated Natalia St. Vincent. But she could also understand the woman. They both had people to protect. And good God, the woman was correct. She will someday have her own family—she would have children—not just Delaney and Mason to protect, not just Fatima and the others. How would she protect her future children? Who would she turn to?

While she stared at her mother-in-law, she could feel the presence of the rest in the room. Simon was silent beside her, but the man was not saying anything because he agreed with his wife. Ellise was looking at her, listening to what she had to say. And Oliver… he grabbed her hand again and squeezed it, telling her she could choose to be silent as they had agreed.

Tears stung her eyes for she realized right there and then that the first place she would run to in grave danger would not be Belcourt. It would be the people locked inside the parlor with her now because they were family and they would never allow any of her future children to step into Belcourt grounds and be thrown in the same fate she was.

“His name is Mason,” she started, voice shaking. Oliver’s hand tightened. “He is my previous maid’s son. She found a lover five years ago while serving me as her mistress in Strait. It is against Belcourt’s law for a service lady to take a lover, but we chose to keep her pregnancy a secret until she delivered her son. I have been keeping him in Maple Row since he was born. He is living with a governess.”

Silence reigned in the room for quite some time.

Natalia was the first to speak. “Is this where the money from your gowns went?”

“Yes. Fatima is back in Belcourt, trapped. She has not yet been assigned to any Belle and it is unlikely that she will be. No service woman can walk out of Belcourt freely. I am all that Mason has.”

Oliver’s hand tightened around her hand.

Simon shifted in his seat beside Aliya. “Good Lord,” she heard him murmur.

“But Mason is not just the only reason why I need the money.” She stared at Natalia. “My sister, Delaney, is also in Belcourt.”

Ellise went to her feet and walked closer to them, now completely interested.

“She is nearing her eighteenth birthday.” She looked at everyone. “The day you turn eighteen is the day you get assigned to a court. Belcourt chooses it for you. I have to take Delaney out before her Courting Ceremony.”

“Because she may be assigned to a court that will keep her in Belcourt,” Natalia finished.

She nodded. “If it is only possible to select your court, she could easily choose the Court of Flowers and become a Belle. She can earn her own money and pay her dowry out of Belcourt. But that is not the case and that is what I fear the most.”

“But if she is courted in a different court, you cannot pay for her?”

Aliya shook her head. “No.”

“Then that is absurd,” Ellise said. “You are saying that the only ladies who have the chance to exit Belcourt are the Belles.”

“I am afraid so, yes.”

“But you can take her now? How?” Natalia asked.

“She is still in the Common Court—the orphanage. Anyone can come and adopt a child. Belcourt can consider accepting my application to adopt her.” When no one spoke, Aliya continued, the words she had been keeping to herself now rolling out of her tongue. “For years, I have prayed that she will be adopted, but that never happened.”

“Because Belcourt never wanted it?”

“If you must know, almost no child gets adopted in Belcourt. But it is possible if a family member adopts the child.”

“And you plan to do that.”

“Yes.”

“You said you have an aunt,” Oliver finally spoke beside her. “She could not have taken you out of Belcourt?”

She shook her head. “I can only imagine that my father’s enemies made it difficult for her to return to Sutherland.”

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Aliya gripped Oliver’s hand tightly until Natalia asked, “Well, is there more you wish to tell us?”

She shook her head with a bitter smile. “If you are expecting me to admit that Belcourt has given me a mission to infiltrate your family, I am sorry to disappoint. That has not happened yet.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

She shrugged. “By paying my dowry out of Belcourt, I signed a Vow.”

“A Vow?”

“A promise to grant any of Belcourt’s wishes once they come to you to claim it,” Simon St. Vincent provided. “They did the same to Elizabeth Blackwood.”

“Why am I not aware of this?” Natalia asked her husband. “What did they ask from Eaton’s mother?”

“She was pregnant with the king’s bastard,” Oliver said. “They wanted her to get rid of her child.”

For the first time, Aliya saw Ellise’s face register a reaction—contempt.

“And that child is still in Belcourt,” Simon said.

“What?” Aliya, Ellise, and Natalia cried out at the same time.

Realizing he might have said too much, Simon lifted his hands. “But you did not hear that from me.”

“But who—” Aliya started, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Somewhere in this place they call the Palace,” Simon replied nonchalantly.

Aliya frowned. Belcourt never told them this. But then, if the child was in the Palace, it was understandable. Was she a Maiden? Did Sasha know?

Natalia narrowed her eyes at her husband. “You and I have much to discuss, Simon.”

Her father-in-law groaned beside her. Aliya reached out to hold the man’s hand.

Aliya squared her shoulders, taking her hands back from Oliver and Simon. “I will not demand that you tell me more about the Royal Circus. I do not wish to find out at the moment as I am aware that Belcourt may opt to claim my Vow and extort information.” She looked at each St. Vincent in the room. “If you have more questions, you may ask now.”

“What do you plan with this child, Ali?” Oliver asked and Aliya hid her smile by maintaining a blank façade. She knew he had more questions.

“I do not know. I only know that Belcourt cannot find out about him and they cannot most definitely find out who his mother is. No service lady has managed to get out of Belcourt and if Fatima does that—if she ever finds a way to earn for her dowry, Belcourt will question everything. She will be investigated and Mason will be discovered. They may use her Vow against him.”

Simon stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet where he fixed himself a drink. Turning to his family, he said, “We will take the child to Herst.”

Natalia’s eyes widened in horror. “Simon!”

Lifting his hand, he stopped his wife’s objections. “The child will be safe in Herst.”

“No,” Natalia objected. “I will not allow a child connected to—”

“You allowed our son to marry a woman from Belcourt,” Simon interjected, tone serious. “And I say we take the child to Herst.”

“I do not object,” Oliver said with a shrug.

Aliya could not speak. She felt a lump in her throat and she struggled to control her emotions. She had struggled for years to give Mason home and had always thought that it was her burden alone.

But now, Simon was offering an alternative. And it was a tempting one.

“You cannot go to Maple Row forever and expect Belcourt to be blind,” Simon told her. “My wife managed to find out about your trips. It is possible that Belcourt is aware of it as well. The child goes home with us to Herst.”

Natalia looked like she had more to say, but she remained silent, clenching her jaw.

“And we shall give Aliya the amount that she needs to get her sister out of Belcourt.”

“I do not object that decision,” said Natalia.

“As do I,” Oliver added.

Ellise stared at Aliya, her expression blank. “It seems to me, Aliya, that you need to take the trip to Belcourt once and for all.”

---

Aliya was perfectly still as she waited for Lady Miranda to finish reading her letter.

The woman perused through it with concentration, taking her time with each page.

Finally, when she was done, she looked up and met Aliya’s eyes with a smile. “This is a very good letter, Aliya.”

Aliya nodded. “I know.”

“But you know that we have to go through an extensive process.”

“Yes.”

“They will demand to know where you got your money.”

“My husband is filthy rich.”

Lady Miranda smiled. “Of course, he is.”

“And he is very generous.”

“He knows of your plans to adopt your sister?”

“Yes, and he supports it. He met Delaney when we were younger and has fond memories of her.”

Lady Miranda nodded. With a sigh, the woman placed Aliya’s letter to the side and clasped her hands together on the table. “It will take a while before Belcourt makes its decision. Now, I will provide a good letter of recommendation to help your case and Delaney’s, but the decision will still come from the High Court.”

Aliya gratefully nodded. “I can wait.”

Lady Miranda reached for her hand. “I truly pray that you can get her, Aliya.”

Tears blurred her vision. “I know.”

“But we need to follow protocol.”

She nodded and a drop of tear fell on her lap. “I know.” She looked around Lady Miranda’s office. “Can I see her?”

Lady Miranda smiled solemnly. “You are no longer a Belle, Aliya, you know that. As an alum, you are welcome in Belcourt and you may visit your previous court and the Village, but you are not allowed to see any of the children in the Manor.”

Aliya was fully aware of that. The only time someone who was not from Belcourt could bestow their eyes on the children at the Manor was during a special occasion—the Orphan Ball. Only a very select few from outside Belcourt were invited for the ball where they get a glimpse of the children through a short performance prepared for the occasion before the children disappeared once more to allow the guests to enjoy the rest of the party.

Aliya would not be able to see Delaney until she legally adopted her for the Orphan Ball had already passed.

Aliya’s shoulders dropped. “Very well,” she said, standing to her feet. “I will see her when Belcourt accepts my application.”

---

“Well?” Oliver asked inside the carriage the moment she climbed in. He had been waiting outside Belcourt’s gates for hours.

His wife could not say a word as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

Oliver blinked and gathered Aliya in his arms. “Darling, what is it?”

“Thank you.” Her words were muffled by his coat and her sobs. “I can no longer imagine doing this alone, Ollie.” He pulled her closer. “And I fear even more,” she added.

He frowned and cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to lean away from his chest to look up to him. “Why?”

Her golden-brown eyes were swimming in tears and fear. “I can no longer imagine being alone, Ollie.”

“You do not have to,” he said, kissing her lips and tasting the salty tears. “You are no longer alone, darling. We have my mother. Let us simply pray she lives a long life.”

Her sobs turned into laughter against his mouth. “This is your fault.”

“Yes, of course, it is.”

“I cannot lose you now.”

“You will not.”

XXII | Seas, Skies, and Secrets

Mason and Dorothy were taken from Strait via an enclosed carriage. Aliya had to answer Mason’s series of questions throughout their journey back to Coulway, and she did so with patience. 

The child rarely went out of Maple Row and had never traveled far before. Everything was new to him, including Aliya’s giant husband, whom he would often boldly stare at with mouth hanging open.

“He must think I am out to eat him,” Oliver whispered to Aliya on the first day of their journey.

By the end of the second day, just before they reached Coulway, Mason was clinging to Oliver like a leech. Perhaps because climbing over Oliver was akin to a flight up a tower.

When they presented the boy to Natalia, the woman merely stared down her nose at the child, saying, “He is too pale.”

Ellise was interested in Mason, claiming the child had been hidden from society for most of his life and she would like to observe how it must have affected his mental state, a statement that elicited a statement from her brother which went along the lines of, “For someone who has deliberately been hiding herself from society, you have developed such remarkable interests!”

Simon, on the other hand, was immediately enamored. “He is a fine, young man, are you not, Mason, my boy?”

Mason then asked if Simon was his grandfather, to which Simon said, “I could be if you want one!”

Dorothy was only happy to leave the mainland. She had been constantly checking the apartment windows in Strait since Aliya married into the St. Vincents. “And I heard Herst is a very fascinating island,” she said the morning of their departure.

Herst was located northwest of Sutherland. The best way to reach it is through a cruise from Rothsker, passing by the island of Dockerly and on to Herst.

But the St. Vincents were not keen on taking a one-week cruise when they had a child and a governess to hide. They traveled through Eaton and rounded to the other side of the mountains.

The view of the mountains to their left and the ocean on the other side was worth the long hours of the carriage ride.

“Mason, Mason, look!” Aliya said, waking up the child sleeping in her husband’s arms with his arms around Oliver’s neck.

Mason rolled his head and sleepily opened his eyes to stare at the ocean. He faintly smiled, but he did not jump away from Oliver as Aliya had expected. What he said next clenched at her heart. “Will Mama join us soon, Aunt Aliya?”

Oliver had been sleeping and he opened his eyes to look at his wife. When she could not offer a reply, her husband groaned and tickled Mason’s side. “Your Mama will come and find you the moment she can, Mason.”

Mason chuckled and fought against Oliver’s attack.

Aliya turned her head to the window and wiped her eyes, blinking to stop any more tears threatening to come out. From across the carriage, she saw Ellise studying her.

The woman averted her gaze when she realized she was caught and turned her attention on Mason. “Mason,” she called, “Do you know what we have in Herst?”

Mason shook his blond head. “No.”

“We have the ocean at the back of Winfield.”

“What is Winfield?”

“It is the name of our manor in Herst.”

“Manor?”

“We live in a manor. So shall you.”

The child’s smile widened. “I will?”

Ellise nodded. “This child keeps repeating what I say,” she addressed Aliya, then turned to Mason to ask, “Am I not eloquent enough, Mason?”

“What else is there?” Mason asked instead, climbing off Oliver’s lap to kneel beside Ellise.

“Sharks.”

“Ellise,” Oliver warned with a playful tone for Mason’s sake, but his eyes conveyed his displeasure.

“Sharks?”

“Yes,” Ellise replied, openly ignoring her brother.

“What are sharks?”

“Large fish.”

“Like a whale!”

“Perhaps,” said Ellise, lifting a shoulder with a shrug. “But sharks are quite special.”

“Why?”

“They eat humans.”

As Mason’s eyes widened with fear, Oliver reached out for him and hauled him back on his lap. “Do not listen to Ellise. She has a wild imagination.”

Mason turned to the ocean. “Do they eat children?”

Oliver threatened to kick his sister’s leg before he smiled down at Mason and said, “No, of course not.”

“Just don’t go far into the ocean,” said Ellise.

“What Ellise is saying, Mason,” Aliya said, desperate to salvage the child’s innocence, “is that you have to be careful whenever you venture out into the beach. Should you want to go into the waters, you cannot go far because it can be dangerous.”

“Precisely!” said Oliver, scowling at his sister over Mason’s head. “And you should also learn how to swim.”

“But I do not want to go to the waters anymore.”

“If you know how to swim, you can escape the sharks,” Ellise said.

Oliver mouthed, “Enough!” at his sister who let out a bored sigh.

“You will learn how to swim, Mason,” Oliver said. “Like a fish. I will teach you.”

Mason looked up at Oliver and Aliya smiled at the sight. “You will?”

“Yes,” said Oliver. “And by the time your Mama comes to find you, you can show her.”

Mason turned to Aliya. “Did you hear that, Aunt Aliya?”

Aliya nodded, her eyes brimming with renewed tears. “Yes.”

“Now, go back to sleep. When you wake up, we will be in Herst,” Oliver murmured to the boy who leaned his head on his chest.

Oliver lifted his leg once more to threaten Ellise with a playful kick. Ellise did the same, but her foot landed on the target. “Am I wrong about the sharks?”

“No, but you were talking to the wrong audience!” Oliver hissed. “Stop scaring the child. You are terrifying enough as it is.”

---

The journey across Herst took an entire night. Natalia and Simon went straight to their cabins. Dorothy and Mason took to theirs while Ellise locked herself in her cabin, one she insisted not to share with anyone, to be alone.

Aliya and Oliver went to the front deck with a few passengers nearby, looking at the disappearing silhouette of the mainland. Finding a spot that gave them the view of the north and the large expanse of the ocean, she grabbed unto the railing and she looked over her shoulder to Oliver who was slowly walking to join her. “Do you remember?” she asked.

“Darling, you do not have to ask,” he said, coming closer to enclose her in his wide frame from behind. His hands rested beside hers on the railing and his chin rested on the top of her head. The wind blew their hair. “We used to argue if the stars swam in the ocean once they meet at the horizon.”

She chuckled. “We were ignorant fools, were we?”

“Happy, ignorant fools,” he corrected, bending low to kiss her shoulder.

“And you shouted at the wind,” she added. “You said you will be the best doctor in the world.”

“Hmm… that I did,” he murmured against the shoulder. “And you said you will be… I do not remember what you said.”

“I do not recall what I dreamed of that day,” she admitted. “But I do recall believing you will find yours.”

He let go of the railing and grabbed both ends of her Kashmir shawl to wrap it around her and did not let go.

“Ollie, we are not alone here,” she faintly scolded.

He kissed her temple. “I know you do not care. You used to have Gregory Cook sitting on your shoulder, now you have Oliver St. Vincent around you. Gregory Cook missed his chance, the stupid monkey.”

Aliya did not know why, but her eyes filled with tears again. She sniffed and Oliver sighed against her cheek.

“You are crying again.”

“Have you ever imagined it?” she asked, her voice breaking. “When I was fourteen and you were sixteen—when we used to stand side by side to watch the darkness of the sky and the ocean? Have you ever imagined we would be standing like this fourteen years later?”

His head bent and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “I imagined many things during that cruise, Ali. I imagined kissing you.”

Her eyes widened. “You did?”

She felt him smile. “I was sixteen, almost a man. Of course, I thought about kissing the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. I even told Uncle Carl I will marry you.”

“You must be jesting.”

“But I guess I forgot. I never got to write you the letters.”

“No, you never did.”

“Did you wait for them? The letters?”

“Yes, of course, I did. But I guess I forgot about you, too. You would cross my mind now and then, but then…”

Her voice trailed. She could not bring herself to say what happened a year after the cruise. She could not taint this moment where her fondest memories were out in the open with the horrors of that night.

A strange silence followed her statement as her worst memories drowned the best ones.

“After the cruise,” Aliya started, clearing her throat, “you went on to study with your uncle?”

“Yes. It was my first time to be away from Herst for so long,” he murmured against her neck. Then he raised his head and squinted against the wind. “And then I went away from Sutherland. Traveled all over England. Then I crossed the ocean to the Americas. I remembered you while on the ship. I would walk up to the deck every night and pay homage to the memories of the girl I promised the unwritten letters to.” He nuzzled her neck. “Please forgive me for never writing.”

She smiled, bent her head, and kissed his arm. “You are forgiven.” His hold tightened as a strong wind blew past them. “Where did you go next?”

“I went to the Orient. Then I stayed in India for a year.”

“I never realized you have been to many places.”

“It was not as amazing as you may think. I spent most of my time learning. I was hungry to learn.”

“But you surely met people.”

“The best teachers, yes.”

“And you eventually found yourself back in Sutherland.”

He nodded. “Five years ago.”

His arms tightened around her and he buried his face in her neck once more. Aliya could tell that something bothered him. She wanted to ask but decided not to. Had something happened during his travels?

“I hope I wrote those letters,” he told her.

Aliya started to turn and he loosened his hold so she could face him. She looked up at him, the wind blowing her hair over his chest. She reached out to cup his face. “Do you think we would still be here if you did?”

He did not answer. His hazel eyes just looked at her tenderly, but they also seemed blank—as if remembering a distant memory.

She sighed and smiled before pulling him down so she could kiss his lips. And to his ear, she whispered, “I want to go to bed, husband.”

They walked back to their cabin hand in hand, but unlike fourteen years ago, they were not running down the corridors to cause havoc. They took their time, pausing now and then to share a kiss. They paused beside a closed cabin door to murmur words; in the middle of a narrow corridor so he could unbutton her dress; and perhaps two more stops to enjoy the prelude of a promising night.

The door was locked as soon as they entered and Aliya gasped in surprise when Oliver pulled at her hand, crushing her against him to receive his kiss.

Aliya felt the sudden change from the harmless teasing outside. His desperation was growing intense, causing her slight alarm. His hands were restless as they worked on her dress and his breeches. And he was silent—too silent. He carelessly crushed her against the wall, eliciting a cry of pain from Aliya. “Ollie,” she said, growing uncomfortable. “Ollie!” she said, cupping his face and pulling it away from her neck. She searched his intense eyes. “You are hurting me.”

He blinked and suddenly his eyes were clear. He swallowed and blinked a few times. “I’m sorry,” he said, jumping away from her. “I do not know what came over me—”

She reached for him. “I am all right,” she said, kissing his jaw. “Are you?”

His jaw tightened and he wrapped an arm around her. “Yes. It must have been the journey. I have not journeyed this long for quite some time.”

She nodded, raining kisses on his bare chest. “We can sleep if you want,” she said, her hands on his hips, furtively moving forward.

“I slept in the carriage,” he said in a jesting tone, but she could hear the strain in his voice.

Leading her to the bed, Oliver loved her with such intensity that she had never experienced before. He was not hurting her, but the act was different and she wanted to ask him—wanted to make him tell her. His hands gripped her as if he was afraid it was the last time; his mouth worshiped every part of her as if he was marking his territory.

To her surprise, he sat on the edge of the bed and let her straddle him, letting her take the lead. And while she did, his eyes were open, gazing at her with ardor and tenderness—and that something she could not name.

Caressing his face, Aliya looked into his eyes, her thoughts morphed with heated passion. Her small gasps echoed between their mouths; the unspoken questions muted between their gaze. His hands raked her hair back, traced the curve of her shoulders and the side of her breasts, resting on her hips as she moved above him.

He was a man taking inventory of his possessions—her.

She was not used to this Oliver, Aliya thought as he buried his face in her neck again, his short hot breaths washing over her sweat-coated skin. She listened to his grunts and pants, wondering if it was all just in her head. She hugged him tightly as she shattered into pieces and he did the same moments later.

When they finally fell back on the bed, panting and moist with sweat, he kissed her long and hard. He did not say a word until very much later when he began to make love to her again. He whispered words of love in her ear as he worshipped her from behind, but never about what bothered him. His arms never let her go until they both finally succumbed to sleep.

By morning, her Ollie was back. He slipped out of bed naked and dressed.

Then he pulled at the covers and said, “I would love to have you for breakfast, darling, but after what we did last night, I am famished for actual food.”

He playfully tossed her dress over her head. “Ollie!” she groaned.

“Dress, darling. We are nearing Herst.”

He helped her with her clothes as he often did back in Strait, distracting her with kisses and sly caresses.

By the time they exited the cabin, Aliya was certain that her husband hid more mysteries than she thought and it bothered her greatly because when Oliver said he had secrets, she only thought about the Royal Circus. But now it seemed that there was more.

XXIII | Brandy Problems

“Wife!”

Aliya jerked from her stupor at the cry from outside the bedchamber. She grabbed her robe and shrugged into it.

“Wife!” The booming voice of her husband was now echoing along the corridors of Winfield and she ran to the door to poke her head out.

“Hush! What are you doing waking up the entire manor!” she hissed at him.

He looked her up and down. “Are you naked inside that robe?”

Aliya turned away and went to the washstand. The door closed behind him and he discarded his clothing to change into fresh ones. He must have gone running by the beach while she was asleep.

“Mother is looking for you. She must be worried about breakfast.”

“Why?”

“In case you have not noticed, Mason came with us here at Herst. Natalia St. Vincent is not used to having children around.”

Aliya sighed, discarded her robe, and hastily changed into her morning dress.

She proceeded downstairs to look for Mason and found him at the back of the manor with Ellise. Winfield was a large manor, and so was its balcony that overlooked the western sea.

Ellise was putting on her riding shoes and Mason was watching with his elbow resting on his thighs and his hands cradling his chin.

“Soon, when you are ready, I will teach you how to ride a horse,” Ellise was saying.

“After I learn how to swim or before?”

“Before,” said her sister-in-law.

Aliya leaned in the doorframe, smiling as she watched.

“What?” Ellise asked Mason as she jumped to her feet.

The child’s blue eyes looked up at Ellise with wonder. “You don’t smile. Don’t you like me?”

“Of course, I smile.”

“When?”

“Every time,” said Ellise.

“No.”

“In my head, I smile,” Ellise said, looking around. “Where is your governess, young man?”

Mason shrugged.

Aliya stepped in and said, “Come, Mason, let us go find Dorothy.”

Mason jumped to his feet and Aliya chuckled when she heard Ellise sigh with relief.

Later, just before breakfast, she and Mason watched from the balcony as Ellise rode by the beach, the tail of her tied hair swaying as her black horse bounded on the sand.

Mason could not help but spurt words of wonder.

Oliver joined them later to tell them that his mother was expecting them for breakfast.

Later that afternoon, Ellise was hiding from Mason; Dorothy was searching the manor for Mason; Natalia and Simon went out to visit a neighbor; Aliya and Oliver locked themselves in their bedchamber and made love.

Another glorious day and it was followed by two more.

Late one night, Aliya watched as Oliver poked the fire and she smiled. “What are you smiling about?” Oliver asked, grinning from where he stood.

“We are always naked in the bedchamber,” she said, hugging her knees, her back bare to the cold night.

“Would you like to get naked outside?” he asked, walking back to bed, stark naked and confident. His hair had grown longer and was tied at the nape; his beard trimmed by her that morning. Oliver St. Vincent was a sight and Aliya would fight anyone who would say otherwise. She rested her chin on her knees.

“We have been naked outdoor, Ollie,” she said, reminding him of that one night in Birth.

“Ah, yes, of course,” he said, rolling on the bed toward her, stopping beside her thigh and hips. With a sigh, he grabbed her hand and played with her fingers over his chest. “What are you thinking?”

She rolled her head to the side to meet his eyes. “That you look very alluring.”

He moistened his lips and playfully tickled the center of her palm. He brought it to his lips, kissed, and licked it. “And you taste wonderful.”

Aliya raised the back of his hand to her lips. “You smell like burning wood.” She playful bit his knuckles. “I never thought I would ever find the smell of burning wood so inviting after the night of the Gambler.”

He stiffened beside her.

She sighed, the memory no longer bringing her the same pang. She did not hurt as much, but it was still dismal.

“When I woke up that night, the outhouse was burning. The families of the men my father killed that night barged into Thornridge.” She did not know if he knew of the details of that night, but it was refreshing to tell him. And if it would make him tell her more of the constant thoughts that bothered him, she would gladly relive the most horrific night of her life.

He did not stop her as she continued, “At that time, I did not know what happened. I did not know my father was responsible for the life of some men. Aunt Geneva, my father’s sister, was vacationing with us then, and Delaney and I slept in her bedchamber. We could hear footsteps running around the entire manor. We had to hide under the bed with Delaney for some time. We could hear the servants crying somewhere. I had to keep Delaney from crying so I played with her under the bed, telling her that it was a silent game—that we were not allowed to talk.

“Aunt Geneva slipped from under the bed when the household went quiet and the footsteps disappeared. She was gone for quite some time. Delaney fell asleep by then. She must have been bored by our game.

“When our aunt came back, she was crying. She told us we had to leave Thornbridge. With nothing but our coats, we ran out of the manor and into a carriage already waiting for us. From the distance, I saw the outhouse burning. Thick smoke was rising in the air like clouds.”

His hand had stilled around hers. “And then you left?” he asked, his voice bare of emotion.

“No,” Aliya said, shaking her head. “Aunt Geneva had to return inside the manor. I thought she was going to get Mother, but when she came back, she was alone. The servants were busy with the fire at the outhouse and it was at that point that I realized we were alone.”

“Your mother was dead.”

“The men found her first. Then they burned the outhouse. They must have not known Aunt Geneva was staying with us and that we were sleeping with her. It was only a matter of time before they found us, Aunt Geneva said. She did not know where to go. My father had very little friends. My mother was dead.”

“And she told you everything? About your mother?”

“Of course. I was fifteen, Ollie.”

He kissed her hand. “I remember your mother. She easily laughed like you.”

Her smile widened, her mind used to only remembering the woman when she was alive. Her mother taught her everything about family and love. “Despite the man she married and the abuse she suffered, Antonina Guideville had so much love to give.”

Turning on the bed, he planted a kiss on her exposed hip. “And your aunt took you to Belcourt.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “She did. It was the safest place for us. They would not let us in at first, but we begged. I begged them to let us in. They finally conceded, but my aunt cannot enter Belcourt. She told us she will return for us.

“Days passed. And then weeks. Belcourt had to decide if they should take me in. They could take Delaney as she was young. I was fifteen. They did not take in older children. But I begged them to let me stay. I shall be a good girl, I told them. I will do anything they wanted.”

His hand gripped hers tightly. “Years later, the very moment I was courted as a Belle, I found out that my aunt had escaped back to the Americas.”

Oliver rolled on his back and stayed very quiet and still beside her. She looked down at him and found that he was blankly staring at the ceiling. With a smile, she fell back to lay on the bed beside him, sliding lower so she could wrap her arm and leg over him, and she murmured, “When did you start looking for me?”

His voice cracked as he replied, “Five years ago. The very moment I returned to Sutherland.”

She frowned. His voice was void—hollow. Thinking he must be affected by her tale, Aliya tried to divert the subject. “And you did not approach me even once?”

She patiently waited for him to recover and when he did, his head rolled to the side to face her. “Darling, do you know what they say about delaying gratification?”

She snorted. “I believe you have taught me the same thing too many times in bed.”

Climbing over her, he covered her body with his. “Because it is worthwhile,” he murmured, biting her lip.

He was distracting her again, Aliya thought.

Then he buried his face in her neck again, smelling her scent—just like he did on the ship.

Just as he would whenever he wanted to hide from her.

---

Oliver left their bedchamber in the middle of the night and entered the library.

He grabbed the bottle of brandy and took it to a nearby chair. He emptied the first glass in one gulp.

He cursed the second glass and emptied it just as fast.

Tilting his head back, he started to curse himself.

He should be happy, he thought.

He finally rescued the girl.

But he could not bring himself to feel so.

The guilt was eating him at every waking moment.

Pouring himself another drink, he remembered the last time he got foxed. It must have been that night when Aliya came to him in Sinclair; that night he gave her the option to marry him.

Since then, the thought of drinking rarely came.

And he thought he was done with it—that perhaps taking her out of Belcourt, rescuing her from that place—was enough.

But then it came back. The desire to forget started to creep in after the wedding. The thirst to numb the desolation and remorse came back with a wrathful vengeance.

Oliver emptied the glass, swallowed the bitter taste of brandy, and then covered his face with his hands.

His shoulders began to shake and he started to sob quietly until the veins in his neck engorged.

Sniffing, he chuckled sardonically in the darkness of the library. He poured another drink, emptied its contents, and repeated the process until he was numb and he could not think of anything else but Aliya.

And the cruise. And the monkey and the dark ocean that carried their childish peals of laughter.

He drank until his mind was filled with everything else but that night.

A whimper escaped him as he emptied the bottle.

And then he sighed, throwing his head back.

He murmured words, smiled, chuckled, and sobbed.

Without the awareness of time and being, Oliver’s thoughts left him.

Peace, at last

He dreamed of the ocean and the night sky, the faint light beyond the horizon, the wind blowing her hair to his mouth. He heard her childish chuckles as the monkey jumped from her shoulder and hung on the railing. He heard his own laughter.

But then someone was shaking him. “Ollie,” Aliya’s voice softly whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“Darling,” he said with a sob. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his lids heavy.

“Ollie, why are you doing this?” he thought he heard her ask. He did not answer for she was just a dream and dreams did not deserve answers for they were likewise as cryptic as reality.

---

The next day, Aliya, Simon, Natalia, Ellise, and Mason were having luncheon when Oliver stumbled into the dining room.

She saw the stern look on Natalia’s face as her son wobbled into the room and sat beside his wife.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

“I hope you slept well,” Aliya nonchalantly said.

“I did, thank you,” he murmured as he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

She wrinkled her nose and cupped his face. “You need a bath, Ollie.”

He grumbled under his breath while Simon and Natalia looked at each other.

At that point, Aliya realized the couple knew what was going on.

She pretended to be all right, but she could only endure as much.

When she saw that Mason was done with his meal, she stood and excused from the table to deliver Mason to Dorothy for his lessons where she spent the rest of the afternoon.

By supper, Oliver was back to being Ollie. He would grab Aliya’s hand under the table and play with it as they ate. And after their meal and they retreated into the drawing room for tea, he openly discussed with Simon his opinions on the issues printed by the Sutherland Post while Aliya drank tea with Natalia and Ellise. Soon after, the three of them left the two men to retire for the night.

But Aliya did not immediately do so. She walked to the back of the manor, took off her lace slippers, and walked along the beach.

She could not understand why she was feeling so forlorn when she should not.

No, of course, not. She knew exactly why she was feeling this way.

Walking as far as she could from the manor, Aliya sat on the sand and allowed the gentle waves to take her into a trance.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver’s silhouette approach.

She did not say a word when he reached her and settled behind her.

His long legs caged her from both sides. His arms wrapped around her from behind and his face nuzzled her neck.

She felt the tears at the back of her eyes and she blinked them away.

“I took a bath,” he said in jest.

She stayed immobile and quiet. She could not reply for she was in no mood to jest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Ali.”

A tear dropped from her eye. “I found you completely foxed, Ollie.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She breathed through her mouth because her nose was stuffed and she did not want him to know she was crying. “You scared me,” she said, voice shaking.

He groaned and pulled her closer. “I’m sorry, Ali. Please, darling, don’t cry. I am not worth it.”

She slapped his arm and then she sniffed, the sobs becoming more uncontrollable. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m trying. I’m trying…”

She wanted to tell him to try harder, but how could she when she did not know the struggle he had to deal with every day?

Aliya twisted to wrap her arms around him. She could never hate this man, she thought. She only wished he would tell her more.

His hand went under her chin and tilted her head to meet his kiss. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You do not scare me like that again.”

“I will try. Ali,” he said, cupping her face. “I am trying.”

She nodded. “I know.”

---

The next morning, Natalia invited Aliya to her greenhouse after she settled Mason in his schoolroom.

“Where is Ellise?” she asked her mother-in-law.

“Hunting, where else?”

“Hunting?”

“In the woods nearby,” Natalia said with a sigh. “That daughter of mine will not leave the woods if she had her way.”

“And who is she with?”

“She likes going alone.”

Aliya’s eyes widened. “And you let her?”

“She will still find a way to escape if we do not.”

In utter disbelief and wonder, Aliya blinked a few times. When they reached the greenhouse, which was larger by far than that of Lady Winthrop’s, Aliya asked, “Does she use a gun—”

“She likes her bow and arrows.”

“Oh, good Lord…”

“Horrible, really.”

“No, I find it amazing.”

Natalia threw her a disapproving look. “You do not show that awe to Ellise. It will merely encourage her eccentric ways.”

She bit her lips to hide her laughter. “Of course.”

“But I took you here for another reason,” Natalia said, gracefully walking down the row of plants. Flowers of different kinds bloomed around them, yet Aliya could not get herself to enjoy them as Natalia said, “You must realize by now that Oliver has a problem.”

Aliya did not reply and instead waited for Natalia to continue.

“His drinking started when he returned to Sutherland from overseas. Are you aware of that?”

“No, we never talked about it.”

Natalia paused to look at her. And then she nodded. She turned around to continue walking. “You must be suffering because of it.”

“I try not to let it grow into an even bigger problem,” she retorted.

“But you must wonder what made him this way,” said Natalia, pausing once more to face Aliya.

Outside, the sun was shining and it was a perfect day for a walk. She could find Oliver and they may enjoy an afternoon by the beach with Mason. She could leave this greenhouse and search for her husband.

Now.

But then she could not because she wanted to know.

“Oliver may never tell you because he will never be able to live with himself if he loses you because of it, which I think is stupid of him, considering he married a wise woman.”

Aliya frowned. “Why would he think he would lose me?”

Natalia’s green gaze held hers. “Oliver blames himself for what happened to your mother—for what happened to you and your sister. And he also blames himself for the lives of the men your father took thirteen years ago.”

XXIV. Giants Have Nightmares

Aliya frowned in confusion. “Why would he feel that way?”

Her mother-in-law tore her eyes from her and studied a budding flower. “You are aware of what your father did that gained him the name of the Gambler, yes?”

“Yes. He killed five men.”

“Six.”

Aliya blinked. “That cannot be right.”

“Your father escaped Wheeler’s after killing a lord while gambling. They had what we would call a little squabble over your father’s supposed cheating habits.”

Her brows fused. “I have not heard of this.”

“Of course, you have not. You must only know what your aunt told you—what she knew at that time.”

“And where does Oliver fit into this? He was merely a child—”

“Oliver was seventeen, training under his Uncle Carl at Sinclair in Coulway. He was with his uncle when your father barged in alone after having barely escaped Wheeler’s, dying from a fatal wound in his groin. He had been shot during the commotion at Wheeler’s, one he started by shooting his opponent straight in the head.”

“In the head?”

“Right between the eyes.”

Aliya blinked. “Did he threaten Ollie and Uncle Carl?”

“He had a gun, but he had no strength left. Carl was familiar with Newton Guideville and his reputation. He was reluctant to save your father.”

Aliya felt a chill run up her spine. “But Ollie was not.”

Natalia scoffed. “Oliver often claims he once raised a man from the dead. Your father was knocking on the devil’s door when Oliver begged his uncle to proceed with the operation. I do not know the full story of that night or how Oliver convinced his uncle for he never told us. All we know is that they did manage to save the man.” Turning to face Aliya again, her face not betraying any emotion, Natalia added, “And you know the rest.”

“He went back to Wheelers.”

“The very next night, yes. With fresh wounds, your father went back to Wheelers and started shooting. He killed four men in the club, two of whom were Royals—members of the Circus. Your father disappeared thereafter.”

“Four?”

Natalia did not answer immediately. “He killed Carl when he tried to stop him from leaving Sinclair.”

Aliya stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle her gasp. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Fortunately for Oliver, he was in another chamber studying a corpse when he heard the gunshot. Carl was shot in the head and he was dead before he even fell on the ground.”

Aliya reached for the nearest table for support, her breaths coming out short. Tears spilled from her eyes and she whimpered. She was feeling many things at once. Guilt, fear, disbelief, and fury.

“What your father did was not your fault and it will never be,” Natalia said. “And it is not my son’s either.”

Suddenly she realized everything, finally aware of the pain and guilt Oliver must be carrying for years.

“You do remember him before the night of the Gambler. He was a happy child and he tries to be the same even until now for he is aware that we do not consider his guilt valid. But it is real to him. After that night, we knew he was no longer the innocent Oliver we knew. He buried himself in his studies. And when he was done, after she acquired what he needed, he started to pour his hours in the hospitals. We started to think he was all right. He traveled and his letters detailed his adventures and learnings. We believed then that he had come to terms with his uncle’s death.”

“But he never did,” Aliya shakily said. “He never did because he also feels responsible for the other lives lost that night.”

“And you, your sister, and your mother.”

Aliya whimpered and choked on her tears. She clutched her chest, the pain nearly unbearable. Someone was suffering for her back then and he should not have. He should not be. And yet he was because he was Ollie.

“When he finally returned five years ago, the drinking started. He had very little regard for his reputation even now. The drinking fueled him to be strong and confident. Perhaps he thought he could numb the guilt, but we will never know. Oliver never wants to discuss the past.”

Through a blur of tears, she searched Natalia’s face. “He never told me.”

“Of course, he would not. He fears you will leave him, Aliya.”

Her face crumpled as if her mother-in-law said something abhorrent. “I would never blame it on him.”

Natalia sighed. “I hope you can tell him that.”

“I will.”

“But tread carefully, Aliya. My son is more vulnerable than you think.”

“He believed that taking me out of Belcourt was his redemption.”

“I also thought so. Which is why I supported his plans. And for a while, he ceased drinking. I was hopeful.” Silence lingered between them. “But his demons seem to be stronger than I thought. I was told by the servant that they had to help you carry him back to your bedchamber the other day.”

Aliya wiped her face with shaking hands. “Yes. I found him with an empty bottle of brandy in the library.”

Natalia sighed. “Perhaps having you in his life is not the solution he was looking for after all. You remind him of that night.”

Aliya’s jaw tightened and she closed her eyes. She had so carelessly talked about their past. She told him about how she escaped Thornridge and oh, God, how he must have suffered through it!

“I will solve this matter, Natalia,” she promised, wiping her tears.

“My son regards you dearly, Aliya,” Natalia said. “Do not hurt him.”

Aliya scoffed. “You are not the first to tell me so.”

And as though he knew he was being talked about, Oliver’s loud voice called from outside the greenhouse. “Wife!”

Natalia frowned. “Why does he do that?”

Aliya laughed through her tears as another “Wife!” rang in the air. Shaking her head, she answered her mother-in-law, saying, “He believes I find it funny.”

“And do you?”

Aliya sniffled and whimpered at the pain she felt for Oliver. She hastily wiped her face dry before she turned to find Oliver walking toward the greenhouse. “Yes,” she replied, biting her lips to stop them from quivering. She watched her husband enter the greenhouse, towering over the racks of plants. His large frame was just a weak armor conserving the most delicate soul she had ever known.

---

“What were you talking about with Mother?” Oliver asked as they walked hand in hand back to the manor. “She made you cry.”

Aliya shook her head. It was not the perfect time to talk to him about the past. She had to take this slow, or she would lose him. “Women talk a lot about many things that make them cry.”

“Then I challenge you to make Ellise cry. Father would kneel before you if you can manage to do that.”

Aliya weakly smiled. “I am certain she has cried once or twice in the past, although I cannot imagine it.”

“That thing they call my sister never cries, even when she came out of my mother’s womb.”

“Surely you are jesting.” She looked at him, wondering what was running in his mind. How could he so easily hide the pain? Had the years taught him well?

“My father claims it to be true.”

“Your father is Simon St. Vincent. I can hardly believe anything he says.”

Oliver chuckled. “Ah, you must be getting used to being a St. Vincent.”

“Surprisingly, I am,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “But mayhap I am also a little odd.”

“You have always been odd. You like monkeys. And you like me.”

Aliya chuckled, all the while fighting the tears. How could he make her laugh so easily when he carried so much weight? “And your jokes. I do not know anyone else who laughs at them.”

“And you enjoyed my stalking.”

She playfully turned to him. “The sort of courtship I enjoy, apparently.”

With a curious smile, he bent down and stole a kiss. “Because you are naughty, Mrs. St. Vincent.”

“Mrs. Oliver St. Vincent,” she corrected. “Mrs. St. Vincent is your mother.”

He nodded, frowning at her. “Ali, you are fighting not to cry.” He carefully cupped her face. “What happened? Tell me, what did my mother say to you?”

She shook her head and sniffed. “I will tell you soon,” she promised, holding his hand and closing her eyes, fighting the urge to drag him to a quiet room and talk to him. Now was not the time. He bent down and kissed her tears and wiped the rest with his thumb. “And then perhaps you can scold her,” she added in jest.

He laughed and led her back into the manor.

They passed by the hall that led to the balcony. Aliya stopped and gazed. “Mason seems to enjoy Ellise’s company.”

“Then he must be like you,” Oliver said, turning so they could join Ellise and Mason outside.

“Mason, should you not be in the schoolroom?” Aliya asked, glad to find a distraction.

“I told Dorothy that a child has very little patience inside an enclosed space,” Ellise answered. “He needs to explore to learn.” The woman paused on Aliya’s face when she noted her swollen eyes but said nothing.

“Ah, the balcony offers more learning then?” Oliver said as he settled beside Mason. “And what have you learned thus far, Mason?”

“Sharks also eat other fishes,” Mason said.

Oliver glared at his sister.

“Because they need to eat,” the child added. “To survive, yes, Ellise?”

Ellise nodded, her eyes curiously looking at Aliya before turning away.

“Then the sharks are not bad.”

“Yes,” Ellise replied, her attention back on the sea.

“But they eat people.”

“Yes.”

“Then they turn bad?”

“They do not know they cannot eat people,” Ellise patiently said, her tone completely barren. “It is the people who think they should not be eaten.”

Mason blinked. Then he turned to Oliver. “Why?”

Oliver blinked, his eyes rapidly looking for answers.

“Because people think too highly of themselves,” Ellise replied. Her brown hair was down today and Aliya could not help but look on with wonder—both at her beauty and her wisdom.

Oliver looked out into the sea. “Then what should the people do?” he asked his sister.

“Respect the nature of the sharks.”

“Make friends with the sharks!” Mason replied with a laugh.

“No, of course not,” said Ellise.

“If we are friends, they will not eat me.”

“They will.”

“But—”

“Then how?” Oliver asked, turning his head to look at his sister.

Ellise blinked. “You learn to survive as well.”

“Now, enough about the sharks,” said Aliya, reaching for Mason’s hand. “Let us go for a walk, Mason.”

The child excitedly took off his shoes and they both ran straight unto the sand. “Sharks cannot go near the shore,” said Aliya, leading Mason to the waters. “So long as you do not go far, you will be safe.”

“But Ellise said that sharks can be cunning.”

“They are,” Aliya said with a smile. “But they cannot swim in shallow waters.”

“Then I can go into the water?”

“Of course.”

She led him deeper into the water and he stopped just where the water reached his knees. “I think I am fine here, Aunt Aliya.”

Aliya walked further away so the water reached her knees as well. “When you are as tall as I am, you can reach this far.”

Mason grinned. “When I am as tall as you, will Mama come for me?”

Her eyes filled with tears and she was glad that the setting sun behind her was shadowing her face from Mason. “Yes.”

“By then, I know how to swim and ride the horse!”

“Yes.”

She could see Oliver walking toward them. He ran when Mason turned and grabbed the boy over his shoulder, eliciting a happy cry from the child. “Now, you can go further into the water,” said Aliya as Oliver took Mason toward her.

“What about Ellise?” Mason asked, looking over at the balcony where Ellise was sitting.

“Ellise hates getting wet,” Oliver said, walking further away.

“Ollie, do not take him too far,” Aliya said, voice etched with worry.

“I am the god of the ocean, darling,” he said, “fret not.” He turned to show Mason the setting sun.

While Oliver was preoccupied and she was finally left alone, Aliya cried some more, glad for the sound of the splashing sound of the waves that muffled her silent sobs, thankful for the water that masked her tears.

She watched two beings—a man and a boy. Their years were not much of a difference because both were utterly innocent and vulnerable. She wanted to wrap them with her embrace and protect them from the pain that they were hiding.

Mason would often cry in his sleep for his mother. Oliver would drink himself to sleep to hide from the guilt.

She ached and wondered if she would be enough to heal them.

---

Much later, as Dorothy ushered Mason away to dry himself, Aliya and Oliver stayed behind to enjoy the waves.

“My skirts are quite heavy,” she complained as Oliver pulled her toward him. “Should I take them off?” she asked, her hand coming up to his nape.

He growled in her neck. “Later,” he said. “When everyone else is asleep.”

She let him lead her back to the house, laughing as they ran back to their bedchamber dripping wet.

By supper, Natalia was not pleased that they trailed puddles of water around the house, but she stopped her initial complaints when Mason turned his fearful blue eyes at her. Natalia blinked and cleared her throat. “I am merely saying that you ought to dry yourself first before coming into the manor.”

But Mason’s lips quivered, his eyes starting to pool with tears. “Ah, Mason,” said Simon, coming to his feet to lift the boy in his arms. “Natalia is jesting. Jesting! Of course, you can play in the water.” He looked at his wife and added, “After you dry yourself. I suggest that you bring more towels next time. Is that not a famous idea?”

The boy nodded, wiping his eyes.

Natalia cleared her throat again and stared at Mason. “You can ask Dorothy to get more towels next time you dip into the waters.”

Oliver chuckled beside Aliya who was thinking that Herst may be good for Mason, after all. And Mason may be good for Natalia and Simon as well.

And perhaps even Ellise.

On the other hand, she was not certain what would be good for Oliver.

---

Oliver later invited his wife for a walk.

In two days, they would be leaving Herst.

He would hate to do so, but he and his father were needed in Coulway. And Aliya needed to return to Belcourt.

“Ellise is not keen on leaving,” his wife said.

“Ellise enjoys Herst as much as anyone.”

“She can always do the things she enjoys in Coulway. I am certain we have woods she can go to and hunt.”

“Perhaps you can convince her to do just that.”

“I can try.”

“Is Delaney’s birthday coming soon?”

His wife fell silent for a while. “In a month, yes.”

“And will Belcourt make its decision soon?”

“They will have to.”

The wind was not cold, but he could feel the chill gliding up through his spine as he asked, “And if they do not grant your application?”

“I do not know,” she said, voice cracking. “I honestly do not know.”

His jaw tightened.

He had never thought of Delaney. Never had she crossed his mind when he spent those years searching for Aliya and a way to get her out of Belcourt.

“We will get her out,” he said, wondering if Delaney was the reason for Aliya’s tears earlier.

She was going through something and she was not telling him. He wanted to ask, demand what it was that made her so upset, but he could not bring himself to do so. Did he fear that her answer would merely cause him more guilt?

They had reached the giant rock that marked the end of the St. Vincent property. She let go of his hand and touched the stone. “Have you ever tried climbing this?” she asked, looking up.

“Many times,” he replied with a faint smile, just watching her beautiful moonlit face.

“And?”

“If you walk around, you will see the other side. There is no point climbing,” he replied, leaning against the rock. The wind blew his hair across his face and he gathered them around to tie it with the band he always carried around his wrist. Aliya watched him do it and when he was done, she walked around the rock. “But if you reach the top, you will see further away.”

“Yes, but there is nothing there but a vast empty land.”

“Who owns it?”

“The Fergussons, I believe. Old family.”

“Do they have a house nearby?” her voice from the other side asked.

“No, I believe not.”

She poked her head from behind the rock and grinned at him. “Then there will be no witnesses?”

He jumped from the rock and stalked toward her. She laughed as Oliver pulled his shirt over his head. Her back pressed into the rough surface of the rock when he stepped closer, undoing his breeches.

Aliya chuckled, gathering her skirts higher. “I did not wear my drawers,” she said, “because someone promised to debauch me tonight.”

He growled into her ear as he lifted her off the sand and up against the rock. Her legs wrapped around him, her head turning to search for his mouth.

After a while of breathless teasing, a deep roar of desire rumbled out of his chest.

“Ali,” he hissed into her mouth, “you have surpassed my fantasies.”

A satisfied sigh escaped her as he slowly inched inside her. “Then perhaps I can also break through your nightmares,” she whispered in his ear, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

As he made love to her, Oliver wondered if she could and if she did, would she find him still there? Would she ever reach him in time?

XXV | Stark’s and the Doctor Who Lived There

Their arrival in Coulway was greeted with countless more balls to attend. If it were not for Simon’s insistence that they grace the parties with their presence, Aliya and Ellise would have chosen to stay indoors.

Herst’s sleepy and lazy atmosphere did not easily wear off from both women, but it seemed that both St. Vincent men were keen on jumping into the fray of society.

Ellise would often wonder how their mother was fairing being alone with Mason on the island, but it would often lead to her father telling her that Natalia needed to be with Mason so he and Oliver could enjoy the season without her meddling. “Ah, which reminds me that I have not yet answered her letter!” Simon had said, jumping to his feet to rush to the library.

Aliya, on the other hand, had matters to focus on, the most pressing of all was her husband.

For the first two days since they arrived, she did not see him touch a brandy. She could sense that he was struggling as he would often become restless during the night. She would not make a sound or let him know that she was awake, just trying to see if he would give in.

For two nights, he won the fight. He never left their bed and would fall back to sleep after an hour of tossing about.

But on the third day, she found Oliver in the library with two bottles of brandy.

This time she did not do anything. She picked up the empty bottles and tossed them out the window. When he woke up the next day, she pretended nonchalance while he acted innocent.

He would still make her laugh, engage her in a conversation, and even escort her everywhere during the parties they attended. But she could sense that he was restless to go home. And when they were home, he would wait until she was asleep.

On the third night that he had gone missing from their bedchamber, Aliya could no longer turn a blind eye.

She woke up very early the next morning and woke the entire household by throwing all liquor out the window, smashing the bottles in the garden.

Oliver stirred awake from where he was sleeping in the settee, blinked at the sight of his wife gracefully taking her time with each precious bottle.

She saw his face harden and anger flashed his eyes when she turned to look at him, dropping the last remaining brandy out the window, but he said nothing.

Rubbing her hands together, she squared her shoulders and exited the study, finding her way to the drawing room where there were more bottles to throw out.

Ellise was waiting for her in the bottom of the stairs, hair tousled from sleep, wrapped in her sleeping robe with an amused smile on her face. Without a word, she followed Aliya to the parlor where the remaining bottles were kept. Ellise rang for tea while Aliya threw the drinks unto the driveway to the greatest chagrin of the footmen outside.

Once she was done, confident that she had smashed nearly three cows worth of liquors, Aliya quietly joined Ellise for tea just as Simon rushed into the doorway, eyes wide with concern. “What was that sound?” her father-in-law inquired.

“Ask your son, he knows what it is about,” said Aliya as Ellise shrugged when her father turned his eyes on her.

Simon disappeared and was never seen again until luncheon.

Oliver later dragged himself into the parlor, his eyes heavy and his hair a mess. “Darling, I know why you had to do that—”

“Thank you,” Aliya interjected, sipping from her cup. “Would you like me to go to Strait as well? I quite have the time, Ollie. And I am certain you have quite a lot more bottles there for me to throw.”

When Oliver simply acted as though nothing had happened, Aliya started to feel the frustration. She knew she had to address the root cause of his drinking.

She stayed home that night and Simon did not insist that she and Ellise joined him at the Karol Ball. And while Aliya was brushing her hair to get to bed, Oliver sashayed into their bedchamber and walked up behind her. He bent low and kissed her cheek, murmuring, “I am sorry, Ali.”

Aliya was no longer pleased, so she remained stiff.

“I told you I am trying,” he said, sitting on the bed.

“I am being patient with you, Ollie, but I hope that you also understand when I say I hate to see you killing yourself,” was all she said as she placed her brush on the vanity and walked to her side of the bed.

That night, she felt him leave the bedchamber.

The very next day, Aliya went to Belcourt alone. She was informed by Jason whom she requested to join them in Coulway, that Oliver had gone to Sinclair with his father on an important matter.

Belcourt welcomed her and so did Lady Mariam.

“I am afraid that the High Court is still deliberating your application, Aliya,” the Mistress told her. “I hope you can be more patient.”

“I have no other choice,” she stiffly said. “But do you not think it is taking quite longer than expected? I have been away for weeks and had been expecting a result by the time I returned to Coulway.”

Lady Mariam nodded. “I understand your frustration, dear. But Belcourt takes its time most particularly when it comes to the children in the Manor.”

“My sister is barely a child, my lady.”

“But she is still under the care of the Manor.”

Nodding, Aliya sighed. She gathered her reticule and left Belcourt with less hope.

When she arrived in Coulway, Oliver was still missing.

“Where is your brother, Ellise?” she asked when she found the woman in the garden, feeding the birds.

“He arrived earlier with Father from Sinclair, but immediately left thereafter.”

“With Father?”

“No, by himself,” answered her sister-in-law, tone filled with meaning. “He went on foot, saying we might find a need for the carriage later. Father left for a dinner party with the Duke and Duchess of Calbridge.”

“Do you have any idea where Oliver might be?”

“Somewhere there is brandy and you cannot enter?”

Aliya’s brow arched. “Stark’s it is.”

Her sister-in-law followed her back into the house. “Can I come with you?”

“Grab your petticoat,” she almost snarled as she rushed to the door.

Within minutes, Ellise joined her in Oliver’s carriage.

“You stay here,” she told Ellise moments later outside Stark’s. She alighted from the carriage and went straight to the door which was guarded by a stiff-looking man. “My husband is inside,” she coldly said. “I want you to step aside and pretend that you did not see me come in.”

“I am afraid I cannot allow that, my lady.”

“Then perhaps you wish me to get Mr. Stark’s attention? He and I are quite chummy.”

The man suddenly looked arrested.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the door handle. She rushed into the club before the doorman could change his mind and searched for her husband.

It was not hard to find him because Oliver towered most men.

And he was loud.

She heard his deep chuckles first before her eyes spotted him. A few men had already taken notice of her presence and sat gawking in their seats, their eyes following her as she strode to where Oliver sat with his equally foxed friends playing cards.

She did not make a sound as she waited for him and his three friends to notice her casting a shadow over their table. One of the eventually looked up and his eyes widened. The man beside him did the same and nudged the one next to Oliver. The third man cleared his throat, eyes quaking as he stared at Aliya, poking Oliver’s hand.

“What?” Oliver asked with a chuckle.

Aliya continued to stare down at her husband. He lifted his head from his cards and looked at his friends. “What?” he asked again.

The direction of their gaze gave him the answer. Slowly turning, his eyes rounded when he saw his wife. “Ali!” he said, breaking into a wide smile, his eyes glassy. Aliya sniffed and her lips pursed. He had been drinking for quite some time.

“Get up, Oliver,” she gently ordered, but her eyes were stern.

His cards fell on the table as he immediately tried to stand. But he could not do so.

Aliya had witnessed a foxed Oliver many times before. Most often, he was capable, but not this time. He could not even lift himself off the chair.

He tried once again, but he fell right back into his seat.

Aliya’s jaw tightened as she realized the severity of her problem.

In a cold voice that caused the men in the table to turn away, she said, “Go home when you are able, unless, of course, you already feel at home here,” before stiffly turning to leave.

“Ali…” he heard him faintly call out, but Aliya refused to go back. Her eyes were already brimming with tears.

As she made her way to the front doors, a man blocked her path. She looked up and through her tears saw Rider Fairborne, the Earl of Keene, looking down at her. “Allow me to escort you back home, my lady.”

“I am fine. A carriage is waiting for me outside.”

“Still, I insist,” he said, guiding her toward the door. “It is quite late.”

Aliya nodded. She did not know the earl personally, but one look at the man told her that he would have his way no matter what.

As they reached the carriage, Ellise scowled. “This man is not Oliver, Aliya. You got the wrong husband.”

“The earl is taking us home, Ellise,” she said as she tried her best to maintain her composure.

“Good evening, Ellise,” greeted Rider. “Since your brother is currently indisposed at the moment, I find it my duty to ensure that you arrive back home safely.”

“We arrived in Stark’s safely. We can surely return home in the same manner,” Ellise told the earl in a familiar tone that told Aliya the two were familiar with each other.

“Still, it is night time. Anything can happen.”

“You will have to return here on foot,” Ellise pointed out as the carriage drove away.

Aliya was no longer listening. She stared out the window, fighting the tears, wondering how she could deal with her husband once he returned home.

“I have things to discuss with your father,” she heard the earl say.

“Father is not in residence.”

“I know. I shall wait until he returns from Stapleton.”

Ellise did not say more afterward.

---

“What are you still doing here, St. Vincent?” Tanner MacMier asked, joining Oliver in one of Stark’s drawing rooms.

“I am afraid I have to wait a while before going home,” he said with a groan, closing his eyes. “Ah, I am bloody foxed.”

“Of course, you are. Another man had to take your wife home.”

His eyes snapped open. “Whatever do you mean?”

Tanner shrugged and nonchalantly crossed one leg over the other. “Rider joined your wife in your carriage. He had to acquire something from your father and offered to accompany her home.”

Oliver’s entire body tightened. “Keene brought my wife home?”

“Well, you were too foxed to take responsibility, St. Vincent.”

As soon as Tanner said those words, Oliver stood up and closed his eyes as the room around him turned. Stumbling out of the drawing room, he stalked out into the street. His focus returning, he found Keene’s sealed carriage and growled at the driver, “Your master stole my carriage with my wife. You take me home now.”

The driver did not object as Oliver climbed inside the posh carriage with a grunt.

Well, you were too foxed to take responsibility, St. Vincent…

As Tanner’s words echoed in his head, Oliver kicked the seat across from him in fury.

As they rounded the corner, he felt the carriage slow to a stop. He tapped the roof. “Oi! Faster!”

But he heard the driver yelp.

Oliver frowned, reaching for the door, but it swung open before he could grip the handle. “What do you want?” he demanded as three figures stealthily climbed inside, their faces covered with black cloth, save for their eyes who looked equally surprised. Obviously, they were expecting Keene and not him.

They were wearing the same color of clothing—pants and matching shirt—but it was clear what they were.

They were women.

“Ah, bloody tarnation,” he cursed under his breath.

---

Aliya waited until Rider Fairborne left the villa after a short chat with Simon who had was home merely a few minutes after she and Ellise arrived with the earl.

When she thought that Oliver may not come home until morning, she prepared to go to bed. As she brushed her hair, a series of knocks came to her door.

“Come in,” she said, and Jason walked in, his expression far from his typical calm and controlled one. “What is it?” she asked, noting the alarm in the man’s eyes.

“Doctor Oliver has been taken to Sinclair, my lady.”

Aliya wrapped her robe around her and stood. “Why?” she asked, her heart starting to beat faster.

“He had an accident.”

XXVI | The Guilty Party

Aliya stalked down the corridors of Sinclair far ahead of Ellise and Simon, her eyes frantically searching each room even though a woman was rushing ahead of her to show the way.

She was led unto the third landing and into a large room with a bed in the middle where Oliver was sitting, arguing with a doctor, saying he was fine and he did not need to lie down.

He stopped when he saw Aliya burst inside.

“Ali,” he said, looking bewildered at the sight of her. She could not blame him. Her auburn hair was down and in disarray. And she was not even dressed properly. She had thrown her coat over her nightdress and rushed out of the villa earlier in naught but her indoor lace slippers.

As Ellise and Simon burst into the room behind Aliya, she had already reached Oliver, her hands cupping his face to search for injuries before proceeding to assess his entire form, her shaking hands restlessly patting his arms, his legs, while her tears uncontrollably streamed down her face.

The relief that he was alive and unharmed save for a few bruises on his arms merely fueled her sobs. Her head still bent, Aliya whimpered.

“Ali,” he softly said, reaching out to hold her arm, but she brushed it away.

She suddenly turned cold, her mind overtaking her emotions. It could have been worse. They said he fell from a carriage. That was all Jason could tell her. In the carriage ride to Sinclair, she asked Simon what happened, her tone nearly hysterical. Her father-in-law could not provide more than what Jason was told. Not knowing the exact state of her husband while sitting restlessly inside the carriage, Aliya’s imagination led her to the worst scenario.

But after seeing him nearly uninjured, the fear quickly disappeared, replaced by the unreasonable feeling of shame. And perhaps anger because now she knew that Oliver could do this to her.

Squaring her shoulders, she briskly wiped her face with the back of her hand and sniffled. Blinking, she haughtily lifted her chin and met his gaze, her jaw tight.

“I am no doctor, but I believe you will not die tonight. I find no need to be here,” she coldly said, her tone the same as when she walked out on him earlier at Stark’s.

Without giving him a chance to say a word, she turned and quickly walked away. Her knees felt weak with relief. Aliya did not know how to deal with the emotions that swirled inside her.

Ellise followed her out of the room, quietly offering her comfort.

Only when they reached the carriage that Aliya allowed her tears to come out again.

Her sister-in-law reluctantly reached for her hand and quietly squeezed it.

It was enough for Aliya.

---

His father’s friend, Dr. Pemberton, broke the silence, saying, “You are lucky you did not sustain any serious injury, Oliver.”

Oliver did not reply, Aliya’s distraught and cold face still very fresh in his mind.

His father approached them. “How many men attacked you?”

“Three women,” he bitterly said through his teeth. “I was in Keene’s carriage.”

Simon nodded. “We should have suspected they would find out about Keene’s activities.”

Oliver did not reply. He did not care what the bloody earl was doing or what his mission was.

Simon turned to Pemberton who nodded and left the room.

His father did not say a word for quite some time, letting the silence reign between them, but when the man finally opened his mouth, Oliver was suddenly filled with rage. “Aliya is distraught, Oliver. And she is quite angry as well. You should have seen her fly down the stairs to get to the carriage to get to you.”

“I would not be here if she did not throw all the liquors from the house! My house!”

His father looked at him somberly. “You do not blame anyone else when your anger is directed toward yourself, Oliver.”

He turned away from his father to glare at the door.

“It could have been her, you know,” his father said, the words eerily floating to his ears and he stiffened. “She would have been the one who got attacked. Your attackers meant to target Keene and if they learned that he was with Aliya…” Simon trailed, unable to finish his sentence.

Oliver went cold. Blood drained from his face.

“And you would have been too drunk to even save her, son,” were his father’s final words before leaving Oliver alone in the room.

---

When Oliver entered the dark bedchamber, Aliya was in bed, facing away from him.

He slowly sank into the bed, sitting with his back turned at her, resting his elbows on his thighs, burying his face into his hands.

He was too large and too quick for the three women earlier. And he was not their intended target. After a short bout inside the carriage, the three women managed to throw him out of the carriage and disappeared as fast as they came. By now, Belcourt may now believe he was part of the Circus.

The carriage driver claimed he fell unconscious immediately after falling unto the cobbled ground and Oliver knew it was not because of the impact. He was too intoxicated.

He let out a shaky breath, his father’s words ringing in his ears.

He had been careless, too foxed to think earlier. He should not have taken Keene’s carriage.

He may not have sustained any injuries, but he was harming his relationship with his wife.

The urge to grab drink came to him, tempting him once more. But he refused this time, sleeping in his side of the bed to try to summon sleep when he knew it would not come easily.

When he woke the next morning, Aliya was no longer in their bedchamber. Oliver washed his face and dressed to look for her.

He poked his head in the parlor and found Ellise quietly sitting inside with a copy of The Sutherland Post in her hand. His sister just looked at him, her eyes telling him he was not welcome inside. Scanning the room and not finding his wife, he closed the door. His father was in the library, reading a book. His wife was not there.

Refusing to ask anyone where his wife was, Oliver ventured into the garden where he found her sitting in a stone bench, bending to her knees as she frowned down at a flower.

He saw her stiffen as he approached, but he was relieved that she did not move away when he at the space beside her. She instinctively wrapped her Kashmir shawl around her, a soldier lifting her shield. Oliver hated that she would feel like she was going to battle in his presence.

“Ali, I am deeply sorry,” he started, for it was all he could think of.

Her jaw twitched. “You are very lucky to be amongst the few who could easily apologize,” she said, voice hollow, as barren as the expression on her expression. Her eyes remained on the yellow flower.

In a grave tone, he asked, “What do you want me to do? Just tell me and I will do it. I will stop drinking—”

Her head snapped so she could look at him. The empty look in her eyes clenched at the pit of his stomach. “I do not know, Oliver, perhaps I want you to stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

He frowned in confusion, at first thinking about the carriage incident, but then he saw the look of pity in her eyes and he blinked. His jaw tightened. “Mother told you.”

She looked away. “You never planned on telling me of your history with my father, did you?”

He did not answer right away. “Yes.” He was angry. Not at her, but his mother. She should not have told Aliya. She had no right. But knowing Natalia St. Vincent and her penchant for truths and fewer lies, he was not surprised. It must be that day she joined his mother in the greenhouse in Winfield. She had been crying and he should have known when she refused to tell him.

And then the realization that Aliya was aware for quite some time caused him to frown. She never confronted him and she had been nothing but patient with him until they reached Coulway and his drinking became uncontrollable.

She had been waiting for this moment, he realized.

He searched her face. What was she thinking now?

“I feel bad for what my father did to many people, and what it caused you, but I do not care about him. I hate him more than anyone alive can hate a man,” she said, her gaze not on him but at the shrubberies before them. “He was the reason I had to flee to Belcourt with Delaney. It was not you who drove us there.”

“But it was I who made it possible,” he gritted out. “I looked at Uncle Carl and I knew he would have let your father die. But I also recognized Newton Guideville. I knew he was your father from the cruise. I asked Uncle Carl why he would not save your father when I knew he could. All he said was your father was a man who had done many bad things. He talked to me as though I was a child and it infuriated me. I wanted to be the better man.” He found it hard to speak because he never spoke of that night. No one knew how he begged his uncle. “I had to remind my uncle of his task.” He paused, drew in a long breath, and forcefully let it out. “I let a man survive only for him to kill more men, including my uncle.” He bitterly scoffed. “You would not have gone to Belcourt if I did not save your father. The family of the people he killed would not have attacked your home and killed your mother.”

Instead of arguing, she turned to him and asked, “Are you amongst the men who are hoping to find him? To get their revenge?”

Oliver shook his head, his tears stinging the back of his eyes as he saw her hastily wipe away a tear. “The one I want from your father is something he can never give back, Ali. I want the five lives he killed after I saved him. I want him to give you back your mother. I want the life he deprived you and Delaney.” He paused to swallow the lump in his throat, but that did not stop his voice from cracking as he said, “I want the life I once had, the one that was free of remorse. I want to be free of the reluctance to save a life in fear that it would lead to more deaths.”

His hands balled into fists seeing the tears run down her face, dropping right on the back of her hand, near her wedding ring.

Her gaze was soft and tender as she said, “Ollie, we can never get back what has happened.”

“I know,” he strongly said. “Good Lord, Ali, I know. And that is what is killing me—the inability to undo what happened.”

More tears streamed down Aliya’s cheeks. “Then perhaps I should start mourning you now, Ollie,” she brokenly said, “because, by the rate you are punishing yourself, you will soon be dead. And I do not think I have enough strength to survive if I lose you, too.”

Her words rendered him immobile.

She stood before he could say anything. “I have been invited to a play in the Royal Theater. I will be home quite late. Do not fear that I will come back to Stark’s. You are free to do whatever you wish from now on.”

Oliver rubbed his hands on his face in frustration.

He frowned at the yellow flower and cursed himself.

---

Despite the recent heaviness she had been feeling, Aliya tried her best to enjoy the play she attended with Ruby who had invited her after learning that she was still in Coulway.

“I was hoping you would be with your husband, Aliya,” Ruby innocently whispered.

“My husband can be quite busy,” she replied, her eyes on the stage. Ruby managed to reserve a box for them and her flower, Aaron Stanway. Aliya was quite familiar with the man and he had always been an easy companion.

The blond man turned to Aliya with a charming smile. “I hope to meet him soon, Aliya. I have heard many great stories about St. Vincent. Is it true that he once brought a man back to life?”

Aliya scoffed. “Yes,” she replied, looking away. Tears threatened to come out and after a long struggle to keep it in, she hastily excused herself from the pair and exited the box.

Only to find Oliver leaning against the wall across the door.

The tears retreated at the sight of him. His hair was tied, his beard trimmed and he was dressed for the night. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “You must have lost your way. This is not Stark’s.”

“I have been waiting for you,” he replied, pushing away from the door.

Aliya turned to walk away. He followed her into the drawing room. “You could have waited at home,” she said, turning to face him. “But since you are here, and obviously not to watch the play, tell me what you have to say.”

His hazel eyes pleaded with hers as he asked, “Can I hold your hands?”

The tears came back and she blinked them away. “Why?”

He walked closer and reached for her hands. She allowed it, swallowing the lump in her throat as he tightened his grip.

“I know that you are tired of me always trying to apologize,” he started, his head bent, his thumbs caressing the back of her hands. “But I will continue to do so because I owe you so much, Ali. And because I do not want to lose you, too.”

“You do not owe me anything, Oliver,” she choked. “If anything, it is I who owe you the rest of my life and I intend to pay back with as much as I can offer because you deserve it. If only you can also believe you are worth it.” She started to pull her hand away from his, but he would not let go.

“Ali, please, don’t leave. I have much to say but I do not know how to say them.”

Aliya closed her eyes and sighed. “Ollie, please let go.”

He shook his head the way Mason would whenever he was desperate to not return to his lessons. “I can only handle so much of watching you turn your back on me, darling.”

“Let go of me, Ollie, so I can wrap my arms around you—”

The rest of her words were left unspoken as her husband suddenly pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips unto hers. And only moments later did Aliya realize that the salty tears were not hers, but his.

She pulled away just enough to wipe his face. “Hush, darling, we do not want people to stop fearing you.”

He whimpered and choked against her hands.

“I know you know, Ollie, that you are not to blame for anything that happened that night. But I cannot blame you for the guilt. I cannot tell you that you have to deal with it for it is all in your mind and we both know how powerful our mind can be. I know how the past can haunt us because I have been haunted for years as well. I would often dream of my mother just before she left us in my aunt’s bedchamber and I would always wonder if she suffered before she died. She was alone when they killed her and I never saw her. That thought, among others, haunt me as well.” She kissed his mouth fully before adding, “But what haunts me the most is the thought of the future. I do not want to witness you losing to yourself because I am selfish and I want you to stay with me for as long as you and I can help it.”

With a pained groan, her giant, crying husband, buried his face in her neck. “I know,” he choked against her skin, “I know I need help.”

“Of course, you need help. You only need to ask.”

“Will you?” he asked brokenly, and Aliya’s heart clenched to have this man beg. “Help me?”

She grinned. “You did not have to ask,” she replied, grabbing his face so she could wipe his face dry with her hands. “And I will not simply be helping you, Ollie. I will be there with you.”

He dipped his head and found her lips, kissing her until her tears subsided and desire took over.

Their lips tore from each other but their arms did not when the door to the drawing-room opened and a familiar man stood frozen in the doorway, seeing Aliya.

The man’s face blanched and he quickly closed the door.

“Who was that?” her husband asked.

“Owen Compton,” she replied, playing with the stray hair at the back of his neck. “I once unhorsed his stagecoach outside Wheeler’s.”

Oliver blinked in disbelief. “You did what?”

“He made untoward advances on Sasha who was then his mother’s neighbor. We thought he needed a lesson.”

“And he fears you just because you unhorsed his stagecoach?”

She grinned up at him. “I might have also whispered to him that I am the daughter of the Gambler.”

His eyes narrowed at her playfully. “Now, that is very mean of you.” He laughed as he kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth as a groan rolled out his throat. “You are now my new favorite brandy,” he said, pulling her closer to him.

“I know I am intoxicating, Ollie, but I am serious…” she said, leaning back to look into his eyes, “brandies are only for very special occasions.”

“And what about you?” he asked, kissing her mouth.

“You can have a dose of me anytime,” she grinned into his mouth.

He moaned, deepening the kiss. “Come home with me.”

Aliya pulled away with a soft groan. “I am afraid I cannot. Ruby paid for my ticket. I will have to see the play throughout.”

He let out a long sigh. “I will wait for you here.”

She stole a kiss and asked, “Will you also still be here during the interlude?”

His eyes darkened. “Darling, this drawing room was once the home of the Royal Circus,” he said, motioning his head toward the tall mirror at the corner. “There is a hidden room behind that mirror.”

Aliya moistened her lips and grinned. “Wicked.”

Oliver’s smile was tender. “Thank you,” he said, kissing her one more time.

“I like the sound of that better than your apologies,” she said, stepping away from his hands. “I would like to hear more of it later,” she added with a wink.

XXVII | The Royal Wife

The morning after, Aliya was surprised to find Oliver holding a razor. She would have loved to stay there just staring at him in a white shirt that was halfway unbuttoned, revealing his chest with the morning sun playing its magic over him, but the razor was a forthcoming threat.

She jumped out of bed and demanded, “What are you doing?”

He turned to her with an innocent arch of his brows. “Jason is to shave my beard this morning after you wake up and I am—”

“You intend to shave it all off?” she asked with a frown.

“Yes, of course.” Then he sighed, noting her displeasure. “Darling, it is quite tedious to constantly trim it and—”

“I will trim it for you,” she said, carefully taking the razor from him. “You know I do not like your face bare.”

“Why?”

“Every woman will start to look at you,” she replied. “But we can do something with your hair,” she said, leading him to a chair.

He let her play with his hair and he chuckled when she started to make a small braid beside his temple. “Good God, Ali, I will look like a clown.”

“You are already a clown,” she said, planting a chaste kiss on his nose. “And this will not show.”

“It will.”

“Well, perhaps, but it is not horrible.” She finished and tied the end. Stepping back, she admired her work. “Perfect.” Stepping back in front of him, she cupped his face and bent low to cover his mouth with hers, her auburn waves a curtain around them. “No shaving for now.”

He groaned. “Jason will be greatly disappointed.”

“Jason is not the one who gains pleasure from your beard.”

He growled and playfully pulled her to step between his legs. He buried his face in her midriff and blew out hot air through the thin fabric, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Last night was wonderful,” he said, hugging her hips and tilting his head back to look at her. “The best tryst in my life, really. You will have to surpass it.”

Color flushed her cheeks as she remembered their tryst in the secret room in the Royal Theater. She escaped Ruby and Aaron during the two interludes to join her husband behind the mirrored door, and both times, she was left utterly satisfied.

“It was marvelous,” she admitted, bending down to kiss his cheek. “Wickedly marvelous, I should say. Ruby wondered why I had a certain glow on my face every time I returned to the box.”

His hand slid under her nightdress. “Are you certain she did not suspect?”

“Well, she could have, but then—” she gasped and jumped away from his searching hands with a laugh. “Later, darling. I have somewhere to go.”

He frowned. “Where?”

“Belcourt.”

His expression mellowed. “Do you think they will say yes?”

“I do not know. No one can tell with Belcourt. But I need to follow-up on my application.”

He did not say anything so she smiled at him over her shoulder as she dressed. “I have done everything they asked of me. I only hope that it pays off. I am certain there are people in Belcourt who support my application.”

He nodded and then sighed. “Take Ellise with you. I cannot accompany you today as I am needed in Sinclair.”

She nodded, “I will.”

He approached her and helped button her dress at the back. Kissing her neck, he said, “I will have you for myself tonight.”

“You make me anticipate coming home, Ollie,” she dramatically sighed. She turned and wrapped her arms around him. “I should be having breakfast.”

“Yes,” he murmured in her neck, his hands already unbuttoning the buttons he just hooked into place.

“Do you think you can serve my breakfast fast before I leave?”

In one sweeping motion, she was playfully thrown back unto the bed. Her chuckles filled the quiet room. “With great efficiency, my lady,” her husband said, pulling his shirt over his head. Sunlight washed over him and Aliya could only sigh with astonishment as she wriggled out of her dress.

---

As she and Ellise traveled to Belcourt, Aliya was surprised when the woman broke her silence and asked, “Have you ever tried to find your aunt?”

Aliya asked, smiling at how different Ellise intoned her question. When Oliver asked her before, he did so with caution. Ellise, on the other hand, was utterly blatant.

“Yes,” she replied. “She had always lived in the Americas where her husband was, and only came to Sutherland whenever she missed us. I knew where she lived as her husband was—is—a very rich man. I sent her a letter.”

“She never replied?”

“No, it was intercepted.”

Ellise frowned.

“Carrie, my carriage driver then, was still very inclined to please Belcourt. We were newly courted and had not yet reached our first year outside. She did not post the letter I asked her to post. Had I known I was doing something… wrong… I would have posted the letter myself. I was punished for the letter.”

“By Belcourt?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of punishment?”

Aliya shrugged. “It depends on the kind of offense you committed.”

“And what was your punishment?”

“I was slowly poisoned.”

Ellise blinked in disbelief.

“It is the most common type of punishment in Belcourt. You are poisoned just enough to make you throw up everything you have eaten, to make you sick. It would last for days. In my case, I was sentenced to three days of poisoning. It does not leave any mark on your skin—the perfect punishment.”

“And no one has died because of it?”

“Oliver asked the same question. No, as far as I am aware, no lady has died. Belcourt also has the best female doctors. But if some died, I would not know. Belcourt will make certain the ladies will not find out.”

“Aliya, that is preposterous and evil.”

“Your brother also said the same thing. And I do agree. But for most of the women who had known no other life outside of Belcourt, it is a part of life that they ought to avoid by following the law.”

Ellise looked out the window, at the high gates of Belcourt. She would not be able to enter and had to stay outside in wait with the driver. “I wonder what other dark secrets Belcourt keeps.”

“When I have the liberty to tell you, I will share more stories,” said Aliya.

“You never tried to send your aunt another letter?”

“No. I was too afraid. I could not risk breaking Belcourt’s trust again. I had to be very careful. I decided I had to do it alone.”

Ellise just nodded. Then the woman sighed. “Best be quick. I do not think I will like waiting outside this institution as much as I had hoped.”

---

“My father wishes me to relay that he cannot attend today’s opera . I told him to take caution after my carriage accident ,” he said, emphasizing the last word while eyeing Rider Fairborne. “He is currently spending the day reading a book.”

Keene did not comment and simply fixed his eyes on West who was reading the current report from the south. While everyone waited for the official opera to start, Tanner was busy opening cabinets.

“Say, St. Vincent, where did all the liquors go?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Ask my wife. She threw everything out.”

The men around him chuckled.

“But we only heard about the brandy smashing in your villa. We were not informed that she also came by Sinclair.”

“Apparently, she was able to convince my very obedient butler that Sinclair is an extension of the villa. And my sister is quite good at giving directions.”

Tanner turned and scowled at him. “What the bloody hell happened to your hair?”

Oliver picked the braided part of his hair and wriggled his brows at Tanner. “Again, the wife did it.”

“Your wife may be charming, St. Vincent, but we still have reasons to doubt her,” Tanner said, walking back to his seat.

“My wife may not be totally against Belcourt, gentlemen, but she has more reasons to work against it. As my mother reported in grave detail, we are working on getting her sister out of Belcourt.”

“Aliya was a prime Belle, St. Vincent,” West reminded him. “We are not certain she is telling the truth. She could still be on a mission.”

Oliver rolled his eyes and made a motion with his hand to brush the statement off.

“The attack on Keene’s carriage was planned, albeit on the wrong victim,” West said, eyeing him. “Belcourt must have an idea what Keene is working on.”

“First,” Oliver said dryly, “My wife is not privy to the missions of the Royals. Second, she was with Keene—the supposed victim—prior to my attack, was she not? If she is working with Belcourt, my accident would not have happened.”

“And we very well know how Belcourt can easily manipulate us into thinking they made a mistake.”

“It was you who made the mistake, Eaton,” Oliver pointed out.

West’s jaw tightened. “And what of your wife’s Vow?”

“My wife, gentlemen, has not yet been approached for her Vow. But if that happens, I will be the first to know. And may I remind you all that a wife of a Royal is also part of the Circus?” He heard a few grunts of objects and he lifted his hand to silence them. “Now, if you do not trust my wife, I will dutifully make her my mission. I will keep watch until she proves herself worthy of your approval.” He stared at West. “You should be the last person to judge my wife, Eaton.”

West ignored him and continued with his agenda. Addressing all Royals in the room, he said, “A mission has been compromised.”

“Someone finally mentioned it,” Oliver loudly murmured.

Trent Durham lifted his hand. “It is not the mission that is compromised. We may still have a chance to get into the manor. We all know that it is Keene who is compromised.”

Rider Fairborne sighed. “I concur.”

“Because of his connection to you, Eaton, Belcourt already considers him a Royal. And they may have been watching his every move.”

“Who else agrees that the mission is to be pursued?”

More than half raised their hands.

West turned to Rider. “Did you get the keys from Calbridge?”

Rider threw a set of keys at West. “Lady Calbridge had gone through a lot to get those. And if it is not for that key, I would have been attacked. Thank your father for me, St. Vincent, and I promise this shall be the last your father will take a different task.”

“Good,” Oliver sardonically retorted. “This should be the last my father will serve as a runner for the Circus.”

Ignoring Oliver, West juggled the keys in his hands. Then he threw it toward Trent. “The mission is yours, Chalbarth.”

Trent excitedly grinned. “I will do my best.”

“Choose two more Royals for your mission. Rider will give you the details of their plans and you are free to improvise should you need to.”

“As it is a friend’s manor I am about to intrude, I will have to make more improvisation.”

“Any news from the south?” one Royal asked.

West nodded. “Lord Darcy has informed us that the Humbrick Ball may happen soon.” He looked at Oliver and asked, “Are you still up to the task, St. Vincent?”

“He is the Circus doctor. He cannot take missions, can you now, St. Vincent?” Tanner chided.

“My father is exempt from taking missions not because he is a doctor, Leighton, but because he is old.” He turned to West and said, “I am up to the task, of course. Rothsker will be an easy pursuit.”

“Considering who Rothsker is, you may find it a challenge. He may not even take you seriously, St. Vincent,” said Tanner.

“Do you still have very little faith in my capabilities, Leighton? After I married a prime Belle?”

“Who could be laughing behind your back as we speak.”

“My wife will take pleasure in kicking your arse once she proves herself.”

“Enough,” West interrupted in an authoritative tone. “Lord Darcy wishes everyone to be alert as parliament comes to an end. Everyone is expected to be at Humbrick Ball where the Belles are expected to be taking more missions.”

Oliver jumped from his seat. “Is the opera over?”

West wryly nodded. “Today’s opera is over.”

While Trent and Rider regrouped together with two more Royals, Oliver rushed out the door. He walked past Lady Winthrop sitting quietly in the waiting chamber.

“Lovely seeing you, my lady,” he greeted as he crossed the room.

“Lovely seeing someone alive, Oliver!” Lady Winthrop shouted after him in a sarcastic, sing-song tone.

Oliver climbed into his carriage to head back home.

He and Aliya had much to discuss.

He could feel that she would be tested soon.

And when that time came, she ought to be ready.

XVIII | Teas and Belles

Aliya read the letter aloud to her husband to prove to herself that she had not misread the first time. She paused and looked up at him while he listened with a frown. “Can you believe it?” she asked with awe. “She speaks of nothing else but Mason.”

Bending her head at the letter, she read aloud, “He was able to make his first sandcastle without anyone’s help. I believe he acquires talent faster than any child.”

Oliver chuckled and walked to the washbasin.

“‘Last night, without Dorothy telling him, he bid me good night’.” Her eyes were wide as she stared at her husband. “She does not have to tell us that, does she?”

He splashed water over his face and grabbed a towel. His voice was muffled by the cloth as he said, “Mother can be quite charming without even trying, darling.”

Aliya blinked, folding the letter in her hand. “She did not even inquire how we are fairing, Ollie.”

“A child can do many wonders,” he said, throwing the towel to the side. He started to dress and she watched him.

“How many children would you like?” she asked with a smile.

“If they will turn out like you, I would love to have as much as you can give. But if they will be like me,” he said, buttoning his shirt with a grin, “I would never let you stop giving me children.”

Her laughter erupted and echoed around their bedchamber. She stood, already dressed for her afternoon appointment, and walked toward him. She planted a kiss on his arm and murmured, “I have such a big responsibility then. I want my children to be like you.” Walking to the door, she added, “We might as well build our own Belcourt.”

His laughter followed her down the corridor. She was smiling when Jason met her in the hallway. “Well? Have you found any hidden bottles?” she asked the man.

He stiffly nodded. “I found one under his workbench, my lady. Should I dispose of it?”

Aliya’s eyes narrowed as she thoughtfully considered the information. “Have you noticed if he has been drinking from it?”

Jason blinked and shook his head. “No.”

“Then do not take it away. It provides him comfort,” she said, walking to the parlor where Ellise was waiting. “Are you ready?” she asked the woman.

Ellise glared at her. “I do not need more gowns, Aliya.”

“Of course, you do. You still have a few more balls to attend.”

“And I also do not want to join you and your friends.”

Aliya sighed. “Ellise, you know you should. It is the best way to hide who we are.” She winked as she settled at the settee across her sister-in-law. “Belles can be quite cunning, but they will not be inclined to suspect anyone who acts as though they do not have anything to hide. And I would also like to see how they will struggle to read you. It will be quite exciting.”

“Read me?”

“Of course. You are the most difficult person to read.” She wickedly smiled at her sister-in-law. “You do not have to do anything. Simply act however you wish.”

Ellise rolled her eyes and sighed.

Moments later, Oliver joined them in the parlor and the three of them headed out to the carriage. He accompanied them for their gown fitting, which was not much of a task as Ellise simply stood motionless throughout the process and made no comments or suggestions on alterations. Aliya had to step in from time to time to tell the modiste what she wanted.

Once they were done, Ellise was the first to rush to the door as though she had been slowly burning inside the shop.

“If she could weave clothes with the leaves in the woods, she would,” Oliver complained under his breath before they joined his sister in the carriage.

Moments later, Oliver asked, “Have you read today’s paper?”

“Do you mean about Rothsker?” Aliya asked. “He made an appearance in the House of Lords, yes?”

“Yes.”

“As he rightfully should,” Ellise commented, looking out the window. “Your friends are crowded outside the café, Aliya.”

Aliya followed her sister-in-law’s gaze and she groaned. “I was not expecting many Belles to join us.”

“Perhaps I should return home with Oliver.”

“Nonsense. I need you. When I give you a look later with my right brow arched, you stand up and demand that we go home.”

“In the best Ellise St. Vincent fashion,” added Oliver.

Aliya chuckled when Ellise scowled at them.

“I am jesting, Ellise. But of course, I may find the need to cock a brow later, depending on how this little meeting goes.”

The carriage stopped just outside the café. Oliver jumped out and assisted his sister down before he did his wife whom he gave a chaste kiss on the cheek, whispering, “I will come by in two hours.”

She nodded and turned to the crowd of Belles staring at her. Aliya’s smile widened. “Good afternoon, ladies,” she greeted, hooking her arm around Ellise’s. “I hope we are not late.”

---

Aliya could sense that the eight Belles around the table were not comfortable with Ellise’s presence, but she knew they were being graceful as they reluctantly accepted Ellise who was being too intimidating by doing nothing but being herself.

They asked Ellise questions and she replied with her typical stoic face and flat tone. A Belle would be lucky to draw out two sentences from her sister-in-law who sat at the head of the table like it was where she belonged.

“I do nothing,” was all she said when asked if she is also a doctor.

When Jade asked if she enjoyed their gown fitting, Ellise simply stared at the women as though the question was written all over her face and the Belles took exactly what was written on her face as the answer.

She would have loved Oliver to witness this moment. The Belles did not have to say so, but her husband was not welcome here.

Summer was the one who opened the question about her marriage. “Say, Aliya, it seems that your husband treats you well.”

“He does,” Aliya retorted with a proud smile. “So does the rest of his family.”

Sasha, who was sitting at the other end of the table facing Ellise, turned to Aliya with a smile. “I am glad that you enjoy being married, Aliya.”

“I do, overly so, as a matter of fact.”

Sasha turned to Ellise. “As Aliya’s friends, we appreciate that you accepted Aliya into your family, Ms. Ellise.”

Ellise blinked. “Why would we not?”

The other Belles turned to each other to share a look. Summer chuckled and said, “Well, you know some people judge Belles unkindly.”

With her bored-looking eyes, Ellise looked at around the table. “But you were not Belles before Belcourt turned you into one. I see no Belles in this table.”

The women around the table provided different reactions. Ruby and Jade looked at each other with arched brows. Some had a hardened look on their faces. Sasha merely blinked, her smile unwavering.

“I am with women who enjoy tea,” Ellise added with a shrug before she picked up her cup. “And perhaps gowns.”

A collective chuckle rounded their group and Aliya could not be any more proud to be associated with Ellise St. Vincent.

Because of Ellise, their meeting was short-lived as the Belles had reservations recalling stories of when Aliya was still a Belle, and it was just as Aliya had in mind. She felt Ellise getting eager to go home and she felt the same.

As much as Aliya enjoyed her friends, she had a feeling that she was now treated differently. She was no longer a Belle, after all. They may be curious about her new life, but they might only be because they wanted to know if she could potentially be an enemy.

As the Belles left one by one, Sasha remained with Ellise and Aliya as they waited for Oliver.

“You are here with Rothsker, yes?” Aliya asked.

“Yes. You must have seen the recent news. He is back in parliament.”

“As he should,” Aliya noted. “He is part of the peerage.”

Sasha only nodded.

Aliya turned to her sister-in-law and arched a brow. Ellise immediately understood.

“I will go outside to see if Oliver has returned,” her sister-in-law excused, standing to her feet to leave Aliya and Sasha alone.

“Do you have any future plans, Sasha?” Aliya asked in an innocent tone. “When I was with my second flower, I started to make plans for my future. I believe the same is true with the other Belles.”

“What plans?” Sasha asked.

She shrugged. “Settling into a new city, ask Belcourt for an additional flower—such plans.”

“Or saving money for my dowry just like you did?”

Aliya chuckled. “Yes, such plans.”

Sasha looked over her shoulder to steal a look at Ellise standing outside the shop, before she turned to Aliya and replied, “I want to be a Mistress.”

Aliya blinked in surprise. “I did not expect you to say that, honestly.”

Sasha’s bluish-grey eyes remained unreadable. “You mean to say you never expected that I can be ambitious.”

“Yes.”

Sasha shrugged. “It is but wishful thinking. Lady Mariam is still very healthy and once she steps down, it will be up to Belcourt. But I do admit that I intend to be powerful in Belcourt, Aliya, now that you are no longer with us. I had always thought you will be the next Mistress of the Court of Flowers, but now that you decided to leave, I do not see anyone deserving of the position other than myself.”

“I truly admire your confidence, Sasha, and I also agree that you are suited for the role. You may be younger than I, but you are wise beyond your years.” She leaned against her chair to study Sasha. “But can I ask why you wish to be a Mistress?”

“When I am Mistress, I do not have to leave Belcourt. And when I am Mistress, I can guide the ladies well. Lady Mariam, although she is doing her best, is too lax. She ought to make use of the abilities of the Belles to the greatest extent. Her relationship with Lady Eastwell also hinders a conducive partnership with the Court of Arms. If we have a good relationship with the Soldiers, we can do better missions.”

“You do not believe that the Belles are not trying hard enough?”

“We are not doing enough to track down the Circus. If I can, I would make use of all eligible Vows.”

Aliya went cold, but she masked it by feigning an amused smile. “Now, why do I suddenly feel threatened?” With a laugh that sounded genuine, Aliya made a motion with her hands to brush off her previous statement. “But why would I even feel so? I will do anything Belcourt asks of me.”

“Even if it will involve your new family?”

Aliya’s face hardened and her smile disappeared. “Anything for Belcourt, save for my family.” Leaning forward, she fixed Sasha a cold look. “That includes my sister, of course.”

Sasha slowly nodded and quickly ignored the short tension that passed between them with a small sigh and a smile. “And I assume that you also have plans, Aliya? As a married woman, of course.”

Aliya chuckled. “I plan to live my life the way I have dreamed of, Sasha, before I came to Belcourt.”

“Then you must be in love with St. Vincent.”

“Why would I not be?” she said with a ridiculous scoff. “He is the eccentric I needed in my life. He makes every day a different one.” Smiling at Sasha, she added, “I never thought I would feel love again after my first flower, and even the first one was too frail compared with the one I feel now for Ollie.”

Sasha smiled at her with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “I still cannot believe that you fell in love with your first flower.”

“Most Belles do, or am I wrong?” She saw Sasha’s face harden and she hid her smile by asking, “My first flower had to leave and I had to stay. It was the most devastating feeling. Do you know how it feels? To love but know that you can never own it?”

By now, Sasha’s face had gone totally blank. For Aliya, Sasha was second to Ellise in morphing her face into a blank canvas.

“No,” Sasha replied, tone very-well modulated. “You were the one who told me to be wise with my flower, Aliya, and I was wise with my first one. It was him who told me that happiness is for those who have nothing else. I believe the same is true with love.” Aliya took it back. Sasha was by far better than Ellise in detaching herself from her emotions because one year ago, it had been clear that her first flower had affected her so. But that was no longer visible now; there was no sign that Sasha felt anything for West Blackwood. “But I do have Belcourt to work for. I have the children to protect. I have the other Belles to think of. It was you who taught me that.”

Arrested, Aliya could not answer because the woman was correct.

Aliya would never be as faithful to Belcourt as she had made the other Belles believe. She left Belcourt because she was selfish. She only needed to save herself and her sister. But she understood Sasha and the other women left behind. She understood if they found it hard to believe that she, Aliya, the champion for other Belles, had to leave.

Was it not her who told Sasha to not think only of herself? To serve Belcourt to protect everyone else, most especially the children?

She taught the Belles how to be loyal to each other and she would understand if they could never accept Aliya as they did before.

It was Sasha who noticed the carriage outside the shop and the woman gathered her reticule and said, “It seems that your husband has arrived.”

Aliya stood and together, they walked to the door.

“Will you be at the Humbrick Ball?” Sasha asked.

“Of course. My husband loves a more scandalous venue if you know what I mean.”

The Belle smiled. “Of course, he does.” As Oliver jumped from the carriage, Sasha added, “Perhaps we will both enjoy Humbrick then. Rothsker is quite eager to be formally presented back into society.”

“In the most scandalous ways, I assume?”

“Rothsker is always scandalous, I am afraid,” said Sasha with an amused sigh.

Aliya turned to Sasha and said, “Goodbye, Sasha. I will see you at Humbrick, yes?”

The woman simply nodded and watched her enter the carriage with her husband’s help. Through the back window, she watched Sasha standing alone outside the café, watching them drive away.

XXIX | The Royal Doctor

As June ended and with parliament drawing to a close, Simon and Ellise decided to go home to Herst. Her sister-in-law chanced upon her the afternoon before their departure and gave her warning. “You will not be challenged by Belcourt alone, Aliya,” Ellise said, “but also by the Royal Circus. I can only imagine that they do not trust you.”

“I have already figured as much, Ellise,” she said with a smile. “Give my love to Mason, will you?”

Ellise blinked. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I request that you do. He needs to know that I am constantly thinking about him.”

“Then perhaps you can pen him a letter. I will read it to the child.”

With a laugh, Aliya nodded. “Very well, I shall do that tonight.”

Aliya was doing just that later that evening when Oliver stepped into the library. “Wife!” he hissed conspiratorially, quietly closing the door. When she heard the distinct sound of the lock, she instantly knew what came next and thought that she had to hastily finish her letter.

“What is it, husband?” she asked, her hands scribbling words for Mason.

“We will soon be alone,” he said, sitting on the desk, his thigh resting just inches away from her hand.

“Yes,” she said, a chuckle escaping her lips.

“And we can have the entire villa to ourselves,” he added, reaching out to untangle her hair from its clasp.

“Ollie, I am writing a letter for Mason.”

“I know, I am merely having a conversation while you are working,” he said, kneading the back of her neck.

With a resigned sigh, Aliya placed the dipping pen back in its slot and pushed the paper to the side. With a wicked grin, Oliver slid to the center of the table, his strong legs at either side of her.

Aliya narrowed her eyes as she placed her hands on his thighs. “May I remind you, husband, that we are not yet alone? You cannot debauch me in the library.”

“We are almost alone,” he said, cupping her face and tilting it forward to receive his kiss. “It is a fantasy of mine to make lust with you this library.”

She laughed in his mouth. “Make lust?”

He nodded, nibbling on her ear. “And we are yet to give the parlor a more meaningful existence.”

Aliya had never been ashamed of being passionate, but with Oliver, she was brazen and she was not contrite about it. She was unforgivingly selfish with her desires because he was the epitome of freedom. With him, making love was more than just the pleasure. It was an act of selfishly rewarding herself because she deserved it as a woman and a wife.

Working on the buttons of his trousers, she moistened her lips and said, “You make me fear what you have in mind for the kitchen.”

The muscles of his thighs tightened as her hands deliberately teased him. “Now, darling, do not start talking about the kitchen because I have a very specific fantasy about the pantry,” he said, pulling her to her feet. In her ear, he groaned as her hand found him, and he whispered, “Imagine how I would taste sprinkled in sugar.”

“Good God, Ollie,” she said, eyes wide, “you have the most brilliant imagination.” She kissed him with renewed yearning. “Tell me more,” she said, nibbling his neck.

His hand was on one breast as the other unhooked the buttons of her dress. “There are honey and jams,” he said with a growl, closing his eyes at the pleasure her hand was giving him. “And…” he swallowed, “there are marmalades…”

A shaky sigh flowed from her lips and she searched for his mouth again, her mind imagining the things he mentioned. “And what would you do with them?” she asked, biting his lower lip.

His hand grabbed hers and he said, “Stop for now, darling,” he said, “I would not last long if you keep torturing me.” He jumped from the table and pulled her into his arms. Turning, he laid her on the table. “Now, what was your question?” he asked, kissing an exposed breast.

“What would you do with the honey and the jams and the marmalades?”

His tongue furtively teased as his eyes wickedly looked at her through the curves and planes of her chest. “What do you think?”

A groan escaped Aliya and she grabbed his head through his hair and pulled so she could kiss him. “Can we go to the kitchen now?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Not now. Library first.”

She whined as he pulled her dress lower. “But Ollie, we may soon run out of jams.”

“I have a list, wife,” he said. “We ought to save the best for later.”

Aliya could not complain more as Oliver rendered her speechless, showing her just how much he was capable of without the jams or marmalades.

They started to make love on the large table and finished at the settee where they found release not just once, but twice. They took their time, comforted by the thought that the entire household was asleep.

Spent and breathless, Aliya remained wrapped around him, straddling him on the settee with her face buried in his neck. His large, gentle hands ran up and down her sides and hips, tenderly soothing her body.

She could no longer imagine a day in her life without this man. It should threaten her—scare her—but she felt none of that. Somehow, she knew she would be with him for quite some time.

Lifting her head, she moved and lifted from his lap, her knees digging into the cushions. She tilted his head back so she could stare down at him and caress his bearded face with the tip of her fingers, tracing the curves of brows, his eyes, nose, and beard. His hands brushed her hair over her shoulders as she planted a light kiss on his lips. He smiled at her, his beautiful hazel eyes looking straight into hers, glimmering with adoration. “I love you,” she said with confidence. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, drawing her midriff closer against his chest. “I am afraid that you can make me an extremely easy woman around you, Oliver St. Vincent. It is your magic.”

She saw his eyes start to gather tears before he buried his face between her breasts, his arms gripping her tighter. As her husband silently sobbed, Aliya kissed the top of his head and closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek.

That night, she knew Oliver St. Vincent loved her beyond words.

---

Being alone and without his father and sister as distraction, Oliver and Aliya found more time together to talk and discuss matters that they would have otherwise not given any thoughts before.

For one, she asked if he could confirm that Lord Winthrop was indeed a Royal, to which he replied by saying, “I can answer some questions regarding myself and my father, but not about other Royals, Ali.”

“Then what is your true role in the Circus?”

“I am everyone’s doctor—the Royal Doctor. I do quite like the sound of that, do you not agree?”

“It sounds so regal. I love it.”

He chuckled. He looked around the garden, smiling at the memory of the hasty activity they did behind the shrubberies two nights ago.

“Why does the Circus need a doctor?”

“Belcourt have their doctors, yes?”

“Of course. They are amongst the best.”

“There is your answer.” He interlocked their fingers and guided her to the eastern part of the garden where his mother’s small and dilapidating greenhouse was located. “Most Royals have missions.”

“Interesting,” she noted with a thoughtful frown.

“Most of the said missions, I am not privy to, but in some cases, they get hurt.”

“I can say the same with the Belles. We did not always tell the specifics of our missions.” She turned to grin at him. “Lord Winthrop was the last mission I had before I left.”

He wickedly smiled at her. “Interesting.”

“Which was why I was in Lady Winthrop’s party. If you remember, of course.”

“I do remember every moment I spent with you, Ali—foxed or not.”

She paused when a thought came to her. “Then does it mean that you always have to be ready when the Royals come to your door?”

He shrugged. “Pemberton, the other Royal Doctor, is always ready. He could barely walk because of his old age, but the man will always be there when he is called. In my case, the Royals would often have to drag me somewhere. But that was the past, of course. I am now a sober, obnoxious doctor everybody hates to call unless they are at the brink of death.”

She chuckled. “You are not obnoxious.”

“Thank you, I try not to be whenever you are around.”

“I like it when you get a little naughty, of course.” Before he could think of something just that, his wife pulled him away from the greenhouse down another path. “Can you take missions as well?”

“Well, of course. You are, in fact, my current mission.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“We have to prove that you can be trusted, Ali.”

She nodded. “That may be quite challenging, considering what I was.”

“Ah, fret not. The Royals may not blatantly call me their friend, but they are loyal to each other and that includes me and the rest of the St. Vincents.”

“Then you do have friends?”

“You are the only friend I need.” She smiled. “But of course, I do need a few useful friends in the Circus.”

She turned to face him, walking backward. “Are you telling me more about the Circus now because I told you I love you?”

He blinked. “Yes and no.”

She nodded and stopped walking. He stopped just a few inches away from her. “I can take advantage of the Circus as well. Will the Circus provide me and my sister protection should Belcourt come after us?”

“Yes, of course, if you prove yourself useful.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “And you will be useful for the Circus, darling.” They continued their walk without saying much. Finally, Oliver asked, “If your application is not approved, Delaney will have to be courted, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And her courting ceremony is when?”

He saw her face harden. “Two weeks.”

“And once she is courted?”

“Then I hope it is in the Court of Flowers because that is the best court for her to be free.”

He slowly nodded. “We have to have a plan, Ali, in the event that your application is not granted.”

“I know.” Looking up at him, her face determined, she added, “And Ollie, once all of this is over, once I have Delaney, I want to correct Belcourt. I do not wish to destroy it, but I want it fixed.”

Oliver sighed. “As a Royal Doctor, darling, I do not have much power. The Circus is not powerful enough, but if things go our way, we may have a chance in having the reform you wish for Belcourt.”

She only nodded and Oliver hoped for nothing but what she dreamed of. His dreams had changed and it would constantly change because they would often rely on hers.

---

Later that afternoon, Aliya finally received a letter from Belcourt.

She rushed to find Oliver in his study, ignoring the fact that he was cutting a piece of brain, and rushed to a corner he reserved just for her if she had to join him inside.

“It has arrived,” she told him, her hands shaking as she tore the letter open.

He immediately dropped what he was doing and joined Aliya, standing beside her.

Without unfolding the letter, she handed it to him. “I do not think I can read it, Ollie.”

He took the folded paper from her hand and kissed the top of her head before he opened it with one hand. His other was kneading on her shoulder to soothe her.

Aliya looked up at Oliver, moistening her lips and biting on the lower one with anticipation.

And she knew the answer to her question by the way his lips pursed and his hand stilled.

Anguish was too weak for the tears of fury that filled her eyes.

Her husband placed the paper on the table, face hard, his hazel eyes serious. “We need to furnish our backup plan, darling.”

Aliya took the letter and read through her tears. And then an incredulous laugh escaped her. “She is too old . That is all they have to say.”

Oliver settled in the chair across from her. “They must know that you are connected to the Circus. It is quite obvious now, Ali. They are doing this because they need your sister as leverage.”

“They have my Vow as leverage.”

“Then even more reason to have more advantage.”

Dropping the paper on the table, Aliya growled, “I want to be a Royal.”

Oliver blinked. “Darling, you cannot. That is impossible.”

Her jaw tightened. “Then I want to have a word with West Blackwood.”

XXX | The Coffin

Aliya had never been to the Theater as what Oliver and the Royal Circus referred to their secret meeting place. She knew it was in Sinclair after Sasha had discovered the previous one in the Royal Theater the year prior.

“Eaton had foreseen the raid and asked me to spare a chamber in Sinclair for our rendezvous,” Oliver explained as he led her down a narrow corridor. “Fortunately, Sinclair has more than just one useless bloody chamber,” he said, opening a door.

Aliya’s eyes widened as the sight of three gurneys lined up in one side of the room with bodies on top covered in white linen. “Ollie! You cannot be utterly serious!”

“Fret not, darling, we are just passing through,” he said, pulling her toward another door.

“But why are there chairs on this side of the room?” she asked when she looked at the opposite wall.

“Ah, this chamber serves as the waiting area.”

“The waiting area!”

“For the wives,” he added.

She pulled free from his hand. “Do you expect me to wait in this chamber for you in the future?”

“When I am dead and on one of the gurneys, you may. But while I am alive, you can wait in my office upstairs if you wish. But then, the Royals do not always require the wives to always be present. It is the wives who require to be here as most of them are… shall we say—also on their way to the gurneys?”

“You will never have to expect me to spend a minute of my time in this horrid room—dead or alive.”

“As I had expected,” he grinned, taking her hand and leading her through the doorway which led to a flight of stairs.

When he opened the chamber to the Theater , Aliya had expected nearly the same sight from the one downstairs. But to her pleasant surprise, the room was quite welcoming.

“Is this the room I sent Jason to?” she asked. “To be rid of the brandies?”

“Yes,” he said, walking down the narrow aisle that separated two groups of chairs. It was indeed akin to being in a theater, Aliya noted as she followed Oliver to the front of the room where a large desk sat.

“Is this yours?” she asked, running a hand over the surface.

“I am but the Royal Doctor, Ali. I do not lead the Circus.”

“Then this is Blackwood’s.”

“Yes, and he enjoys owning it,” her husband grumbled, checking his pocket watch. “He ought to be here soon—” he stopped, arrested when she opened a drawer. “What are you doing?”

“Looking,” she murmured, picking up a round gold pendant. “It is a habit of mine when I was a Belle. When I used to have missions—What is this?” she asked, opening the pendant. To the right, she found a miniature painting of a man. To the left was the answer to her question. Addison Blackwood—Royal Master, father, and hero.

Her husband took the pendant from her hand and replaced it in the drawer. “Addison Blackwood was the Royal Master before Eaton took his place.”

Aliya nodded, looking around the room. She walked over to one cabinet and started searching the drawers.

“I imagine you are not opening drawers because it is a habit of yours,” Oliver drawled. “You are searching for liquors.”

“No, of course not!” she cried out guiltily, walking toward a chair right in front of Blackwood’s desk and settled in it. “I will behave.”

Oliver went down on the floor in front of her and took her hand. “Ali, West Blackwood will be very suspicious of you. I hope you do not take it against him.”

“I know,” she said, her jaw tightening. “Which is why we have our plan, yes?”

He nodded.

Noting the worried look on his face, Aliya sighed. “They will not believe me until I give them results.”

“Yes.”

“But surely, they will have to help me?”

His hands gathered hers on her lap. “If we give them results.”

“Is this the test you were talking about?”

“I do not know. It is not as though they will give you an impossible mission. The tests are often subtle. They can come in any form.”

“Surely I will succeed, considering I have nothing to hide.”

“I hope you are telling the truth, Aliya,” said West Blackwood’s voice from the back of the room. She looked over her shoulder to find the man walk toward his desk, his face impassive.

She had met him quite many times before when she was a Belle, before and during his time as a gentleman of Belcourt. She had taken him out for a walk around the garden in the Court of Flowers. And now, facing him again after what had transpired with Sasha, she could sense that the man had very little trust in anyone associated with Belcourt.

The man’s light blue eyes stared down at her. “St. Vincent said that you have things to offer.”

“Yes,” she said, “in exchange for the Circus’s help.”

“What help?”

“I will tell you later,” she said. From the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver smiling proudly at her as he stood beside a cabinet with his arms folded in front of him.

“And what are you offering?”

Aliya smiled. “I will provide you secrets,” she said, standing to her feet to look around the room. “But I believe I demanded more Royals to be here.”

West Blackwood looked at her for quite some time before he said, “They are on their way.”

---

“You must know that we will be aware should the identities of the Royals who will come here today be known to Belcourt,” West warned her after nearly an hour of waiting.

“Yes, of course,” she said, motioning her head to Oliver. “So long as you keep my husband alive, I am a willing participant.”

Oliver wiggled his brows at West who only stared at him wryly.

The first one to come through the door was someone very familiar to Aliya and she would not have guessed he was part of the Circus. Trent Durham strolled into the room and skidded to a stop when he saw her. He frowned and snapped his head toward West. “What is she doing here?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Trent,” Aliya said, managing to compose herself. To West, she said, “I see you have quite an advantage against Belcourt.”

West replied to Trent by saying, “Aliya is here to provide information.”

“If she is here to provide you information on all gentlemen of Belcourt, I do not think we need her,” Trent said, walking to a chair.

“Including the names of the people the Belles have their eyes on?” Aliya asked, her brow arching in challenge. “Perhaps you think you know so much about Belcourt being a gentleman, do you?” she asked. Trent’s jaw merely tightened. “Your Belle does not even get the big missions, Trent.” With a dramatic sigh, she said, “I can offer more to the Circus.”

Trent scoffed. “Of course, you can. But forgive me, Aliya, if I cannot start trusting you now.”

“I understand,” she said, walking to the center of the room as another gentleman she was not familiar with entered with the same arrested look as Trent earlier. “You may know a few things about the Belles, but you know very little about the other things Belcourt is keeping.”

“Such as your High Priestess?” Trent asked. “Or the Maidens?”

“I do not know any of them,” she said, “but I know enough about the Mistresses.”

That got West and Trent’s attention.

Aliya allowed a contented smile. “But first, let us wait for the others.”

Lord Winthrop was probably the only Royal who entered and greeted her with a smile. The rest was scowling at her. She recognized the Earl of Ross and the Viscount of Greene. The others, she was barely familiar with.

“This is not everyone,” said West as the tenth Royal settled into the room. “The others cannot spare the time.”

Aliya scanned the room with a nod. “My husband has given me a warning that I will not be welcomed warmly today, but I believe it is time I present myself to the Royal Circus. I understand where the mistrust is coming from. Apart from my husband, I care very little that you do not trust me as I feel the same. Having been Belcourt’s Belle, I have experienced enough secrets and mysteries.” She paused to square her shoulders. “I also came here to offer the Circus another advantage in return for a little help.” To West, she said, “I am certain that you are aware of my sister who is in Belcourt?”

“Yes.”

Turning to face the group of Royals, Aliya nodded. “I want to get my sister out of Belcourt. I have tried applying to be her legal guardian, but I was denied it by Belcourt. I suppose they now suspect that Oliver is a Royal.”

“And you want us to take your sister out of Belcourt,” Trent said, frowning at her. “Even the women in Belcourt cannot escape that place. How do you expect us to take her out of there?”

“The women cannot go out not because they cannot, but because they do not feel the need to and those who do are afraid,” she retorted. “But I will not ask the Circus to execute an impossible mission of stealing one of its ladies. I will ask all of you to help me get her courted into the Court of Flowers.”

“And how will we do that?” asked Rider Fairborne.

“Delaney is soon to be courted. There is a chance she will be placed in a different court, but we can have her recourted.”

“There have only been two women in Belcourt’s history who managed to do that,” West Blackwood said.

“I know. Your mother and your former Belle,” Aliya said. She shrugged and added, “There are people within Becourt who has the power to initiate a lady’s reassignment into another court.”

“The Mistresses,” offered Trent.

“Yes.”

“Get straight to the point, woman,” said the Viscount of Greene. “What do you want the Circus to do?”

“Careful how you talk to my wife, Greene,” Oliver warned.

The viscount incredulously scoffed just as Aliya answered, “The Mistress of the Court of Flowers has a lover.”

Trent straightened in his seat, now completely interested. “But Mistresses cannot—”

“Yes, they cannot take lovers,” said Aliya.

“And how do you know she has one?”

“I am a woman. I know,” she sternly said.

“If you find out who Lady Mariam’s lover is, we can use it against her.”

“And she will be forced to take Delaney into the Court of Flowers.”

She sighed. “I am very glad that the Royal Circus is filled with very wise and intelligent gentlemen.”

“And do you think having control of this Mistress is enough for us to trust you?” Tanner MacMier asked from the back of the room.

“No, of course not. I have other secrets to share.”

“We like secrets, especially Belcourt’s secrets,” said one gentleman.

“One secret at a time, my lords,” Aliya said.

“Surely you have something better to offer than just the Mistress?” Trent asked.

“Of course,” Aliya said, locking eyes with Trent. “My first flower and his secrets.”

She saw Oliver push away from the cabinet.

“My first flower had many secrets, most of them I did not report to Belcourt for future use.” She smiled as she paused. “I was the prime Belle for many reasons, my lords, and amongst them are the secrets I keep both with Belcourt and from Belcourt.”

“And who is this first flower?” West Blackwood asked.

“Emory Louis Frederick Davercher,” she said with a mysterious smile. Everyone in the room stiffened. No one blinked, including her husband. “Prince Albert’s younger brother, the second man in line for the throne.”

---

“You could have warned me about your first flower, darling,” Oliver murmured under his breath as he led Aliya out of the Theater .

“You knew I had secrets, Ollie,” she sweetly said.

He resignedly shook his head and gave her a quick kiss. “Wait for me in the waiting chamber—”

“No, I will not—”

“Lady Winthrop must also be there. Have a care for the lady, darling.”

Aliya pursed her lips. “If you do not return in thirty minutes, Ollie—”

“The opera will not take long.”

She nodded and climbed the stairs down to go to the other chamber. As she entered, she found Lady Winthrop gracefully sipping tea.

“Aliya!” the lady greeted with a smile. “Finally, someone alive to accompany me! Welcome, welcome!”

“Good afternoon, my lady,” she greeted, walking to the empty chair beside Lady Winthrop, all the while avoiding the covered bodies at the other side of the room.

With an amused smile on her lips, Lady Winthrop said, “I cannot believe that the day will come that I will be saying this, considering the beautiful waiting area I had to enjoy in the previous Theater because it was truly a theater, but it finally did.” Composing herself, Lady Winthrop told her, “You will get used to it, darling. There, I said it. The dead does not talk back, I tell you.”

Aliya shivered. “Please, my lady, let us not talk about the dead bodies.”

Lady Winthrop laughed, her light green eyes filled with mirth. “I often complain to your husband about this chamber, but I think it is quite interesting, is not it? I call this room The Coffin.”

Aliya smiled. “It is befitting.”

The woman’s face turned curious. “But whyever are you here, dear? I thought you are to have a discussion with the Royals?”

“I did.”

“Then the opera is over?”

“No,” she said, leaning against her chair. “They have something to discuss that I cannot be privy to.”

“Ah, of course. It must be another letter from Darcy,” the lady said with a wave of her hand. “Now, tell me, dear—how have you been?”

“I have been fine, my lady. Marvelous, in fact, if we do not think about my sister.”

“I have heard about your sister. Natalia told me.”

Aliya sighed. She had to now accept that her mother-in-law kept no secrets when it came to the Royal Circus.

“You know, I have always felt that you and I are going to be fast friends,” said Lady Winthrop. Despite her greying hair, Aliya agreed with the woman. They may not be compatible in years, but Lady Winthrop had always been a fun company. She was the kind of gossipmonger you cannot hate. “And Alannah would have been proud of your choices.”

The sudden reminder of Lady Hartcaster wrenched at Aliya’s heart.

“She often talked to me about you and how she wished she can take you out of Belcourt herself. But she did not want to do that because it would be an insult to your independence to think for yourself. She always said you are smart to know what you are doing.”

Tears blurred her vision as she smiled. “She always had too much faith in my faculties.”

“And she was correct.”

Blinking to keep the tears at bay, Aliya decided to change the subject. “Then she was part of the Circus? Lord Hartcaster is a Royal?”

“No, of course not. Malcolm would never dream of complicating his life by being part of all this. He only lived for Alannah, the poor man. I hope he is being safe wherever he is in the world.”

“He must be having a fantastic adventure.”

Lady Winthrop rolled her eyes. “Let us only hope we will be able to take his body home if he dies somewhere.”

Aliya did not know if she should laugh or feel scandalized.

Lady Winthrop laughed. “You will get used to me, darling. More time in The Coffin and you will be laughing at my quips.”

“I can see that happening soon,” Aliya said with a chuckle.

“Of course. You will also enjoy the company of the other wives, although there may be few you will have to ignore. I only hope these young Royals marry soon. We need younger ladies sitting in this chair when our time to lie on those gurneys come.”

“My lady!”

“Oh, fret not. I will soon be dead, Aliya. I am getting old. But the Circus will remain. And these men need the best wives. They can barely function on their own without our help if you must know,” Lady Winthrop conspiratorially said.

“Yes, I know,” Aliya said with a laugh.

In the next minutes that followed, Lady Winthrop was able to share more about the Royals and their wives to Aliya than her husband ever did.

---

“What do you mean they want me to take on a mission?” Aliya asked with a frown. “You told me I cannot be a Royal.”

“Well, you cannot, but you are still the wife of a Royal.”

“You mean to tell me that Lady Winthrop and others have gone through missions before?”

“And more,” Oliver said.

“Then why can we not be Royals?”

Oliver leaned back into his chair. “I believe my answer will spark an outburst, so can I simply not answer?”

Aliya narrowed her eyes. “Is it because I am a woman?” When he did not answer, Aliya scoffed. “Very well, I cannot blame you because you do not make the rules.”

“The rules have been around for centuries, Ali.”

“Yes, of course, just as all the injustice in the world. But I am from Belcourt, so I understand the inequality,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Oliver smiled at her, pulling her from across the carriage to sit beside him. “You always prove to have better control over your emotions and your mind, darling. If that is not sexy, I do not know what it is.”

She scoffed. “Do not try to appease me, Ollie. I am still disappointed with the Royal Circus. They test my loyalty by making use of my abilities.”

“But you understand that it is what it is—just like Belcourt.”

“Yes, of course. And I know this mission is to test me.”

“It could be a test, yes. I cannot truly say. Eaton and Darcy make the decisions. The reason for their decisions is not sometimes exposed, of course.”

“And who is this Darcy?”

He smiled. “The other Royal Master.”

She groaned. “There are more?” When he did not answer, she sighed. “And what is this mission of mine?” she asked.

“We need to find out who the Mistress’s lover is.”

“I gave the Circus that information so they can find the lover. I did not expect them to make me do all the work myself.”

“Ah, but the Circus will help you, darling. When we say you are on a mission, we say you lead the mission.”

Suddenly interested, Aliya twisted to face her husband. “You mean to say I get to order the Circus around?”

He blinked, his gaze wary. “Not, entirely…” a wicked smile curled his lips, “but that is essentially what it means.”

“Wicked,” she said. “I think I like the Royal Circus better now.”

He laughed. “I knew you will say that.”

She fell at ease beside him and let the silence linger for a while. “Do you truly find me sexy?” she asked, eliciting a laugh from her husband.

Before she knew it, she was swiftly transferred from the chair to his lap. “Very,” he said before his mouth claimed hers.

XXXI | Wife with a Mission

Aliya was allowed entrance into Belcourt after a thorough search of her person and her carriage by the two Soldiers outside the first gate. Ever since she had exited Belcourt, she had to go through the same process.

She did not come for Delaney for she was certain she would not be allowed to see her sister who was still in the Manor. On the other hand, as an alum, she could visit The Court of Flowers and the Village.

Finding no need to grace her previous court with her presence, Aliya went straight to the Village where the first part of her mission was to start. Heading straight to the tea house, Aliya asked Keisha, a woman with short, red hair, and a server in the tea house she was most familiar with, to send a message to Fatima. Keisha took her note and had it delivered by another service woman, and engaged Aliya in a conversation about her new life outside Belcourt.

“I heard, my lady, that you married a doctor,” Keisha said in a teasing tone. “How is it to have a man beside you at all times?”

“It is a very good feeling, Keisha, but I do admit I quite miss the moments when I do not have to wake up with anyone,” she said to avoid stirring any feeling of envy. The least these women needed is to feel envious for it might start something that would only cause Aliya a problem in the future. There was a proper way to make these women demand a change in Belcourt and envy ought not to be the fuel for that. “And there is nothing better than Belcourt tea,” she added.

“We take pride in our tea,” said Keisha. “By the by, my lady, do tell me more about your husband.”

Aliya sighed, seeing the dreamy look in the woman’s face. Keisha was the same age as she and she was amongst Aliya’s first friends when she arrived in Belcourt.

“Well…” she started to say, but Fatima suddenly burst through the doors, breathless, followed closely by Carrie. “Perhaps we can talk some other time, Keisha.”

“Of course, my lady. It was very nice chatting with you,” said the woman, turning away to prepare tea for Fatima and Carrie.

“Where is Shay?” she asked her two former servants after a long and strong embrace.

“She has been assigned to cook at the Library today,” said Fatima, her tone not in the least concerned about Shay. “How is he?” the woman asked in a whisper, eyes brimming with tears.

“He is enjoying the quiet life in Herst,” Aliya said with a smile. “My mother-in-law enjoys his company. He plays by the beach every day and intends to learn how to swim. Oliver says he will teach him, but I doubt he will ever have the time, therefore I am guessing Ellise, my sister-in-law, will do the task. She also plans to teach him how to ride a horse. He and Dorothy miss you all.”

“He looks for me?” Fatima asked, looking around.

“Yes, but he understands why you cannot be together for now,” Aliya said, reaching for Fatima’s hand. “I am sorry, Fatima. I cannot do much, but I am hoping that the time will come when I can pay for your dowries without raising suspicion—”

“Fret not, my lady,” Fatima interjected. “It is enough that you are giving him a good life. Please extend my gratitude to the St. Vincents.”

“I will,” said Aliya.

“Do you need anything?” Carrie asked. “We know we cannot do anything, but I have to ask. You are alone out there, my lady.”

“I am not alone, Carrie. I have Oliver and his family.” She nonchalantly looked around and waited for Keisha to serve them their tea, and waited some more before she said, “I may need your help about something.”

Fatima and Carrie nodded with enthusiasm and Aliya had to chuckle. “Has life in Belcourt been utterly boring that you are both so eager to hear my request?”

“Yes!” Fatima replied at the same time Carrie drawled, “Very.”

Aliya cleared her throat and looked around the tea house once again. There were a few women in different cloaks, but none that could hear them if they talked low enough. “Perhaps I will tell you later,” she said in a teasing tone and both women groaned. “First, tell me what has been boring in Belcourt.”

“Oh, I do not know—” Carrie started but then stopped. “Oh, there has been a very peculiar incident last week,” she said, “Although I might tell you later—”

“Carrie,” Aliya said, voice filled with warning.

The woman chuckled. “Very well,” she said, “A woman fainted outside Belcourt gates.”

Aliya frowned. “Why?”

“We do not know, but the story says that when she came about, she cannot remember anything.”

“She lost her memory?”

Fatima and Carrie nodded and leaned over the table. “The High Court is deciding if they should let her stay. She is a woman, not a child. I do not know about Belcourt’s full history, but I do not recall any incident where we took in a full-grown woman.”

“Is no one looking for her?”

“Well,” Carrie said, leaning even closer to whisper, “before she fainted, she was shouting that someone was hunting her and she is in danger.”

Aliya slowly nodded, her brows furrowed. “The story is indeed interesting.”

“She is being kept in the Library,” said Carrie, “which is why I am eagerly waiting for Shay’s return. She may share more news about the woman.”

“I hope that the three of you will be very careful. You cannot be found involved in another trouble, most particularly Shay.”

The two women laughed at the mention of their previous cook.

Aliya waited for a few more ladies to walk out of the tea house before she murmured under her breath, “I need a favor from you.”

Fatima and Carrie nodded, the laughter in their eyes gone, replaced by eagerness.

“It may be a very dangerous one.”

Their nodding intensified. “We will do anything for you, my lady,” Carrie said.

“Listen very closely…” Aliya started.

---

Aliya traveled back to Coulway deep in thought, her mind fretful but also confident that Fatim and Carrie can easily do the favor she asked of them.

On the other hand, she could feel a pang in her chest.

For one, she passed by the Manor earlier and longed for her sister.

Second, she felt utterly guilty that she asked two women she left trapped in Belcourt to risk their good standing for her selfish reasons.

If she could do it another way, she would, but even Fatima and Carrie told her that her plan was the best thus far.

When she arrived in the villa, she looked for her husband and found him in his study frowning down on a book while holding a scalpel and another dead animal on the table. She ignored the animal and went straight to her corner. “I rather like my corner in Strait,” she said. “That one at least has a view.”

“I am a view,” he murmured under his breath as he continued to frown at a page. “How was your trip?” he asked.

She sighed. “I only hope we succeed.” When he did not reply, she narrowed her eyes. “Are you quite busy? Is that more important than my mission?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I am learning how to detach organs. In fact, I am about to start dissecting—”

Not intending to let him go further with the horrid details, Aliya interjected and asked, “Why?”

“I intend to do the same to Prince Emory,” her husband said, stealing her a look.

Aliya laughed out loud. “Surely, Ollie, you cannot still be cross about that one detail.”

“You said you were in love with your first flower. I believed I am a man of good rational thoughts, but I found I am not after all. I want to skin a bloody prince as we speak.”

Her shoulders were shaking with mirth. “I did love him—I thought I did—and I would not discount what I thought in the past simply because I feel differently now.”

“Still, I preferred it when your first flower was unnamed and dead in my head.”

“You are being absurd,” she said, jumping to her feet. “Very well, if you do not wish to discuss my mission, I will retire to our bedchamber.”

“I will see you for supper,” he said, returning to his task. “I am about to pull out intestines.”

Aliya stopped at the doorway, leaning on the frame, to say, “And then I will undress and order for a bath,” she teased in a seductive tone, a silent chuckle shaking her shoulders when she saw him stiffen. “And I will change into the white lace chemise you gave me—” she jumped into the corridor when he suddenly whirled around. The scalpel cluttered on the table as he advanced toward her, his eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth curling into a wicked grin.

“Go on, darling,” he said, stalking her down the corridor. “Take my mind off the intestines.”

Aliya’s heart ecstatically raced in her chest as she rushed to their bedchamber. “Then I will go to the kitchen,” she said in between laughter.

“And what will you be doing in the kitchen?” he asked, his voice dark. A delicious shiver ran through her as she remembered that one night in the pantry.

Aliya bit her lip, her feet taking her faster to her destination. “I will steal my favorite blueberry jam—” she yelped in surprise when her husband hauled her over his shoulder in one swift motion. “Ollie! Where are we going?” she hissed as her husband carried her downstairs.

He did not reply and Aliya gasped in protest when he entered the kitchen, surprising the cook and two servants.

He put Aliya down before he turned to the pantry, opened the door, and grabbed a jar.

Aliya covered her face with her hands in embarrassment as her husband hauled her back over his shoulder with the blueberry jam in hand.

She slapped his posterior. “You are insane!”

“I am efficient,” he said, taking the flight back upstairs.

In their bedchamber, he threw her on the bed and grinned. Opening the bottle, she wiggled his brows at her, eliciting a round of chuckles. “Now, darling, what did you want to discuss about your mission?”

Aliya’s eyes darted to the open jar. She swallowed as he dipped his finger inside and brought it to his mouth. “Ollie, you were just touching a dead animal!”

“No, I was not. I was just about to start when you arrived. What did you want to discuss about your mission?” he repeated.

“Are the Royals used to staying up late?” she asked, moistening her lips as he dipped his finger back into the jar and approached the bed.

“Darling, you are talking to someone who can drink all day—used to drink all day, that is,” he said, climbing on the bed and kneeling beside her. “Of course, the Royals can stay up past the wee hours.”

He teased her with his jam-covered finger, hovering it over her lips before snatching it back to suck into his mouth. He chuckled when she scowled at him. He licked his lips and smacked his mouth, tasting the jam.

“Then we need to send them a note that they can start keeping watch outside Belcourt starting tomorrow night.”

He nodded, positioning himself over her, trapping her between his legs. “Now, what was that other plan of yours?” he asked.

“Cover you with blueberry jam,” she said in silent laughter.

He frowned at her, feigning confusion. “That is not how I remember it. I believe it starts with a bath, followed by my favorite chemise and the garter. And then the jam.”

Aliya reached for the condiment and he allowed her, grinning at her mischievously as she dipped her finger into the jar. She spread the sauce on his lips and raised from the bed to kiss his mouth clean.

“No, no,” her husband said when she reached for the jar again. “Bath, chemise, garter, and then jam.”

“Ollie…” she started, but he silenced her with a kiss before jumping off the bed. “I have very specific fantasies, darling,” he told her as he rang for the maid.

Her lips pursed when he replaced the lid of the jam and placed it on the table beside the bed.

“Fret not,” he said, pulling from the cushions. “I will share the bath with you.”

Later, after a long, warm bath, Aliya dressed in her chemise and garters.

And the jam followed as promised.

XXXII | A Royal Tryst

“How long do you believe we should continue to do this?” Oliver asked Aliya one evening as she tied his cravat.

“Until we get a knock on the door,” she replied, stepping back to frown at her work. “Should we use the black one?”

Oliver shook his head and escaped her grasp by turning on his heels to take the seat across their bed. Crossing one leg over the other, he tapped the armrest with his fingers. “We have been doing this for five straight nights, darling. We dress up for a ball only to strip each other.”

She laughed and settled in front of the dresser. “It is very rare for the Mistresses to leave Belcourt. In Lady Mariam’s case, she goes out during random nights and we must be prepared when she does.”

“Supposing Carrie—her name is Carrie, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Supposing Carrie manages to force a derby hat with a red ribbon around it on another driver, how certain are we that the woman is carrying this Lady Mariam?”

“Darling, the Mistresses have their personal carriage driver and it is the same one all the time. Carrie, I believe, is a cousin to Lady Mariam’s current driver. They came to Belcourt together as children. And yes, she can definitely force her cousin to wear a derby hat with a red ribbon around it.”

“And how certain are you that she will be coming to a ball?”

Aliya sighed. “I have been to countless balls during my time as a Belle. I know people who knew her during her time as a Belle, most of them former and current flowers. They have always claimed they saw her at least once. But she never reports where she goes after the ball, or why she goes missing during a ball.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Surely, you know that this is all but one wild guess.”

She shrugged. “I am telling you, Ollie, Lady Mariam has a lover. A woman who had one can always tell.”

His face went grim. “Do not remind me of your first flower, darling. I told you I am quite possessive.”

She scoffed. “And you absolutely and without question, show me every time you get the chance,” she said, holding out one hand, “but not now, darling. We just got dressed.”

“Where are you going?” he asked when she stood.

“To the parlor where you are less likely to debauch me.”

He howled in laughter and followed her downstairs.

---

They waited nearly two hours and by the time the parlor door opened, Aliya and Oliver were already discussing retiring for the night only to stop and find Tanner MacMier striding inside, clad in a black coat and derby hat.

Both husband and wife jumped to their feet.

“The Mistress has just left Belcourt.”

Oliver grabbed Aliya’s fur coat and wrapped it around her, asking, “Where to?”

“The Kinsley Ball.”

Oliver and Aliya snapped their head in surprise. “It is a royal ball,” Oliver said.

“Yes,” Tanner replied. “And you do not have an invitation.”

Aliya haughtily lifted her head. “We do not need one,” she said, walking past Tanner. “Come, darling, we have a royal ball to attend.”

---

“You see, my husband and I were in a ball not far from here,” Aliya started to explain to the footman who was guarding the door of the large Kinsley estate. “And what time was it, darling? When you and I were approached?”

Oliver pretended to think as the innocent footman looked at him. “Perhaps twelve? We just finished a waltz.”

Aliya nodded, and feigning urgency she said, “And a footman informed us that my husband is badly needed here at Kinsley.” Again, she turned to Oliver with her innocent-looking gaze. “What was the incident, darling?”

Oliver sighed and rolled his eyes. “Someone poisoned or something, I care very little. I would rather go back to our ball—”

“Oh, nonsense, someone here claims to have been poisoned! Poisoned!” Aliya said, her eyes wide with horror. “Imagine how that would refect to Lord Kinsley. He is cousin to the king and it will be quite horrible if our dear King Louis will be pulled into a scandal!”

The footman suddenly seemed distressed, almost in a panic. He jumped to his feet and stammered, “I c-can have you escorted directly to the said individual, Doctor,” he said, turning to another footman, but Oliver suddenly pushed his way through the man, saying, “I know where to go. It is in one of the drawing rooms to the left—”

“The right, darling,” corrected, Aliya. “Oh, bother not, I will come with you.” She turned to the footman with a sweet smile. “I hope you do not alert anyone. We do not want to stir gossip when there might not even be one.”

The man blinked. “O-of course!”

“Now, act as normal as you possibly can. You know my husband is the best. He even raised a man from the dead once. I am certain you have heard.”

The footman nodded with wonder.

Oliver entered the hallway and said over his shoulder, “Are we going to let this man die, Ali, or not?”

“Coming, darling!” Aliya said, giving the footman one last smile of gratitude before she turned and hurried to her husband’s side.

“I quite enjoy this mission of yours,” murmured Oliver as he looked over his shoulder at the now unassuming footman. “It is quite exciting,” he said, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist.

She slapped his hand away and said, “Focus, darling. We need to find our target.”

“You seem to know where you are going,” he noted when she passed the entrance to the ballroom and continued down another corridor filled with other guests.

“I have been here twice. With my first flower.”

She smiled as Oliver growled behind her.

Taking another turn, Aliya found the garden and the side entrance to the ballroom. Oliver was fast behind her.

She scanned the large room with disappointment. There were too many guests. “Search for a curly blonde with blue eyes. She is in her fifties.”

Her husband groaned beside her. “Darling, it is almost every bloody woman in this room.”

“She could be wearing something red.”

“That is nearly half of the crowd.”

She sighed. “Then do go around. We have to separate.”

He nodded and he turned to the right while Aliya turned left to cruise along the side of the ballroom, trying to be invisible.

“Aliya!” Lady Winthrop said with wonder when their path crossed amongst glittering gowns and suits.

“My lady,” Aliya greeted, surprised that at the great amount of relief she felt to have another Royal wife at the party.

“This is a surprise! Whyever are you here—” Lady Winthrop started but stopped as understanding dawned on her. “Ah, of course.”

Wrinkling her nose with apologetically, Aliya said, “Please forgive me, my lady, I am in a rush.”

“Of course, dear! Go on! I will be here if you need me.”

A few more people recognized her after she left Lady Winthrop, and she was stopped a few times before she made a full circle. By then, she spotted Oliver holding a glass of brandy. Her eyes narrowed as she sashayed toward him. “How many glasses?” she nonchalantly asked.

“One—” he started to say, “One before this, which makes this glass number two,” he said.

Aliya sighed and shook her head, turning away to look around once more.

“Just two, darling,” he said. “You said I can drink.”

“Yes, I did.”

“But I cannot get foxed.”

“Yes,” she said, craning her neck with more urgency. She had to find Mariam tonight for they may not have another chance until next week.

“Are you angry?”

“No. You can drink as much as you want, darling,” she sardonically murmured under her breath. He gave his glass to the passing server. Without warning, Aliya crossed the ballroom, her eyes on one woman.

“Is that her?” Oliver whispered beside her.

Ignoring him, Aliya veered to the right to stay out of Mariam’s sight.

“Are you still quite mad?”

“Not now, Ollie,” she said through her teeth. “We cannot lose her now.”

He fell silent beside her and they both turned away when Mariam’s head veered to their direction. Thinking fast, Aliya searched the crowd once again and murmured to her husband, “Do not lose sight of her,” before she retraced her steps to look for Lady Winthrop.

The woman was standing with three friends and Aliya had to signal with her eyes, which the woman gratefully understood.

Leaving her friends, Lady Winthrop joined Aliya and murmured, “Dear, I am the best woman to ask for help. What can I do for you?”

Aliya could not help the smile that broke on her lips. “I need to have an eye on someone who cannot recognize me here.”

“Ah, invisible stalking is my specialty, dear, fret not. Who is the target?”

Aliya had the widest smile as she led Lady Winthrop back to Oliver.

---

Aliya and Oliver stayed near the garden for almost an hour with Aliya not talking to him, always watching the scene inside the ballroom through the glass window.

“You are still clearly mad,” he said while Aliya walked to the other side of the doorway.

“No, I am not, Ollie,” she said, her eyes spotting Lady Winthrop standing in the doorway of the ballroom entrance. “Come,” she said, reaching for her husband’s hand to guide him through the sea of guests toward Lady Winthrop.

“Take the right corridor, make a left, and go up the flight of stairs directly to your right. From there, take another right. Third door on the left.”

Aliya nodded. “Thank you, my lady. See you in The Coffin soon.”

Lady Winthrop just nodded and nonchalantly sashayed back into the crowd.

“What Coffin?” her husband asked.

“Our waiting area in Sinclair,” she replied, rushing down the corridor.

He chuckled. “Quite creative, really,” he said with awe. Then he paused. “And you were able to follow her instruction?”

“Yes, of course.”

They took the flight of stairs and turned right.

Then Aliya stopped.

“What?” Oliver asked.

“These are bedchambers,” she said.

“Yes.”

“The third door to the left.”

“Yes.”

Aliya nodded and walked down the corridor and stopped at the second door. It was locked. She then continued, passing the third door, much to her husband’s confusion. She tried the fourth door and found it unlocked. Pushing the door open, she looked inside the room and found it dark and empty.

She motioned for Oliver to follow her and closed the door.

He lit a lamp and she took it from him to study the wall that separated them from where Mariam was. Disappointed that it had no connecting door, Aliya pressed her ear against the wooden wall.

Her husband was looking at her with a smile. “They are making lust , are they not?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Apparently, they just started.”

He groaned and followed her to the foot of the bed. “If you are to not make love with me for a week, how long do you suppose you will last?” he asked in a whisper.

Aliya scoffed and shrugged. “I believe the question should be addressed to you, Ollie. A woman can last five minutes and be quite ready the next. It all depends on how long a man can—”

“I would either prolong it to give you pleasure,” he said, “or I will, unfortunately, uncontrollably satisfy myself first and start giving yours with other things,” he said, smiling and waving his hand at her.

Aliya cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Let us not discuss this for now, or I might end up failing this mission.” When his hand searched for hers, she pulled away. “No, do not even attempt teasing, Oliver St. Vincent!” she hissed.

He raised his hands and said, “If you say you are not angry, I will not touch you.”

“I am not angry. I have told you that you can drink on the condition that you control yourself.”

“And I was controlling myself.”

“Good.”

Thirty minutes later, Oliver jumped from the window where he had just leaned into. “They are taking their bloody time,” he said, while Aliya pressed her ear against the wall. “Or,” he whispered beside her, “he may be taking some time to get it to work, you see.”

Aliya bit her lip to stop the laughter that threatened to roll out of her throat. “Stop it,” she hissed. Then she stiffened, pressing her ear back against the wall. Her eyes moved as she concentrated on the sounds coming from inside. “She is changing,” she said, rushing to the door and opening it a crack so she could see into the corridor.

Oliver stood behind her and many minutes later, they both watched Lady Mariam walk out of the door fixing her curly blonde hair. She stopped once to pull the skirts of her blood-red dress.

And as soon as Mariam was out of sight, Aliya slipped through the door and without warning, entered the room her former Mistress had exited.

And then her eyes widened.

---

Oliver had no time to stop his wife. It was reckless of her, but it had already been done and he had no choice but to lean against the wall beside the door she entered, and listen.

“What are you doing here!” a man’s voice boomed and Oliver winced.

His eyes narrowed when his wife stayed silent for a while. And when she finally spoke, his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I’m serryyy, serrrr…” she paused and burped. Oliver’s hands went on his hips, his head falling back in mirth as he listened to his wife act like a foxed wanton. “I’m lookin’ ferrr me hus- hiccup -band.”

Oliver turned and leaned his hand on the wall, his head bent in laughter. She must probably be waiting for his rescue, but he could not muster an act at the moment.

“Are yeee him?” she asked. “Ye look smaller…”

Oliver let out a silent laugh once more before he quietly cleared his throat and took a lungful of air, a laugh escaping him twice before he finally regained control. And then he burst into the same room, his eyes landing on the gentleman standing half-dressed at the side of the bed, and shouted, “Wife!”

Stumbling into the room, his arm snaked around Aliya who swayed in his arms with a dramatic cry of surprise. “Ah, there ye are,” he said, kissing her fully on the mouth. “I found us a chamber,” he murmured against her neck, loud enough for the scowling man to hear. Turning on his heels, he took his wife with him, and over his shoulder, he said, “Apologies, sir!”

The two of them rushed back to their previous hideout and stumbled inside, finally letting go of their act.

Aliya whirled around to face Oliver, the small lamp by the bed showcasing the frown on her face. “I do not recognize him,” she whispered.

“Of course, you do not,” he said, locking the door. “But I do.” He pulled at her hand and sent her crushing against his chest. “Darling, that was the bloody prime minister.”

Aliya’s eyes widened with surprise. “Then we caught a big fish?”

He grinned. “We caught a shark, love.”

A second passed before they both realized what they had just done and snorted, bursting out with laughter in each other’s arms, his mouth covering hers, his feet leading her to the bed. “Now, what do you say to a tryst?”

“This is not just a tryst, Ollie,” she said, climbing backward on the bed. “We are at Kinsley. This is a royal tryst, darling,” she finished, grabbing his cravat and pulling him toward her.

XXXIII | Royals in Humbrick

July came fast and so did the Humbrick Ball.

Lady Renee sent out invitations with a special message: My dear nephew, the Marquess of Rothsker has finally returned!

Aliya and Oliver were amongst the first to arrive for the infamous week-long ball where scandals were made and left behind for the rest of Sutherland to wonder about.

“You are quite ecstatic,” Aliya noted as he dressed for the opening ball.

“I am, yes.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Now that your mission is over, Ali, mine is about to start.”

She blinked. “You mean you are on a mission?”

He nodded.

“But I thought you rarely take missions? You are a Royal Doctor.”

“Ah, but this one I nearly begged to do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And what is this mission?”

He smiled at her mysteriously and she scowled. With a sigh, he said, “I have to whisper a few words to Rothsker.”

Aliya’s eyes narrowed. “But Sasha is constantly with the man!”

“I would not worry about Sasha, darling. You are here to distract her.”

“The more interaction I have with her, Ollie, the more I am endangering my secrets. She can be quite perceptive.”

“I am certain we can think of something,” he murmured, brushing off her concerns.

“You are not taking Sasha seriously. She is quite smart, Ollie.”

“But I am smarter,” he said with confidence.

Aliya sighed. “I do not know what you would do without me.” Walking over to him to tie his cravat, she added, “I shall distract Sasha for you tonight, then.”

He kissed her mouth. “Thank you.”

---

“Ivan Miller, Marquess of Rothsker!” the butler intoned and everyone in the ballroom stopped to turn and gaze at the black-haired man with a boyish grin as he stepped through the grand entrance of the room. “Lady Sasha of Belcourt!” followed the announcement and Sasha, clad in a giant purple gown, smiled at Rothsker who guided her into the ballroom as though they were the only people there.

Aliya turned to her husband and murmured, “Darling, you may have a very challenging night,” she said. Everyone’s eyes followed the marquess and his Belle as they made their way through the crowd, perfectly in tune with each other.

They were quite a pair, Aliya had to admit.

The young marquess looked elegant in a stylish black suit with a patterned royal blue cravat, his bristled jaw somehow molding his boyish smile into a more masculine one. His wavy black hair was tied to the back, much like how Oliver would tie his. And Aliya could remember the man’s striking blue eyes which were now focused on Sasha as she turned to whisper something in the man’s ear.

Searching the crowd, Aliya found West Blackwood with Tanner MacMier and Rider Fairborne. While his friends followed the marquess with their gaze, West Blackwood was staring at the woman walking beside the man, his face as impassive as always.

Then Aliya saw Tanner MacMier look at Oliver.

“MacMier is looking at you, Ollie, as though he believes you will not succeed tonight,” Aliya said through her teeth.

“Which is why I must succeed,” her husband said in a grave voice. “I feel like I need a drink.”

“No, you do not.”

“Yes, I do not.”

With a frustrated sigh, he turned to her and grinned. “Then perhaps we should wait for the perfect timing—let Rothsker get comfortable for a while.”

She agreed and they both walked around to chat with friends they encountered. A few Belles wanted to meet Oliver and she introduced him to them and he successfully charmed the few ladies with his boisterous jests and odd, yet charming way with words. All the while, they were both watchful of Sasha and Rothsker, even when Lady Renee took to the stand and gave her infamous speech.

It had been a long rumor that Lady Renee had a hand with Rothsker’s disappearance in the past. It was said that when Lady Renee’s late husband, the Marquess of Rothsker passed away, his young nephew who was to inherit the title, soon disappeared, leaving Lady Renee alone to fend for the many estates that came with the title. Although the most common reason known to many was that Rothsker left Sutherland to escape a large amount of debt many years ago. A few very imaginative individuals, on the other hand, believed that Lady Renee had been keeping the young man prisoner somewhere, which was now proven wrong because as the woman called for the marquess to join her, her smile was genuine.

However Rothsker returned—or if he indeed managed to pay his debts—was still a mystery. No one seemed to remember him, only his debts. And if he had debtors, they were nowhere in sight to go after him.

The man had come back and he was claiming back his title. In fact, he became a part of society too fast, even succeeding in becoming a gentleman of Belcourt, making Aliya curious as to why the Circus was quite desperate to reach him when there were other flowers they could go after. Was it because Rothsker was new and had not yet committed to an ally?

“My dear friends,” the man said, his tone pleasant, almost filled with mysterious mirth, “I am honored to be back in Sutherland and I could not be more grateful to Lady Renee for graciously honoring this year’s Humbrick Ball to me. It would be my greatest pleasure if you can all enjoy this week’s festivities and… scandals—” His words were greeted with laughter, “—and dare not forget that you leave them all behind after it ends to return to your sore, unhappy lives.”

As the laughter erupted around the room, Aliya found Sasha standing close to the platform where the orchestra and her flower were located.

She had prepared for this night, Aliya noted, and yet the woman looked unhappy now that the attention was no longer on her. For a short moment, while Rothsker engrossed everyone else, Sasha did not have to pretend.

“Rothsker seems to have had a few drinks,” Aliya whispered to her husband. “It is best to approach him after his speech.”

“How?”

“Do what you do best and be drunk,” she whispered. “Pretend to be drunk,” she reiterated.

His eyes glinted. “Again? Why, you are an expert, darling!”

Aliya sighed. “I will go to Sasha now,” she said. “You merely need a few moments with Rothkser, yes?”

He nodded.

Aliya walked away and rushed to where Sasha was. “Sasha, you look lovely tonight,” she greeted with a smile. The woman’s bluish-grey eyes turned to her and looked her up and down.

“Aliya, you look quite stunning as always,” Sasha said, gazing at her yellow gown.

“Thank you,” Aliya said, turning with Sasha to Rothsker as he finished his speech. The two of them clapped their hands and almost immediately, Aliya hooked her arm around Sasha’s. “You never told me that Rothsker is quite a funny man.”

“I do remember I told you he is charming.”

“He is funny, too,” said Aliya. “I like funny men.”

Sasha’s eyes veered to the direction of Rothsker who was being surrounded by other guests, officially welcoming him back to society. Not far away, Oliver was also making his way to Rothsker.

Aliya let out a forced groan. “And my man is quite foxed,” she said, pulling Sasha with her. “Would you mind if I ask for your help?”

Sasha frowned. “What help?”

“Oliver can be quite uncontrollable when he had had a few drinks, and if we do not take him to the nearest empty room, I am afraid he might cause a ruckus.”

Aliya was relieved when Sasha hastened her steps beside her.

---

“Ah, Rothsker!” Oliver shouted, separating the crowd with his large frame and arms. “Get out of the way, gentries,” he said, stumbling toward the marquess. “Rothsker!”

Rothsker blinked. “Doctor St. Vincent.”

“Yes, yes,” said Oliver, managing a burp. “That was one bloody speech, Rothsker, I tell you!” he said with a laugh, eliciting a frown from a few ladies surrounding them.

He wrapped an around Rothsker’s shoulders, but the man was fast to escape his hold.

“Ollie!” Aliya’s voice said from behind them, and sooner than he expected, she was standing before him, with an awkward smile. “Darling, perhaps we should retire to a drawing room—”

Reading the look in her eyes, Oliver shook his head, grabbing Rothsker. “But I am about to ask Rothsker to join me in the gaming room—”

“I would rather stay here for a while, Doctor St. Vincent,” Rothsker said with a smile.

Oliver vigorously shook his head, stumbling forward. Aliya, his beautiful actress wife, hooked her arm around his and looked at Sasha pleadingly.

Sasha turned to Rothsker and said, “Perhaps you can help us lead Doctor St. Vincent to a nearby gaming room, Ivan?”

Rothsker sighed as he looked around at the crowd. Then he grinned. “Please excuse us for a while, my friends,” he said, coming near Oliver who immediately wrapped an arm around him.

“Good! Perhaps I can make you disappear again, Rothsker, because, after this night, you will regain your debts by my winning cards!”

Aliya groaned in embarrassment as Sasha led them down the corridor, which was not at all leading to any of the gaming rooms.

Pretending to roll his head to the side, he whispered to Rothsker, “Meet me at the western gaming hall past midnight.” The man did not stop, but the faint smile on his lips disappeared. Oliver held his shoulders tighter. “Blackwood wishes to see you,” he added. Rothsker sighed. “Is that a yes?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Yes.”

“Good!” Oliver said loudly, causing Sasha to look over her shoulder.

“Aliya, perhaps you should take him straight to your bedchamber?”

“A famous idea, yes,” her wife said beside him, keeping up with her act of a disappointed and embarrassed wife.

“Ah, bedchamber,” he said with a laugh. “I might have to skip on that game after all, Rothsker.” He let go of Rothsker to wrap an arm around his wife, “I have a different one to play tonight.”

---

“Thank you, Sasha,” Aliya gratefully said to the woman outside their bedchamber. Rothsker merely chuckled. “You ought to hire a group of men whenever you go around in balls, Lady Aliya,” he said. “It is not all the time that men are willing to carry your giant of a husband.”

Sasha smiled and turned to Rothsker, “Your aunt must be looking for you, Ivan.”

Rothsker rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He bowed at Aliya and then kissed Sasha’s temple before he turned and walked away, massaging his shoulder.

“You do not have to stay,” Aliya said. “I know you have to be with him.”

Sasha looked at her curiously. “I seem to notice that you are quite chummy with Lady Winthrop.”

Aliya frowned. “Lady Winthrop is not in Humbrick.”

“Yes, but I believe you have been to a few balls with the woman.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Lady Winthrop and I have quite a history. She is the cousin of the late Lady Hartcaster.”

“And she is fine with you being Hartcaster’s flower while her cousin was dying?”

Aliya smiled. “Well, of course, because she knew that Hartcaster and I were merely friends! And Lady Winthrop is a friend of my mother-in-law. There is no escaping the woman.”

Sasha slowly nodded. “Lord Winthrop is a suspected member of the Royal Circus.”

“Yes, I was told before I left Belcourt. He was my last mission. I found no evidence that he may be involved with the Circus.”

“Then perhaps you can find out more now? You have more access to him being friends with his wife.”

Aliya narrowed her eyes. “Is Belcourt claiming a Vow, Sasha? I am only happy to be rid of it, you know. I can look into the Winthrops if you want.”

Sasha’s face turned serious. “No, Belcourt will ask for your Vow when the time comes.”

Aliya nodded. “Good. Then perhaps you ought to remember that I am no longer a Belle, Sasha. Do whatever you wish—spy on me and my friends for as long as you like, but please, do spare me the reminder of what you are. I do not wish to stop seeing you as a friend. What you are doing now is poking into my life in a very obsessive way.”

Sasha’s lips curled into a tight smile. “I am deeply sorry if I have made you feel that way, Aliya. I am merely concerned. If you ever get involved with the Circus, and if Belcourt finds out, they will not hesitate to act. I am warning you as a friend.”

Aliya nodded. “You must also know, Sasha, that I am beyond you in years as a Belle. I know how to take care of myself. Was I not the one who taught you that?”

The woman nodded. “Yes.”

“Then perhaps you ought to focus more on your actual mission. Unless the mission is me and my new life, I would appreciate it if you can mellow down with the intrusions.”

Sasha blinked. “Please, I hope you understand and forgive me, Aliya.”

“I do,” she said with a smile.

Sasha looked into her eyes for quite some time and Aliya was not stupid not to recognize the silent challenge in their depths. Despite her words, Sasha was acting not as her friend now, but as a Belle.

“Good night, Sasha,” she said, before adding, “Oh, I do recall seeing West Blackwood in the ballroom. Have you had the chance to meet him?”

The woman stiffened. “No, and I do not intend to.”

Without another word, Sasha turned and walked away.

---

Aliya placed her hands on her hips. “You are saying your mission is over?” she asked. “That was all you had to do?”

He blinked. “Well, yes, of course. I only need to take Rothsker to Blackwood.”

“You did naught but to whisper to the man, Ollie! What could you have been thinking! We could have devised a better plan if you only told me what you had to do!”

“Ah, my head is aching,” he said, falling into the bed.

“Cease the pretense. You are not bloody foxed.”

He grinned. “That, I am not.”

Aliya rolled her eyes. “I would not be surprised if he does not show up tonight.”

“He will.”

“How certain are you?”

He raised to his elbows. “He will.”

Her eyes narrowed. “There is something you are not telling me, Ollie.” When he remained mum, she suspiciously asked, “Who is Rothsker, really?”

Oliver burped. “Perhaps I am foxed after all,” he said, falling back into the cushion, with no intention of giving her an answer.

With a sigh of frustration, Aliya realized that she was getting more frustrated with the secrets the Royal Circus was keeping from her and the other wives.

A knock on their door came. She opened it and found Rider Fairborne standing outside. He walked into the room without an invitation and said to Oliver, “There is word from Darcy.”

Her husband groaned and jumped out of bed. “Wait here, darling,” he said, kissing the top of her head before he joined Rider outside in the corridor.

Aliya tried to listen, but the two men talked in rushed, hushed tones. And soon, before she could grasp a word, it was over and Rider was gone and her husband was back in the room to straighten his cravat.

She frowned. “You are going out?”

“Not right away. At midnight.”

“You mean you will also be joining Blackwood?”

“Yes.”

“Because Darcy wants all of you there?”

“Yes.”

Aliya slowly sat on the bed. “Will he also be there with you later?”

“No, of course not,” Oliver burst out as though the image of Darcy joining them was preposterous.

“It seems to me that this Lord Darcy is the true Royal Master, not Blackwood.

“Darcy is the Royal Master whose identity is kept secret. In the event that Eaton will not be able to fulfill his duties as the Royal Master, Lord Darcy steps in.”

“But he still gives orders.”

“The final word is still from Eaton.” Turning to face her, Oliver smiled. “The Royal Master, like your High Priestess, is paramount to the survival of the Circus, thus we have two. Their words are law, Ali.”

“And if they say that the women connected to the Circus cannot know everything, you oblige.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And this rule had been present from the start?”

“Yes.”

“Then the Circus does not trust women.”

“I am not the Circus, darling, and you know I trust you.”

“That does not answer my question, Ollie,” she said with irritation. “The Circus use the wives—and I suppose even the daughters—of the Royals, and yet it deprives them of the truth.”

“Perhaps it is akin to Belcourt using its ladies and its flowers ?”

Aliya scoffed. “Perhaps you are right.”

He walked toward her and took her hand. “Darling, the Circus trusts its Royal Masters. Just as much as Belcourt trusts its High Priestess, a woman you have not even laid eyes on, yes?”

“Yes.”

“West Blackwood has proven to us many times that he will continue his father’s legacy and that of the other Masters before them.”

“You trust West Blackwood fully then?”

“Yes.”

“I only know that he is the son of a former Belle, Elizabeth Blackwood, who bore a daughter which is now in Belcourt. I know nothing about him, Ollie.”

“Elizabeth Blackwood destroyed Reginald using Addison Blackwood. She planted evidence against Reginald to help Belcourt and Louis who happened to be her secret lover.”

Aliya nodded, not utterly surprised by the information. “Ollie, what if we share this information with Sasha? It might change her mind. I know that she only chose to stay in Belcourt because she believed West betrayed her—and he did. But if she understands what he is fighting for, she may become a very powerful ally. The Palace seems to trust her.”

“No,” Oliver sternly said, his hazel eyes serious.

“No? That is all you have to say?”

“No, Aliya, because both Royal Masters have agreed that Sasha is to be left alone.”

“Why?”

“She is useful,” he said.

“In what way?”

“She pries too much, does she not?”

Understanding dawned on Aliya. “The Circus intends to use her again.”

Oliver shrugged. “Perhaps, but this is a game she chose to play as well, so do not feel sorry for her. She knew it from the moment she turned her back on West Blackwood.”

“West Blackwood may take this too personal, Ollie.”

Oliver sighed. “Blackwood will not.”

Aliya frowned. “You cannot be certain of that. Ollie, Sasha is only doing what she is doing because that is how she was raised by Belcourt. She came into Belcourt too young. Compared to myself, she never had any appreciation of her life before Belcourt. Belcourt is everything she has after her father killed her mother and himself. And Belcourt was the only one that offered her something after what happened with West Blackwood.”

“I know, Ali,” Oliver gently said. “But the Circus will not stop just because of one woman. It is the future of the kingdom that is at stake.”

Aliya’s eyes filled with tears. “Then you are telling me that the Circus will not hesitate to destroy Belcourt if the need arises?”

Oliver bent down to level his gaze with her. His hands gathered hers in a tight grip. “Ali, I will be there with you when the time comes that we have to rescue as many women as we can from Belcourt. I will be there with you, darling, and I promise that. But as you have said, Belcourt is rotten at the core and you claimed you want to fix it. The Circus will not readily cause any of the ladies in Belcourt harm. That is not how we play the game. But you must also understand that we cannot save everyone inside. There will be women who will not hesitate to kill every Royal.”

“And if Sasha or any of my friends turn out to be amongst those women because their circumstance designed them to be?”

Oliver offered a faint smile. “And if I or father or even my sister and mother turn out to be amongst the people Belcourt wants to destroy?”

Aliya began to sob for she understood the point he was trying to make. He was not making her choose, but she knew that if she ever had to make one, she would choose him and the St. Vincents. But only after she had Delaney. And Fatima, Carrie, and Shay.

Oliver gathered her in his arms. “Do not cry, darling. I know this is hard for you.”

“It is, Ollie. And if things escalate in the future—and I know they will—I will be heartbroken.”

“But you will not be alone,” he promised.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she murmured, “You cannot leave me alone.”

“That is why I have stopped drinking,” he tried to jest.

She tried to laugh.

---

By midnight, Oliver entered the western gaming room that had been miraculously filled with Royals. Two more were outside, guarding the doors as foxed, gentlemen who would not let anyone else enter the door unless they were from the Royal Circus.

Tanner sneered at him as he sat beside the man, saying, “Say, St. Vincent, that was a very good performance,” he said, offering him a glass of brandy.

He looked at the glass, tempted. He bent to sniff at the drink and he sighed with longing. “It smells wonderful, Leighton, but the stench of my wife’s disappointment is stronger in my head,” he said, turning away from the glass.

“Are we certain he is coming at all?” asked one Royal.

“Of course!” Oliver boomed with confidence.

The other gentlemen looked at him with doubt just as the door opened and Rothsker walked in.

He stopped in the middle of the doorway when he found that the room was full, and he sighed. Then his eyes landed on West Blackwood. “What a pleasant surprise, Blackwood,” Rothsker said, stepping into the room. The Royal in the corridor closed the door.

“It has taken us quite a while to get to you, but now that we did, we have a few questions,” West Blackwood started, voice authoritative as he took a few steps toward Rothsker. “How did you return?”

Rothsker frowned and scoffed in disbelief. “Am I being interrogated?”

“We are done interrogating other people,” West Blackwood curtly replied. “Just answer us. How did you bloody return as the Marquess of Rothsker?”

Rothsker smiled. “A ship and my father’s money, of course. And perhaps a few extra more for the real Rothsker and Lady Renee.”

Oliver watched as West Blackwood’s lips twitched into a hint of a smile.

Everyone, including Oliver, stood to their feet, and together with West, they bowed in front of Rothsker. “Welcome home, Your Highness,” West formally greeted.

PrinceLeo Reginald Stanhope grinned. “My father told me many things about you,gentlemen.”

XXXIV | Three Wounded Royals

Aliya waited three days in Humbrick for Oliver to willingly share information, but when it did not happen, Aliya could no longer help but ask, “How did it go with Rothsker?”

Her husband turned to her with an innocent look on his face, one she now knew was not at all innocent. “It went quite well.”

They were taking a walk along the vast grounds behind the large estate. A few feet away, a crowd of Humbrick guests was gathered together to watch a cricket game. Since neither of them was interested, they decided to stray away and be ’ one with nature’ as what her husband had said.

“You are once more teasing me by deliberately withholding information you know I am desperate to have.”

He grinned at her, bending low to steal a kiss under the brim of her bonnet. “Rothsker is a member of the Royal Circus, darling. That is all you have to know.”

Aliya tilted her head to assess his face. “He is more than that, is he?”

“I cannot tell you, darling. Not yet.”

Shaking her head, Aliya scoffed. “Then Sasha is once more being used by a Royal.”

He remained quiet and she appreciated that. It would not do any good if he tried to defend the Circus now. And it would even be pointless if she got annoyed about it because Belcourt was doing the same things as the Circus.

“You do not feel good about it,” Oliver said after a while.

“Yes, not good at all. But I am not stupid. If Sasha is wise enough, she will discover things on her own and might be the force that will make Belcourt fall. It is always easy to destroy someone from the inside, you know.”

“I know,” he said in a serious tone. “And it is always the hardest to fix.”

Reaching for his hand, she squeezed it. “But it is best to fix it with someone else, yes?”

The smile he gave her clenched at her heart. She could only imagine the struggle he had to face every day. “Yes.”

“You have me, Ollie,” she said.

“I know. And I could not be any more grateful. And you have me too, Ali.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they continued down the path that led them to the garden. “We have to leave Humbrick early,” he said. “Your sister’s Courting Ceremony is tomorrow.”

Aliya’s jaw tightened.

“Do you think she has a chance in the Court of Flowers?”

“She does, but I cannot tell. I do not know where she excels the most and that is most often how Belcourt makes its decision.”

“I have always wondered how you ladies are being courted.”

Aliya smiled and said, “Courage, passion, wisdom, and service maketh the perfect woman.” She turned to look at Oliver and added, “That is Belcourt’s golden adage. Courage is for the Court of Arms—the Soldiers; passion for the Court of Flowers—the Belles; wisdom for the Court of Libraries—the Librarians; and service for the Court of Service—the Servants as we often refer to them. Delaney could land in any of these courts.”

“But we have a plan, do we not?”

Aliya could not even bring herself to smile. “Yes, we do. But I fear Belcourt may have more.”

---

They arrived in Coulway before luncheon and were surprised to find that Natalia St. Vincent was already in the villa.

“Mother, we were not told you will be arriving,” greeted Oliver.

“Well, I came here to meet Aliya’s sister and take her to Herst.”

Aliya blinked, confused. “We were unsuccessful in adopting Delaney, Natalia.”

Her mother-in-law blinked in confusion. “Well, she is to be courted soon, yes?”

“Today.”

“Then it is her birthday.”

“Yes.”

“And when do you plan to take her out of there?” she asked, her eyes going to Oliver.

“We are yet to know which court she is courted into.”

Her brows knitted in a line, Natalia asked, “Does the Circus have no plan to take Delaney out tonight?”

“No!” chorused Oliver and Aliya.

“We cannot do that, Mother.”

Natalia’s frown deepened as she stared at them innocently. “Whyever not?”

“Because it will merely pose more problems,” explained Aliya.

“Then how do you plan to take your sister out of that place, Aliya?”

“We have a plan, but it needs a few more days—even months—to be executed. We have to be careful. Belcourt is always watchful and suspicious.”

Natalia scoffed. “Then I should not have left Mason in Herst alone with Ellise! By the time I return home, he could very well be amongst the wild animals!”

“Perhaps you ought to go back then,” Oliver hopefully suggested.

His mother glared at him. “Only after Delaney is taken out of Belcourt.”

Oliver groaned. “Mother, it will take months.”

“Then make it shorter,” Natalia ordered before she turned and left the parlor.

By evening, Lady Miranda’s short note arrived.

Dear Aliya,

As I have promised, I am penning this note to inform you that Delaney had her Courting Ceremony today. She is now a proud Soldier.

Sincerely,

Lady Miranda

Aliya was not surprised. She threw the note into the fire and sighed. Her mother-in-law silently sat in her chair, sipping her tea, her face grim. Oliver took her hand and squeezed it.

“Well, your plan ought to be very good,” said Natalia St. Vincent.

---

Two nights later, Aliya and Oliver were awakened by Jason.

“What is it?” Oliver groggily demanded.

“Three Royals are waiting for you in Sinclair, Doctor,” said the man.

Aliya rubbed her eyes. “Why?”

“I do not know, my lady, but I was told that I should inform Doctor Oliver that Pemberton is not enough.”

With a groan, Oliver pushed out of bed and blindly reached for his coat. “Pemberton not being enough is not good,” he said, shrugging into his coat. “Have the carriage ready, Jason.”

“Right away, Doctor.”

When Jason walked out of the room, Aliya flew to the closet and took out her petticoat.

“What are you doing?” her husband demanded.

“I cannot let you go there alone, Ollie. You may need my help.”

“There are people who will be helping me, Ali. Go back to sleep. I will be home before you awake.”

She raced him to the door, fixing her hair with her fingers without a word.

Oliver sighed and followed.

Merely a few minutes later, they arrived in Sinclair to find Pemberton bending over a groaning Terence Garmont, a young blond man who owned countless small businesses in Sutherland with his aggressive approach on many things but was currently rendered immobile with a large gushing wound in his waist. “Blade wounds,” said Pemberton the moment Oliver strode into the room. “I am managing the worst one, but I suggest you see Durham.”

Oliver went to the brown-haired man sitting on the side of the bed next to the window. “What happened?” he asked, peeling Trent’s right hand away from his left shoulder.

“We were in Stanway’s estate—”

“Aaron Stanway?” Aliya asked behind Oliver. “The Earl of Emsworth?”

Trent’s face hardened even more. “Why is she here, St. Vincent?”

“She is my wife,” Oliver said, tearing Trent’s shirt with ease. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Trent hesitated for a moment, looking at Aliya as she walked near them. “We were in Stanway’s estate—his father’s, to be exact.”

“Ah, of course.” He looked at the long, straight wound on Trent’s shoulder. “Blade?”

“Swords—rapiers.”

“They were good?”

“Very,” Trent gritted out.

“Women?”

Trent’s face hardened as he threw Aliya a look. “Yes.”

“Belcourt ladies are trained in rapiers while in the Manor. Fencing is a sport Belcourt ladies enjoy,” Aliya informed them with pride.

“Remind me to hide my rapiers, darling,” Oliver said before he asked Trent, “How many?”

“Three.”

Oliver paused to blink. “Three Soldiers against three Royals. Are they injured more than the three of you are?” He looked over his shoulder at Garmont and the other Royal in one corner of the room, the Viscount of Greene. The black-haired man’s left leg was being wrapped with a bandage by Pemberton’s assistant. When none of the injured Royals said a word, he laughed. “You bloody bastards! Do not tell me—”

“We were unprepared for the attack. We had planned it well. There were no signs of anyone else in the estate.”

“Well, this being your first mission for the Circus, Chalbarth, you can be forgiven. But Greene, you cannot be utterly serious!”

Stefan Northcott’s light blue eyes threw daggers at him from across the room but said nothing.

“Why were you in Aaron’s estate?” Aliya asked Trent.

“And why would I tell you?” Trent asked and Oliver squeezed the man’s wound.

“Please be careful with your words when you are talking to the wife of the man trying to save your life, Chalbarth,” he said. Turning to Aliya, he said, “What he means, darling, is that you cannot know about his mission.”

Aliya rolled her eyes, her beautiful bedraggled face starting to look bored.

“I told you, this will be quite tedious,” he reminded her.

She turned and said, “I will go and see if Doctor Pemberton needs a hand.”

“No, darling, you help me,” he said, smiling at Trent. “Your dear friend needs your help at the moment.”

As it turned out, Aliya was very helpful indeed. She knew what he needed when he asked for it without asking if she was holding out the right apparatus.

“We were trained,” she said, handing him a forcep. “But I still do not like this gory sight.”

Oliver chuckled, facing Trent once again. “You are lucky the wound is not deep enough, Chalbarth,” he said, beginning to stitch the man’s wound. He eyed the man who simply gritted his teeth at the pain. “Did you get what you needed?”

“No.”

Oliver nodded. “Perhaps there will be more opportunities in the future.”

“No, there might not be,” Trent said grimly. “The Stanways will be even more careful from now on.”

“Were your faces covered?” Aliya nonchalantly asked.

Trent did not reply, still regarding Aliya with open suspicion and doubt. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Good. So long as they did not recognize you, you can still be a flower.”

She received a scoff from that. “As you have said, Aliya, my Belle does not get the best missions. She prefers our rendezvous to be in Belcourt nearly almost all the time.”

“And you do not think it is a good thing?”

“I cannot do anything in Belcourt.”

“Ah, you only think so,” said Aliya mysteriously. She turned to Oliver and said, “Darling, perhaps I need to arrange a few lessons with the Royals. They seem to know very little about Belcourt.”

“I have been a flower for years, Aliya. And West Blackwood had had his chance as well. I believe the two of us can attest that the flowers do not have much to do in Belcourt.”

“That is because you are paired with a Belle who only wants to keep you in her bedchamber, Trent; and Blackwood was with a new Belle who had spent her entire life in only the Manor and the Court of Libraries. Neither of them is the best lady to tell you about Belcourt’s secrets.”

Trent seemed too interested now to bother with the pain of the needle poking through his skin. “And what secrets?”

Aliya sighed. “Secret passages—or similar.”

“Which passages?”

“Oh, I would love to share them with you, but I am afraid I have something I need from the Circus first.” Oliver smiled at his wife’s wit. “Perhaps, after we successfully assist my sister’s transfer into the Court of Flowers, I can tell you just how you can enter the Village without being seen—or what time Lady Mariam leaves her study and retire to bed. Surely you wish to get into her office, yes?”

Trent Durham turned to look at Oliver. “I cannot say I am proud to say this, St. Vincent, but you might have just married someone far better than you.”

---

Later in the carriage, Aliya asked Oliver, “I know that you may not tell me, Ollie, but I am still curious so I will ask—why is the Circus interested in Aaron Stanway?”

“It is not Aaron Stanway we are interested in, darling, but his father— Jubert Stanway, the Duke of Islefield.”

“The island?”

“Yes, the very one.”

“And why would the Circus be interested in the Duke of Islefield, Ollie?”

“Islefield is perhaps one of King Louis’s closest advisors.”

She nodded in understanding. “And you wish to get more information on the king.”

“Evidence, Ali,” he said. “Evidence on how they took down Reginald and what they plan to do next.”

“I have spent years outside Belcourt, Ollie, and I still do not feel that Sutherland is in the hands of a tyrant.”

Oliver took her hand. “Darling, tyranny is not the only evil in this world.”

“What could be worse?”

“Treason, of course.”

“You are telling me that King Louis is a traitor? To whom? Himself?”

“Sutherland, of course.”

She frowned. “I’m afraid I do not follow.”

“He is exporting Sutherland, darling.”

She scoffed. “To who? England? England is an ally, Ollie.”

His hazel eyes were not smiling when he turned to look at her. “And you believe Sutherland is an ally to England?”

A shiver ran up Aliya’s spine. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “You cannot possibly be suggesting that—”

“The Circus has found enough evidence that Sutherland is fighting for Napoleon.”

Aliya blanched.

Her husband squeezed her hand. “But we cannot let that happen, can we?”

“Ollie, Belcourt is working for the king. What you are suggesting is that—”

“Belcourt is not working for the king, darling. Perhaps it is the kingdom that is working for Belcourt and they do not even know it. We need to know who is behind Belcourt.”

She withdrew her hand from his. “No, it cannot be. Belcourt is not that powerful—”

“Belcourt is more than what we all imagined it to be. Everything it did before the dethronement of Reginald up to this point suggests that it is quite powerful.”

As her eyes filled with tears, Oliver took her hand again. “I had many reasons why I wanted to get you out of Belcourt, Ali. This is one of them. And we are getting your sister out of there before things get even more difficult and dangerous.”

Aliya nodded, tears falling from her face as she did so.

“The Circus is not just fighting for Reginald to take back the throne. It is fighting for Sutherland’s doomed fate if the current king gets his way.”

“And Belcourt is a part of all this…”

Oliver peered down at her. “Darling, tonight will not be the last one that we will have to face. This is your new life now. Soon, you will be facing more choices, too, most of them difficult.”

She gripped his hand. “I know.”

“Are you fine with it?”

Her tearful eyes searched his. “I have to be,” she replied with conviction.

XXXV | Jams and Punishments

Natalia St. Vincent had never been to the new Theater, therefore it was safe to say she was not aware of what awaited her in The Coffin.

Aliya’s mother-in-law had insisted that they accompany Oliver to Sinclair, claiming that ‘it was a Royal Wife’s duty to be there in case her husband got the worst missions’.

“But you rarely accompanied father when he was here,” said Oliver.

“Your sister needed to be dragged to every ball I could get her to,” Natalia said. “But now that they are both not here, Aliya needs to learn how to be a Royal’s Wife.”

“My wife is doing quite tremendously, Mother,” Oliver drawled, but that did not stop Natalia from climbing into the carriage when it was time for him to leave for Sinclair.

Aliya, on the other hand, was grateful that Natalia was with her for when the woman finally stepped into The Coffin for the first time, she stiffened. And when Natalia St. Vincent stiffened with a big scowl on her face, a miracle was about to happen.

Natalia’s green eyes swept across the room—from the two dead bodies and to Lady Winthrop waving at her with a teacup in her other hand, and finally at Oliver who was looking more uncomfortable as seconds ticked by.

“Oliver, what is this room?”

Oliver broke into a wide, forced smile. “Your waiting room, Mother.”

Natalia’s eyes widened with horror. She turned to Aliya who was biting her cheek to mask the laughter and to her friend, Lady Winthrop, already seated in her worn-out leather armchair. “Do you agree with this setting, Clara?” she asked her friend. “This is unacceptable!”

Natalia St. Vincent whirled around before Lady Winthrop could offer a reply and glared at her son. “You transform this room now, Oliver, or the opera will not begin.”

“Mother, the dead bodies are necessary for hiding the Theater.”

“I do not mean that side of the room, son,” Natalia said, pointing at the two gurneys. “I meant that side of the room!” she finished, swinging her arm to point at Lady Winthrop.

Oliver cleared his throat and slowly nodded. “I will see what I can do—”

“No, you will allow me to do what I can do,” his mother said, turning to Aliya to say, “Come, Aliya, we have much to do.”

“I already have a carpet in mind,” Aliya hastily whispered to Natalia as they rushed out of the chamber to look for more help.

That very day, the other side of The Coffin welcomed a transformation. Cabinets were brought it from different parts of the hospital, chairs from Oliver’s office were dragged and positioned perfectly around the hardwood center table.

“Something is missing,” Natalia said, frowning at their work.

“A winged chair,” Aliya suggested.

“Yes.”

“There is one in Simon’s office.”

Her mother-in-law nodded her blonde head. “Perfect.”

After two more tables and a vase of fresh flowers, Natalia St. Vincent finally sat down to relax.

“Natalia, this is marvelous,” Lady Winthrop said as the three of them shared tea and biscuits. “Fret not, I will try to have fresh flowers delivered to Sinclair and into this chamber every week. And since no liquors are allowed in the Theater, us, ladies can have some sherry for ourselves—in secret, of course.”

But Natalia was preoccupied with something else. “Why are there no other wives in attendance?”

“Well, you should know that The Coffin was not too… well, you saw it, but now that it is transformed, I may be able to spread the news that they can all start to come in. We can all just pretend that side of the room as a large mural,” Lady Winthrop said and Aliya had to laugh.

“Have you given Aliya enough information on the other wives?”

“Yes, of course,” Lady Winthrop asked. “It is my duty to prepare her.

Natalia slowly nodded with satisfaction. “Should we then begin to tell her the rules?”

Aliya blinked. “Of being a Royal Wife?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I understand that there is much need for secrecy, but why do we have to follow rules when we are barely a part of the Circus?”

“Rules are not only made for you to uncomfortably follow, Aliya. They are made to protect the bigger purpose of the Royal Circus,” Natalia sternly told her, green eyes narrowed at her. “Do you have any other objections we must hear before we continue?”

Aliya blinked, avoiding Natalia’s eyes. “No.”

“Good. Then we should start on how you should interact with the Royals outside the Theater.”

“I cannot approach them?”

“You can if it is needed . But you do not engage so easily, most particularly if you have no friendly history. Their children are not to be approached unless their lives are in danger or threatened. If possible, you do not interact with them at all. Your relationship with them inside the Circus is not the same outside in society. If he is a duke, then he remains a duke in society and unless society recognizes your relationship with a Royal from the highest stations, you do not engage at all. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Natalia St. Vincent nodded and leaned over to pick up her teacup. Aliya dutifully waited. When the woman did not say another word, she frowned. “Is that it?” she asked.

“There are more, but you shall learn them as you go along,” said Natalia with a wave of her hand. “The one I just told you is the most important of all.”

“Is there a rule about murder?”

“No. You may kill anyone you wish, save for a Royal and his family.”

---

“Your mother gave me a good lecture earlier,” she said to her husband as she brushed his hair that evening. When he did not reply and simply frowned down at the nail he had been biting, Aliya’s brows furrowed. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” he said. Aliya waited until he could not take it any longer and he finally asked, “Ali, do you suppose you love me enough to forgive me?”

Her hands stilled from its task of tying his hair. “That would depend on what you are about to confess, Ollie.”

He groaned and closed his eyes. Aliya peered at his face. “What is it? What have you done?”

He stood and his hair fell back to hover over his shoulders. When he faced her, Oliver’s face was ashen he could very well be one of the bodies in The Coffin. “What is it?” she asked with a laugh, perhaps hoping he was jesting again.

Clearing his throat, he stepped back as though preparing himself for an attack. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“Yes, of course. We were on the ship—”

“No, I meant fourteen years later.”

Aliya frowned. “You mean when I met you in Strait?”

“Yes, in Sinclair after you broke your arm.”

She blinked. “Of course, I remember.” Carefully, she asked, “Why?”

He took a lungful of air and placed his hands on his hips. “Please do understand, Ali, that I had to do what I did because—”

“You fixed my arm, of course, I understand.”

“No, I meant before I had to fix your arm.”

Her frown deepened. “Ollie, you are losing me. I do not know what you are trying to say.”

He swallowed hard. “You had a carriage accident before you broke your arm and—”

Oliver was not able to finish the rest of his words because Aliya sent the brush flying toward him, finally understanding his crime. “You did not!” she growled, reaching for the next item her hand could hold—a book—and threw it across the room as well.

He had to run to the door and she had to shout, “Do not dare escape this bedchamber, Oliver St. Vincent!” Not finding another object she could easily hurl toward him, Aliya bent down to pull out her lace slippers. “You bloody bastard!” she snarled, satisfied that the footwear hit his chest. “Oh, yes, of course, cower in one corner, Ollie, because I am not done with you!” She bent down to grab the other slipper. “You fixed my arm good, that you did. So I can effectively throw this!” The slipper crashed against his thigh and he jumped on one foot with a pained cry. “Oh, stop acting, Ollie! I know it does not hurt!”

He immediately stood to both feet and raised his arm to ward her off when she began to come forward and attack him with her fists.

“I did not mean for the accident to be worse than what it turned out to be, I swear, Ali, I did not—stop, stop, darling, that one hurt—”

“I cannot—” she punched his arm, “believe you could do such horrid act!” She landed a fist on his chest. “You are not sleeping here tonight,” she said, her chest heaving.

He groaned and pleaded, “Darling, I truly regret what I did—”

“Do not speak for now, Ollie, I am still very much angry. I know you have a rapier sword nearby and let me tell you now that I am very good at fencing.” She went to the door and opened it. “Sleep elsewhere tonight. I need to be alone.”

Aliya was seriously furious, but as he walked past her looking like a defeated giant, she added, “Seek me out when you think I can have a proper conversation with you. For the time being, think very carefully about what you are going to say to me then.”

He opened his mouth then stopped. Once he exited the room, Aliya slammed the door shut.

---

Three days later, Natalia St. Vincent was glaring at him during breakfast. Obviously, Aliya and the woman had a pleasant conversation about him. By afternoon, she told her son that Aliya was packing and he ran up the stairs to their bedchamber to find her writing a letter.

Her face turned serious when he burst into the room unannounced. He looked around and found that there were no trunks.

“Mother said you are packing.”

“Your mother lied,” Aliya curtly replied.

Sensing she was not as angry as she was three nights ago, Oliver quietly closed the door and rushed to her side. “Ali, I’m sorry.”

“You know I do not appreciate your apologies, Ollie.”

He cleared his throat. He lowered to the floor and rested his hands on the table beside the paper she was writing on, his head turned to peer at her face. “Ali, I did not intend for the accident to be that bad. I only needed you to be delivered to Sinclair with a few scratches.”

Aliya’s hand stilled and he stiffened. She closed her eyes and through her teeth, murmured, “God, Ollie, if I can only break your bones myself.” When her eyes opened, they were still very much furious. “Did you enjoy it? When I was injured, did you enjoy it?”

He blinked. “I did enjoy the part I met you, yes. But not the broken bones, no, of course not.” He grabbed her hand and desperately squeezed it. “Darling, I will pay for it dearly.”

Aliya sighed and looked down at him. “What you did was horrible, Ollie.”

“I know.”

“I suffered a great deal because of it.”

“Yes.”

“And I would not have met you if it did not happen.”

“Yes, I know and—what?”

She shrugged. “It was horrible, but it was effective.”

He blinked. “Then do you forgive me?”

“People never completely forgive,” she said. “Because we cannot forget.”

He let out an exasperated sigh.

“But one can always do something to get another chance.”

“I will do anything you ask of me, Ali.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, Ollie, do not say that. You cannot truly give me anything I ask.”

“Well, yes, but I know you will ask only the possible ones.”

His wife sighed. “Very well, if you will return to this bedchamber later tonight, I will think of something you can do for me.”

He jumped to his feet and grinned at her. “I will be counting the hours, darling,” he said, walking backward to retreat from the room.

“After dinner.”

“Yes.”

“Ten o’clock sharp.”

“I will not be late,” he readily replied. “Can I kiss you?”

Her face hardened. “Ten o’clock sharp.”

He nodded. “Ten it is.” He poked his head through the door before he left and said, “I shall arrive with blueberry jam.”

---

“Are the two of you done with your quarrel?” Natalia St. Vincent asked the following morning during breakfast.

Oliver smiled, remembering the night prior—how he had to beg for his wife’s mercy while she punished him with her hands and mouth… and the blueberry jam…

His wife’s scowl drew him back to his mother’s question and he said, “Yes, we are. In fact, I had to ask Aliya’s forgiveness several times last night.”

Aliya’s eyes widened with horror at his insinuation, her cheeks turning scarlet.

“Good,” said Natalia. “I hope you learned your lesson, Oliver.”

“I deliciously did, Mother.”

His wife helplessly closed her eyes before she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

His mother nodded with a curious look on her face. “You know that women do not easily forget, Oliver.”

“I know. Neither do men.”

Aliya kicked him under the table.

“You may never get another chance,” Natalia said, ignorant of the kicking under the table as she spread jam on her bread. “The cook told me the blueberry jam keeps missing. We should ask Jason to address this matter right away.”

Oliver’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. Aliya blanched, eyes panicking.

“Jason will dutifully find the culprit, Mother.”

Natalia shook her head, frowning at Aliya. “Are you quite all right, Aliya?”

His wife cleared her throat. “Yes.”

Looking at them with curiosity, Natalia surprised them both by asking about Delaney and the Circus’s decision to help her.

“Are you confident with your plan?” she asked Aliya who looked relieved to finally have a different subject to talk about.

“It is the only one that is safe for us and Delaney.”

“I know what you are thinking, Mother,” Oliver pointed out. “You are thinking of taking Delaney out by force. We cannot do that. Belcourt knows who wants Delaney and that is Aliya. And they will look into Aliya and then into our lives. Remember that they have a Vow against Ali.”

Natalia St. Vincent sighed. “We can make Delaney disappear in the Americas for a few years. Then at Herst. Then—”

“Then that will not be a life,” said Aliya. “Fret not, Natalia, I made a plan with the Circus.”

Natalia looked at both husband and wife. She made a motion to speak, but then stopped herself and nodded.

---

West Blackwood stood with his friends, Tanner MacMier and Rider Fairborne in the crowded ballroom of the Chase ball. The three of them had been wasting their time walking around doing naught but socialize with their peers, all of whom about ready to leave Coulway soon now that parliament had come to a close.

The three of them were alone as men and women walked around to search for their partners as a quadrille was about to start.

“Will Darcy continue to give St. Vincent’s wife tests?” Rider asked under his breath, just loud enough for West.

“Surely you are not concerned, Rider?” Tanner asked, looking at the blond woman crossing the ballroom. “It is Lord Darcy’s right to be suspicious of the chit.”

West emptied his glass of brandy. “Darcy is willing to give Aliya a chance.” Placing the glass on the table behind them, he said, “It is time.”

He turned and walked away to the direction of the garden while Tanner and Rider took the opposite direction.

West did not have to wait long in the eastern part of the garden because merely a few minutes later, Tanner and Rider arrived dragging a struggling blond woman with them.

She was rendered motionless as soon as she saw West waiting for them.

“Good evening, Mariam,” West greeted, stepping out of the shadows to stand closer and offer the woman a smile.

XXXVI | The Mistress

“West Blackwood,” Lady Mariam’s said through gritted teeth. “I should have known.”

West just smiled. “I hope you are having a lovely time tonight,” he said, stepping toward the woman whose thin lips were tight, her chin lifted high in a haughty, proud mien. “Please, do not be troubled. I mean no harm. After this short rendezvous, you can go and meet Magnus Gadford.”

At the mention of the prime minister’s name, Mariam’s face turned as light as her blond curls. And then the woman’s face hardened.

Finding no need to explain, West went straight to the point. “I want Delaney Guideville be recourted into the Court of Flowers.”

Mariam shook her head. “That is not done.”

His lips curled as he stared down at the Mistress. “Sasha Merson was recourted, was she not? So was my mother, Elizabeth Blackwood.”

Again, the Mistress vigorously shook her head, her lips turning white as she spoke. “That was not me. It was not my decision to have Sasha recourted into my court.”

West nodded, stealing both Rider and Tanner a glance before he sighed. “Then I am afraid you simply have to find a way, Mariam.”

The woman was now shaking in panic. “I cannot do anything… why are you doing this?” Then understanding dawned on the woman’s face. “Aliya.” She scoffed. “You have recruited her into your secret club.”

West blinked. “I do not know what you mean, Mariam, but you seem to be a wise woman. I am certain you will figure things out soon enough.” He stepped closer to add in a low voice, “You know something about me and I know something about you. Should we reach a compromise?” When the woman did not reply, West smiled. “Everyone in Belcourt knows my secrets, Mariam, and yet I am still alive. I wonder what will happen to you once your dear Belcourt finds out about yours. I heard Sinhold is a rather harsh place.”

Contempt flashed before the woman’s blue globes and so did fear. “You have to give me time.”

“I am not a very patient man, Mariam. I will give you a fortnight.”

“That is impossible—”

“Then prepare for Belcourt’s wrath for I am certain that they will not appreciate your secret affair with the prime minister.” He turned to Rider and nodded.

His friends let go of Mariam and the three of them left the woman shaking with fury and panic in the garden.

“Do you think it will work?” Tanner murmured under his breath.

“It will,” West said with certainty. “Any human facing death will be desperate enough to try to survive.”

---

Oliver was in his study pouring liquid into a flask. Aliya skidded to a stop. “What are you doing?”

“I am making myself a brandy.”

Her eyes narrowed and he chuckled. “Jesting, love. I am making a bomb.” He peered at her over the flask and added, “I am not jesting.”

Aliya rolled her eyes. “Then do make certain that when it blows up, I am taken with you,” she said, walking over to the table.

Certain that there was no dead animal, she leaned her hands on the surface of the hardwood and watched what he was doing. “Do you miss it?” she asked him. “The drinking?”

He carefully poured a drop of the liquid into the flask which sizzled. Light smoke rose from its mouth. “Yes, of course. I miss the warm spread of the liquid.”

Aliya frowned at the flask. “I do not think you are making a successful bomb. How do you suppose you can make that work?”

“Thus, I am calling this an experiment, darling.”

She shrugged and her eyes slanted from the flask to his face. “And do you miss how it makes you forget? I said I am not going to control your drinking, Ollie, thus I am wondering if you can control it now.”

He paused and looked at the ceiling. Then, shaking his head, he looked at her. “Perhaps I should wait a few more months.”

Aliya scoffed and pushed away from the table. “Well, whenever that happens, I shall share a drink with you.” Walking around to where he was, she stood behind him and wrapped her arm around his waist. Planting a kiss on his broad back, she said, “For now, you are needed in Sinclair.”

“I do not feel like going,” he murmured, his concentration on his task.

She unwrapped her arms. “Then Natalia and I shall have to go alone.”

He frowned. “Why would you need to go?”

“Natalia said that a wife or two may come to The Coffin. She means to formally introduce me to as many as she can while she is here.”

He sighed and said, “Very well, I have to join you.” He joined her to the door, wrapping an around her shoulders. “Now, I have to give you a bit of warning about the wives…”

---

Lady Winthrop, Natalia, and Aliya were already comfortable in their seats when the Royals started to file through The Coffin. Most of them stopped by to talk, always giving their corner a good look.

“A lovely transformation,” Lord Winthrop had said.

The Viscount of Greene paused to look at the three of them and then at the three fresh dead bodies.

“This piece of mural changes constantly,” Lady Winthrop explained to one Royal who joined Greene. “Sometimes it smells, too.”

Even Greene had to laugh as they left the three ladies to join the others in the Theater.

Finally, another woman arrived and Aliya had to make an effort to hide the shocked look on her face. It was no other than Harriet Dior, the Duchess of Calbridge.

Beside Lady Harriet were two gentlemen. One was the duke who just walked past everyone without a word, and a much younger man with short, straight black hair, black eyes, and an overall sharp-edged face. His expression was just like his father’s. The only way Aliya could describe it was by comparing it to Ellise’s for there was not much difference in how they wore their expressions.

Lady Harriet, on the other hand, was a pleasant woman with a stinging high-pitched voice. “Ladies!” she said, her black eyes full of wonder and surprise, “Who would have thought that we will have such a horrid waiting room!”

“You may extend your gratitude to my son, Harriet,” Natalia wryly replied. “And before we move on, let me introduce my daughter-in-law—”

“Aliya, of course!” Lady Harriet said, turning to Aliya as she stood to offer a curtsy. Blindly, the duchess reached for the much younger man’s hand and said, “This is my son, Robert. Robert, meet Oliver’s wife, Aliya St. Vincent.”

Robert’s dark eyes locked with Aliya’s as he offered a slight bow. “I am surprised St. Vincent even managed to get a wife.” Before Aliya could comment, a forced smile broke his stoic face. “I hope to see more of you, Lady Aliya.” He turned to Natalia and Lady Winthrop. “Have a lovely evening, my ladies.” Without sparing them another moment of his time, Robert Dior sharply turned and walked away.

The duchess wryly followed her son’s departure and took the empty seat beside Aliya. “Sometimes I wonder why I am trapped with two men who are as lifeless as the bodies behind us.”

“You may swap places with me for a day and suffer my husband and my son, Harriet,” Natalia said, “and I assure you that you will appreciate what you have now.”

The duchess laughed and said, “Well, I must admit that my husband and son have their own quirks that I enjoy. But they are still a bore most days.”

Natalia shrugged. “Well… dukes.”

Lady Winthrop changed the subject by leaning forward to ask, “Say, Harriet, do tell us how you stole the keys.”

With a dramatic sigh, Lady Harriet said, “It is quite a shame that Chalbarth’s mission was a failure. I have placed my delicate life in danger to get those keys, I tell you!” With a graceful pause, she closed her eyes and when she opened them, she lifted her forefinger and beckoned the ladies to lean closer. “Now, you cannot tell this to James,” she said, and Natalia, Lady Winthrop, and Aliya readily nodded. “I had to flirt with the butler.”

Natalia leaned away with a disgusted look on her face, saying, “Harriet!”

Lady Winthrop covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her giggles.

Aliya simply smiled.

“It does work, Natalia,” Lady Harriet said. “Do you agree, Aliya?” the woman asked with a meaningful smile.

“Yes. It makes many wonders.” She let a second pass before adding, “It is also applicable to my husband.”

Her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes with disappointment while Lady Winthrop and Harriet laughed.

“You have a fascinating daughter-in-law, Natalia.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Sometimes I wonder if she is good for Oliver or not,” Natalia said with a helpless sigh. “The pair of them do nothing but see things as a joke.”

“Not every day,” Aliya defensively said.

“I hear nothing but laughter and loud chatters from the two of you.”

“You have simply gotten used to Ellise,” Aliya said with a wave of her hand. “Ollie and I know how to be serious.”

Natalia merely pursed her lips.

“But funny notes aside, the younger Royals ought to be more careful,” Lady Winthrop said. “Our husbands—mine in particular—are not getting younger.”

“May I know how many Royals are there in total?” Aliya asked.

The three ladies looked at each other. “Perhaps less than thirty,” said Natalia.

“We only see the most number of Royals during parliament season,” Lady Harriet said. “How much do you know so far, darling?”

Aliya shrugged. “I know the most important rule,” she said, looking at Natalia. “I am also aware that the Circus plan during parliament season and they call their sessions the opera . And for the rest of the year, most of them execute the majority of what they have planned.”

“There is nothing much to learn, really,” said Lady Winthrop. “Apart from the many secrets, that is,” she said with a wink.

Aliya cleared her throat. “There is one thing I am very curious about.”

Lady Harriet turned to her expectantly while Natalia raised her brows with curiosity. Lady Winthrop continued sipping her tea, eyes glued on Aliya, waiting for her question.

“I am curious about Lord Darcy.”

The collected, “Ahh…” she received was both irritating and amusing because she knew that the ladies would readily tell her if they knew.

Her shoulders dropped. “Then you do not know him.”

“He does not meet us, dear,” Lady Winthrop said. “And I am not certain if we want to meet him, for Lord Darcy will only reveal himself if things get quite serious or out of control.”

“And we do not want that to happen,” Lady Harriet added.

“We all wonder who the man is, Aliya,” her mother-in-law dryly said. “You are not alone.”

“We speculate that he is in Islefield,” Lady Harriet whispered.

“Islefield? No, of course not. Not right under Stanway’s nose!” said Lady Winthrop. “I say that Darcy is amongst the gentlemen in the Theater now .”

Natalia and Lady Harriet shook their heads.

“Do all the Royals know who he is?” Aliya asked, even curious now.

“Yes, not all,” said Natalia. “It is one way to protect the Circus. Both Royal Leaders must be protected at all costs.”

“Oliver says he is somewhere in the south.”

“He could be,” said Lady Harriet. “But then, do remember, that most of these Royals are also from the south, us—my husband and I, included.” Leaning closer to Aliya, she added, “Lord Darcy could be my very own son.”

“No, I do not believe that,” Lady Winthrop said. “Robert cannot be Lord Darcy.”

Aliya sighed. “This makes me even more curious.”

“Everyone is curious, Aliya,” said Natalia with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You have not yet told us how you got the key, Harriet.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said the duchess. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the butler…”

But just as Lady Harriet was about to talk, Oliver poked his head through the door and hissed, “Ali!”

Aliya frowned at her husband. “What? We are in the middle of something.”

“You are needed inside quickly.”

“Why?”

“It seems they do not know what to do.”

In less than a minute, Aliya was facing the Royals, and by this time she was no longer affected by the doubtful look on their faces.

“We have managed to get to Mariam,” West Blackwood informed her. “Supposing she can get your sister recourted into her court, how do you suppose we can take your sister out of there?”

“We have to pay for her dowry, of course,” she said, “but we need to do it through her flower.”

“Then we find out who her flower is,” Tanner MacMier said.

She nodded. “But I would not suggest that we simply take the man and give him the money for the dowry.”

“He will need to be investigated—know how we can threaten him.”

“No, there might be no need for that,” Aliya said.

“We cannot let this new flower suspect he is dealing with the Royal Circus,” West said.

Aliya smiled. “Yes, I know, Your Grace,” she said. “Which is why I have a better plan.”

XXXVII | The Gamble

The waiting was hard. No one knew what Mariam could be doing, or if she was doing anything at all.

Aliya spent her days with Natalia and Oliver, always longing to go home to Strait as the days went by, but she knew that she had to stay in Belcourt where her sister was.

She tried to send a note through Fatima, but they failed. The Palace was closely guarded. Delaney was not yet allowed to venture around like the other Soldiers because she was being trained, they said.

Twice, she went out to have tea with Ruby and Jade, but she could not enjoy their company. Both times, she went home and searched for Oliver to spend the rest of the day with him in his study.

Natalia would often share stories about Mason and also read aloud Ellise’s very short letters. Simon, on the other hand, wrote them lengthy ones that spoke of no one else but Fatima’s son.

Aliya, at least, did not have to worry about Mason.

Another week passed and she grew even more restless.

What if Mariam told Belcourt? What if they were planning something? What if Delaney was in danger?

Oliver would calm her down, tell her that they could do nothing for now but wait.

After a fortnight, Aliya had begun to lose hope.

West Blackwood had given Mariam merely a fortnight and it seemed that the Mistress had failed.

But the amazing news came the very next day.

Lady Mariam sent West Blackwood a note: It is done.

Aliya screamed with joy when Oliver relayed the news, jumping up to wrap her arms around her husband as tears of joy trickled down her face.

Things were falling into place, she thought.

It was only a matter of time before she could have her sister back.

They had to wait again for Delaney’s flower to be revealed, but it was a wait Aliya was willing to bear. The worst was over. They managed to create another Belcourt history by having another woman recourted.

She would have wanted to go to Belcourt and rejoice with Fatima and the others, but she had to stay low. Belcourt, if it was suspicious, should not be triggered. If anyone in the institution was acutely aware of Aliya’s involvement in her sister’s transfer, things could take a different turn. It was another reason why she could not search for Delaney who was given her villa here in Coulway. She could search for her sister, but it would be too risky.

She had to leave everything to the Circus to know who Delaney’s flower was.

With nothing more to do but wait, Aliya decided she simply had to do it with grace. She went around Coulway with her mother-in-law who was impatient to take Delaney to Herst and go back to Mason; she went to plays with Oliver and enjoyed their little trysts in the same drawing room, and she went shopping with Lady Winthrop who shared Lord Hartcaster’s recent letters that narrated his travels.

And most of all, she shared nights with Oliver more easily, now that she could feel their success coming close. They shared passionate, fun, exciting lovemaking most evenings—with or without jams.

One night, while her husband trailed kisses down her spine, Aliya loudly wondered, “When will you tell me you love me, Ollie?”

His warm body covered her from behind, his hands snaking around her waist, between her and the mattress, as he prepared to take her from behind. Aliya rolled her head to the side, her hands clutching the covers, wrists twisting as he eased inside her. “Do you want to hear it now?” he whispered in her ear, his hips moving slow—too slow.

Aliya swallowed. “Will it be genuine?”

He answered with a strong thrust and a, “Yes.”

“Then, yes, please, tell me you love me.”

“Ali!” he shouted, startling her.

Aliya attempted to turn but he pinned her to the bed, his hands firmly holding her hips. She frowned. “What was that?”

He laughed behind her, moving his hips again, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her face. “Every time I shout that name, darling, know that I am saying I love you,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath sending a new wave of sensations through her limbs.

Aliya half-moaned-half-groaned. “That is not what I was asking for—” She stopped with a gasp as he pulled away from her and rolled her on her back so he could take her again, slipping with familiarity and ease between her legs.

His face was serious, the laughter gone, replaced by such open softness; his hazel eyes tenderly looking at her while he moved and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Her eyes poured sensations and feelings for him. She told him how she felt as he loved her and he smiled, dipping his head lower. “I love you, Ali,” he whispered above her lips. “I believe I love you too much that it sometimes renders me intellectually incompetent. You bring out the fool in me.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “You are a lovely fool, Ollie. And I love you,” she said against his mouth.

Their conversation soon dissolved into pants and incoherent whispered words as their passion took over. Aliya closed her eyes, biting her lower lip as her husband gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin with slight pain; his thrusts becoming stronger and hurried. She knew the magic would soon be over as it was starting to turn into a crazy storm. And if it was indeed a storm—the winds were howling, swirling angrily now, and they were right in the middle of it.

When the knocking on the door came, neither of them realized the sound was not the blood rushing through their ears. But when it happened the second time, Aliya whimpered, wrapping her limbs around Oliver. She knew the door was locked. Stopping now would be a crime. “Ollie, please,” she whimpered in his ear, moving fast against him, lifting her hips in desperation.

The knocking continued just as Aliya came apart. “Good Lord, what!” Oliver growled as he moved against Aliya in haste, his hands on both sides of her face as she let out a silent cry and shuddered against him.

“Doctor, the Marquess of Leighton is here,” Jason informed from behind the door.

“Show him to the parlor,” Oliver replied with a grunt, burying his face in his wife’s neck, growling his own release into her skin, the cords in his neck bulging as his hips quivered.

“He insists to see you as soon as possible, Doctor.”

He wiped the sweat from Aliya’s face and grinned down at her. His mouth devoured hers as they both silently laughed.

“Doctor?”

Her husband pulled away from her mouth. “Tell him I will be down in a moment, Jason,” he replied before kissing the tip of her nose. “We are needed downstairs.”

She stretched beneath him with a moan.

“This is the part of my new life I may not be able to get used to, Ollie,” she commented as they both rolled out of bed.

Merely moments later, wrapped in naught but their robes to meet Tanner, they were ready to learn who her sister’s flower was.

They stopped outside the parlor to fix each other’s hair. “You will do,” he said with a wicked grin.

She snorted and would have kissed him one more time if they were not in a rush.

Inside, Tanner was pacing the parlor. He stopped and may have been meaning to demand why he had to wait for them when he saw their state of near-undress. Understanding immediately registered in the man’s brown eyes and he sighed. Ignoring whatever thoughts that may have come to mind, Tanner said, “West just sent word. He received another note from Mariam.”

“Who is it?” Oliver and Aliya chorused.

“Owen Compton.”

Aliya blinked in surprise.

Oliver snapped his head at Aliya. “The baron?”

She slowly nodded, the frown on her face that of curiosity and concentration.

“You are familiar with him?” Tanner asked. “He is from the House of Commons.”

“She may have once unhorsed his stagecoach,” Oliver informed Tanner.

“You did what?” Tanner asked with disbelief.

“Hush!” Aliya said, frowning at the floor, biting her lower lip while her arms were folded in front of her. Then she blinked. “I think we need a detailed plan now that we know who we will be facing with.”

“What details?” Both men asked at the same time.

Aliya smiled. “Wicked ones.”

---

Aliya was not surprised to know that Sasha was still in Coulway despite the season being over, and she did not even blink when she learned that the woman knew about Delaney.

In fact, she knew it was the only reason why Sasha invited her to a café.

Since their last encounter at Humbrick did not end quite well, Sasha must have thought that it would merely be a waste of time if they engaged in small talks. The woman was direct this time around. “Why did you ask for your sister to be recourted, Aliya?”

“Because I want her by my side, Sasha, why? Is that not reason enough?”

“I am merely curious about how you managed to do it. Lady Mariam nearly broke teeth and bones to get your sister into the Garden. What do you have against her?”

Aliya frowned. “Why would I tell you, Sasha?”

“You could not have done it alone. You must have had some help.”

Aliya sighed, rolling her eyes. “If you are to yap about the Royal Circus again, Sasha, I might start to get really cross. I am not working with the Circus. I am working for only one man.”

Sasha’s bluish-grey eyes suddenly became even more curious. “Who?”

Aliya smiled. “Do you remember the night we unhorsed Owen Compton’s stagecoach?”

The Belle blinked. “Yes.”

“Do you remember when I stepped forward and whispered something in his ear?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And do you know what I whispered to him that night, Sasha?” Sasha did not reply and simply waited for Aliya to continue. “I told him that I am the daughter of the Gambler.”

She waited for Sasha to react and when the lady did not, she guessed that either Sasha did not know who the Gambler was, or she already did. But knowing that it was Sasha she was facing, Aliya scoffed.

“You already know about the Gambler.”

“Your records also reveal who your parents are.”

She nodded.

“Many believe that the Gambler is dead.”

Aliya smiled. “Perhaps he is.”

Confusion crossed Sasha’s face. “Then you are admitting that you are getting help from your own father?”

“Hush, Sasha. Even my husband is not aware of this. He is still feeling very guilty.”

“Why?”

“Oh, he simply saved the Gambler’s life the night before he killed all those men. Oliver believes it was because of him that Delaney and I ended up in Belcourt.”

“You have not answered my question. Do you admit that you are getting help from your own father?”

“Well, who else would be helping me?” with a laugh, she asked, “Do you say the Royal Circus?” Her smile still pasted on her lips, Aliya winked. “Now you know my secret, Sasha. I hope you will now rest. My ally is not your enemy, I know. Is it not disappointing?”

Sasha’s jaw tightened.

“I am quite certain you have been hoping I am working with the Royal Circus. You can very well use me against them if I were.” With a sigh, she said, “I thought it was to my own advantage when you started to suspect I was associated with the Circus, but having experienced your obsession with West Blackwood’s secret club, I decided you should know the truth. Well, at least what I can tell you for I cannot tell you everything, Sasha, or I would have to kill you.”

The woman’s face hardened with alarm.

“But I will not, of course, because you are not who the Gambler wants,” she said. “The Gambler only wants his daughters back.”

Sasha blinked and shook her head in disbelief. “Your father is a murderer, Aliya. I do not understand. Why would you be working with him?”

Aliya curled her lips into a wicked smile. “I guess I am my father’s daughter after all.”

XXXVIII | Sisters

Owen Compton came into Wheeler’s two weeks later after becoming a Gentleman of Belcourt. He played cards with his friends at the club, drank a few glasses of brandy, and debated with whoever was willing about the bills passed by the House of Lords last season.

When he was foxed enough, he left Wheeler’s and climbed into his stagecoach. It was a while later when he realized that the coach was not taking the route to his villa. He came to a start and was about to demand where his driver was taking him when he realized someone else was in the coach with him. He turned to find a man dressed in a black cloak with a white mask covering his entire face.

“Who are you?” he demanded, but the large man simply wrapped an arm around him, squeezing his shoulder tightly, silently telling him he ought to cooperate.

Moments later, he was taken to an abandoned, dilapidating building located in the slums of Coulway. He had never been to this part of the city—never thought he should—but there he was, dragged out of the stagecoach and into the building.

Another man in a white mask met them in the dark, empty hallway.

He could attempt escape, but that would be stupid. He may no longer be foxed, but the giant man walking behind him would definitely give no mercy if he was caught.

His blue eyes adjusted to the darkness, his face tight as their footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Finally, he was pulled to a stop by the giant man as the man walking ahead of them paused outside a door.

Compton let out a shaky breath as the room was revealed to him and he found the beautiful woman sitting in the middle. He stumbled as the giant man pushed him inside.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked Aliya.

“Good evening to you, too, Baron,” greeted Aliya, standing to her feet. “Please, take a seat.”

“I do not want—”

“Take a seat,” she ordered, voice suddenly firm and authoritative.

Owen swallowed.

He took the seat she vacated and looked around. The two masked men were standing behind her.

“What do you want?”

“I heard that you became a Gentleman of Belcourt.”

“It is not a crime.”

She broke into a smile. “Of course, it is not.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I do not want anything from you, sir,” she said. “In fact, I will give you something in return for a small favor.”

He blinked and remained quiet.

“I want you to pay for your Belle’s dowry.”

Compton’s brows furrowed. “Delaney?”

Aliya’s lips tightened. “Yes.”

Again, Compton blinked. “Why?”

“She is my sister.”

His face blanched, her words sending a chill up his spine. “You mean that—”

“The Gambler wishes to get his daughter back.”

He shot to his feet and returned to his seat just as fast when the giant masked man stepped forward. His eyes shaking, he said, “I cannot marry her!”

Aliya scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You do not have to marry her, you fool.”

“I will lose my membership in Belcourt.”

Aliya sighed. “Dear, Owen, you will not lose your membership. You will only gift my sister the amount of money she can use to pay for her dowry. You can move on to your next Belle once she is gone.”

Owen moistened his lips.

“The Gambler is waiting for Delaney, Owen. You do not wish to keep him waiting, do you?”

Owen rapidly blinked. “Then he is alive? The Gambler?”

Aliya smiled. “Very much.”

He let out a shaky breath as he vigorously nodded his head. “When do you want it done?”

Her smile widened. “I am starting to like your questions, Owen Compton.”

---

Aliya climbed down the carriage and entered the villa quietly.

She thanked Jason and proceeded up the stairs to the bedchamber.

She paced around the empty room, her hands on her hips, her face frowning.

Had she done the right thing?

What if Compton changed his mind?

She shook her head.

He would not. The man was too afraid.

But what if he told Belcourt?

Before any more questions flooded her, the room burst open and her husband strode inside with a proud smile on his face. “Ah, my wife, the Gambler,” he said as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her. “How does it feel to have such immense power, darling?”

She scoffed. “The Gambler is but an empty threat. The man is dead.”

“We brought him back to life,” he said, “twice now, I am afraid.”

Aliya smiled up at him. “You jest easily about the man.”

He shrugged. “It makes it bearable,” he admitted, giving her another kiss. “Now, answer my question, how does it feel to be the Gambler?”

Aliya smiled. “Wicked, of course.”

---

Patience was direly needed for Aliya in the next two fortnights.

As it was her own plan to wait longer, she was willing to wait.

But one morning, merely a week after she talked with Compton, Aliya suspected something.

Her suspicion merely grew stronger when she started to feel differently.

The first person she told was her husband.

“Ollie,” she said one night while he was reading a book in bed.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Have you ever noticed that my breasts seem a little different of late?”

“Hmm… yes, quite. Why?”

“Do you think it is not odd?” she asked, frowning as she squeezed her right breast. She stole him a glance and pursed her lips, noticing he was not picking up the cues she was throwing. “I believe I may be with babe.”

The book was instantly snapped closed and thrown to the side as he turned to face her, his face filled with panic. “Darling, how certain are you?”

Aliya blinked. “I do not know. You tell me, you are the doctor.”

He crouched on the bed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Do you feel sick in the mornings?” With a frown, he answered his question, “No, you do not. I should know.”

Aliya only smiled as her husband craned his neck to the side, his Oliver St. Vincent face working as he thought. “Do you feel easily fatigued?” He shook his head. “No, I would know if you do…”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Have you missed your monthly bleeding?”

She nodded and he did the same, an ecstatic smile creeping up his face.

He touched her breast and grinned. “Your breasts do feel different.”

She slapped his hand away with a laugh.

“Are there any other symptoms that you feel of late?” When Aliya took her time to reply, Oliver shifted on the bed restlessly. “Darling, you have to help me out. What else made you think you could be with babe?”

His hand instinctively went to her abdomen as though he would find the answer there.

“I no longer find pies appealing.”

He nodded. “What else?”

“I quite enjoy watching you cut open an animal.”

He blinked. “That may not be a symptom. It could only be you getting used to my work.”

Aliya sighed. “I hate the thought of blueberry jams.”

He stiffened. “That is a problem.” He pulled her toward him and buried his face in her neck. “Darling, you are pregnant.”

Aliya blinked, tears brimming her eyes.

He leaned back to give her a long kiss, and only stopped when he noticed her tears. His face filled with concern, he cupped her face and wiped it dry with his thumb. “What is the matter? Are you not happy that—”

Aliya shook her head. “No, I only… I fear that…” she paused to calm herself. “Ollie, I’m worried. We—what we are facing with the Royal Circus—and this matter with Delaney… Do you think this is the best time to have a child?”

Her husband let out a long sigh and sat beside her on the bed before gathering her in his arms. “Darling, my mother was pregnant with me while my father was stitching wounds of eight Royals in Sinclair.” She felt his lips on the crown of her head. “Now, I am not saying I am not willing to go and hide in Herst until you feel it is safe to go back to the Circus, darling—because I would be willing to do that if you wish for it now—but I want to ask you one simple question.” She waited, wrapping her arm around him as he took his time. “Do you want to have our child?”

“Yes,” she said, sniffling in his chest. “Yes, Ollie, I do want this child badly.”

“Then we should start on names.”

Aliya lifted her head and looked up to find Oliver looking at her tenderly, his beautiful hazel eyes filled with unshed tears.

She leaned over to give him a kiss, caressing his bearded jaw.

He smiled against her lips. “You love me too much, do you not?”

Aliya sighed and hugged him closer. “Never stop being too confident, Oliver St. Vincent.”

---

As the month of waiting was coming to a close, Aliya was certain she was pregnant.

Natalia was the one who confirmed it by asking if she had missed her monthly bleeding. “You look pregnant, dear,” her mother-in-law noted.

“I believe I am, Natalia,” she said with a smile.

It might be the first time that Aliya saw the woman’s eyes glimmer with tears. “You call me Mother now, Aliya. It is about time.”

“If you wish, of course, I will gladly do so,” she replied, her own eyes brimming with tears. “I have not called anyone Mother for quite some time.”

With a brush of her hand, Natalia dismissed the matter. “Have you told Oliver?”

Aliya nodded.

Without a word, her mother-in-law stood. “Then I should deliver the news to Simon. And Mason and Ellise.” At the door, the woman paused and asked, “Delaney will be arriving tonight, will she not?”

“Yes,” Aliya said, her heart starting to beat faster against her chest at the mention of her sister.

Natalia nodded. “Then we must prepare a sumptuous meal.”

“Where is Mother off to now?” Oliver asked as he entered the parlor.

Aliya looked at his sweat-drenched shirt. “Did you go for a run?”

He nodded as he approached, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “I did. How are you feeling?”

“Stop asking how I feel every day, Ollie,” she ordered. “Your mother just asked me to call her Mother.”

He blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“Because it seems that I have finally met her requirement.”

“Which is?”

“Giving her a grandchild.”

His brows cocked high. “You told her?”

“She figured.”

“Hmm. Odd that Natalia St. Vincent would notice.”

“She is a woman, Ollie.” She stood and they both retreated from the parlor. “Change your clothes, darling,” she ordered as they walked. “I want to present a very charming husband to my sister tonight.”

---

Oliver, Aliya, and Natalia restlessly waited in the parlor that evening. Any sound from outside caused them to jump. Any subject that anyone would raise would die after a short while that they eventually decided it was best to wait in silence.

Aliya had to pace around. Oliver would shift in his seat from time to time while reading a book. Natalia was motionless, only moving her head to check the time.

And finally, after almost hours of waiting, Jason entered the parlor and announced that Owen Compton’s carriage just entered the gates.

All three of them rushed to the door, but it was Aliya who walked past Jason and out the main doors. She ran down unto the driveway, her heart racing as her eyes searched the closed carriage that was pulling to a stop in front of her.

The door opened and Owen Compton jumped out.

Not meeting her gaze, he gave her a small bow.

But Aliya’s eyes were not on him.

They were fixed on the carriage’s open doorway and at the woman who appeared from the shadows.

A whimper escaped her throat as she rushed forward, her arms stretched out as Delaney climbed down. She wanted to call her sister’s name, but there was a big lump in her throat and all she could do was sob openly as Delaney’s light grey eyes met hers and instantly filled with tears at the sight of her.

“Aliya,” her sister whimpered, taking a step toward her. “You did it,” Delaney said, tears trickling down her face.

With a gasp of relief, disbelief, and longing, Aliya pulled her sister into her arms.

She did not notice Owen Compton hastily climbing back into his carriage, or even when it started to roll away, leaving her and Delaney out in the center of the driveway, openly shaking with sobs in each other’s arms.

Pulling away, Aliya cupped her sister’s face, her eyes reveling at the sight of the woman before her. She brushed the strays of black hair from Delaney’s cheeks and laughed through her tears.

For the first time in a very long time, Aliya felt complete.

XXXIX | Mistress of the Garden

Delaney was welcomed by Natalia and Oliver with such warmth.

It was so unlike Natalia, but she gave Delaney an awkward embrace the soonest they ushered Aliya’s sister inside the villa.

Noting that Aliya could not let her sister’s hand go, Oliver suggested that she stayed in the bedchamber they assigned for Delaney that night.

Aliya did just that, sharing her sister’s bed for the first time since she left the Manor eleven years ago.

That night, they lay on their sides, facing each other.

“Do you remember when you used to sneak out of your room in the Manor so you can sleep with me?” Aliya asked, holding her sister’s hand.

Delaney’s light grey eyes sparkled with tears. Aliya sniffled and reached out to smoothen the long black tresses. “You look so much like Mother,” she whispered with wonder. “I do wish you can remember her face.”

“She was beautiful, was she not?” Delaney asked, blinking, a tear rolling over the bridge of her nose. “You said she was beautiful.”

“She was.”

“Tell me more about her.”

“I have told you many times,” she said with a light chuckle.

“I still want to hear it,” Delaney whispered, closing her eyes.

Both sisters fell asleep, one remembering the face of the woman who bore them into this world, the other imagining it.

---

To Aliya’s surprise, Delaney instantly fit into the eccentricity of Oliver and Natalia, and when Aliya told her that she would soon be an aunt, Delaney was overjoyed.

“She will be wonderful,” her sister tearfully said.

“ He will be great,“ Oliver said.

“ She will be very marvelous,“ Delaney instantly said over her shoulder so Oliver could hear each word.

“My grandchild will remain childish like the three people in this drawing room,” Natalia said with a sigh. “Delaney, you have not yet changed into your walking dress.”

“Perhaps go with her, darling,” Oliver said to Aliya, “You have better fashion.”

Delaney’s grey eyes widened in mock horror as she spun around to glare at her brother-in-law. “How dare you say I lack fashion! I was a Belle!”

“Thanks to me,” said Oliver. “It was I who abducted Compton.”

“Oh, of course! I am quite certain you scared the man with your horrible beard!”

Oliver rolled his eyes with a scoff. Crossing his leg over the other, he shrugged. “Ali loves my beard.”

“No, she does not. She fancies a bare-faced man!”

Oliver’s eyes slanted toward Aliya who immediately stood, clearing her throat. “Come, Delaney. We should change into our—”

“Did your first flower have a bloody bare face, darling?” Oliver asked as Aliya led Delaney out of the room.

“We shall return for our afternoon walk, Mother,” Aliya said to Natalia, completely ignoring Oliver’s brooding look.

“Ali, I am not done! I am shaving my beard this instance!”

“Oh, stop the nonsense, Oliver. You are beating my ears!” they heard Natalia scold.

Both sisters chuckled as they ran up the stairs to change.

“Now, do refrain from telling Ollie anything about my past preferences. He can be jealous,” Aliya said to Delaney much later as she helped her sister with her hair.

Delaney laughed and looked at her through the mirror. “Past preferences? Aliya, are you telling me that your preferences have changed?”

“Yes. Unwillingly, I am afraid.”

“Because of Oliver?”

Aliya shrugged. “The moment you realize that your preferences have changed into the person you are facing is the moment you realize you are falling in love.”

Delaney frowned. “I do not quite understand.”

“You will,” Aliya said, bending low so her sister could hear every word. “When you are in love, your heart wills your mind to forget the idea of someone in your head because it has found a different standard.”

“And Oliver is your new standard?”

“He is the standard,” Aliya replied, laughing when Delaney’s face crumpled with playful disgust. “You look beautiful,” she said moments later, looking at her sister in her fresh light blue dress and green shawl.

“No, you are,” Delaney said, taking her hand. “It is a shame you are no longer a Belle, but you look happier now.”

Aliya squeezed her sister’s hand. “I am beyond happy, Delaney, now that you are here.” She saw something flash before her sister’s eyes but she ignored it. Delaney had much to adjust to, Aliya thought. But it would not be long before Delaney could see the true wonders of actually being free.

As they descended the stairs, they noticed that the villa had gone unusually quiet.

Walking back into the drawing room, they found it empty.

“Where are they?” Delaney asked.

“They should be here somewhere,” Aliya said. She took Delaney’s hand. “Let us wait for them in the parlor.

She opened the door to the parlor and stopped short when she noticed that it was nearly packed.

Oliver was standing with his hand resting on the back of the chair that was facing away from their view and turned to face her with a smile. Natalia was sitting in a chair with tea in hand, her eyes expectantly waiting. A man sitting adjacent to Oliver had stood up, beside him a young woman with auburn hair who jumped to her feet with an excited smile.

Aliya blinked for she did not recognize them, although she thought she should because of the expectant look on their face.

It was not hard to identify the pair as brothers and sisters, but why were they here?

As Aliya swerved her gaze back to Oliver, her husband walked to the chair that was facing away from them. He bent low and whispered something to the person sitting there.

Delaney stepped beside Aliya, equally curious as to why her sister was just standing there.

Slowly, Oliver helped the occupant of the chair. Aliya’s heart began to hammer when she saw a woman with auburn hair slowly turn, and then burst into tears as her gaze fell on Geneva Guideville’s face. She let go of Delaney’s hand to cross the distance between her and the woman she had not seen for a very long time.

Without words, Aliya wrapped herself in the woman’s embrace, the two of them already sobbing.

“I’m sorry, dear…” Geneva Guideville whispered. “I’m sorry…”

Aliya shook her head, tightening her arms around the woman.

It took her a while before she could finally get the courage to step back and look at her aunt. Choking in her own tears, she finally had a good look at the woman. She had aged, but her brown eyes seemed to not be looking straight at her. It was blindly looking somewhere distant.

Sensing that she had noticed, Geneva blindly searched for her tearstained face. “I suffered a blow in the head while escaping your father’s enemies, dear. I became blind as a result of that. No, no, do not cry…” the woman said as Aliya burst into renewed tears. “We have much to discuss. We have much to say…”

Aliya turned around and found Delaney standing alone near the door. “Delaney, come… it’s Aunt Geneva!”

Delaney reluctantly walked toward them and Aliya realized that her sister did not recognize the woman.

“It’s Aunt Geneva,” she said, taking Delaney’s hand and tugging her closer.

“You must not remember me, darling,” said their aunt to Delaney, extending her arm.

“I told you about her,” Aliya said to her sister, wiping tears from her face. “I told you, remember?”

Delaney only nodded, slowly taking Aunt Geneva’s hand. The woman pulled her closer and as her arms wrapped around Delaney, her sister began to silently cry.

Aliya turned to her husband. His arms were ready for her when she rushed toward him. “How did you do it?” she asked, no doubt that he was behind all of this.

“It took months to get them here, but it was quite easy to find them. Mr. Hayhurst is quite a wealthy man. He owns many ships in the Americas that travel to Sutherland.”

Aliya sniffled against her husband’s chest. She tipped her head up and kissed his lips. “Thank you.”

---

The rest of the afternoon was filled with tears and laughter.

Aunt Geneva introduced her son, Christopher Hayhurst, a black-haired, charming man who was a year older than Oliver, the cousin Aliya and Delaney never got to meet because their father had been insistent in the past that he could not leave the Americas because he was too young to travel. He was the heir to the Hayhurst empire and now that Mr. Hayhurst was gone, Christopher managed the shipping empire.

His sister, the cheerful and bubbly Patricia with the same hair as her mother and Aliya, was merely six and twenty. Like her brother, she was never permitted to go with her mother whenever Geneva visited the Guidevilles in Sutherland.

It was the first time they met, and yet both brother and sister seemed to know so much about Aliya and Delaney.

“We have been trying to reach out to the both of you for a long time,” said Christopher, holding his mother’s hand. “But Belcourt made it impossible.”

Aliya’s jaw tightened and so did her husband’s hand on her shoulder.

Geneva reached for her hand. “I am sorry for what my brother has done to us, Aliya.”

“Do you know where he went after that night?” Aliya had to ask.

“He was killed by one of the sons of a man he killed. He tried to come and join me in the Americas but he failed. My husband was not pleased with the accident I had to suffer because of him and he made certain Newton could not step foot unto his destination.” Taking Delaney’s hand in her other hand, she added, “You are no longer alone, the two of you.”

Much later, as Natalia and Geneva got acquainted after dinner, Aliya and Delaney spent more time with their cousins.

“Will there be balls we can attend?” Patricia excitedly asked.

“You will not have a chance in Sutherland as much as you don’t have any back home, sister,” Christopher said with a roll of his eyes.

Aliya and Delaney smiled. “Tell us, Christopher, are you married?” asked Aliya. “Do we have nephews or nieces?”

“Ha!” Patrica incredulously huffed. “You tell them, Christopher. Tell them about the number of women you think you may have gotten with child—”

“I never got any woman with child, Patricia—”

“Then what of the three women who burst into your offices claiming they were carrying the future heir of Hayhurst?”

“I never touched those women,” he said, lifting his hands.

Aliya laughed and looked at Delaney who was merely smiling faintly. She took her sister’s hand and squeezed it.

Much later, as the Hayhursts were guided into their respective bedchambers in the villa, Aliya went to her sister’s room. “What is wrong?” she asked Delaney, taking the hairbrush from her sister’s hand to do the job herself. Searching the woman’s face through the mirror, she smiled. “Do you feel odd about everything?” she asked.

Delaney nodded. “Aliya, I do not remember them.”

“You do not have to,” she said. “They understand that you were too young, Aunt Geneva the most. And I know nothing about Christopher and Patricia as well.”

“But you remember them from Aunt Geneva’s stories. I only have to rely on what you told me.”

With a sigh, Aliya stopped brushing her sister’s hair and held her shoulders. “Delaney, as I have said, you do not have to remember them. We simply have to build more memories with them now.”

Delaney slowly smiled. “Patricia proposed that we come with them to the Americas.”

Aliya’s smile widened. “That is a grand idea! I am certain that you will enjoy a new country.”

Delaney frowned. “Will you not be coming with me if I go?”

She blinked. “I will, so we can spend time together and enjoy something we have not both shared before. But I will have to return to Sutherland after I see you settled there if you find the place to your fancy.”

“Is it because Oliver will be here?”

Aliya nodded. “I cannot leave him alone for too long, Delaney. Oliver also has struggles of his own that need my help.” She could not tell her sister about Oliver’s problem with drinking for it would mean telling her sister of the evil things their father had done in the past. It was enough that she hated Newton Guideville for the two of them. As far as Delaney knew, their father did bad things and he killed a few men. She did not have to know what he did to Oliver and the St. Vincents. And most importantly, Delaney could not know about the Royal Circus. At least not for now.

Delany nodded in understanding. “Perhaps I will go home with you,” she said. “Natalia has also said that I can go home with her to Herst if I wish it.”

“Herst is a wonderful place. A few people are also waiting there for you.”

“Who?”

Aliya winked. “That is a secret,” she said.

No, Delaney did not also know about Mason. Fatima had begged her not to tell Delaney because it was dangerous to keep such a secret while in Belcourt. But now that Delaney was out, she could meet the child.

Aliya left Delaney’s room to join Oliver in their bedchamber.

She climbed the bed and wrapped herself around him. He enveloped her in his arm and kissed the top of her head. “I love you very much, Oliver St. Vincent.”

“I confidently know, darling.”

She scoffed and closed her eyes, her hand absently caressing her abdomen.

“Do you know what joy feels like, Ollie?” she asked.

“Being happy?”

“No, happiness is shallow. Joy is… joy is this .”

---

Since the arrival of the Hayhursts one week ago, breakfast was louder and busier than usual in the villa.

And Oliver was happy to see his mother trying hard to hide her chagrin as both Patricia and Christopher bickered openly—and loudly— over breakfast nearly every day as they were doing now, threatening to throw whatever was on the table at each other. Their mother, obviously blind to the situation, could only say, “Children, you are no longer children.”

“I love your family,” Oliver whispered to Aliya and saw his mother’s disapproving look upon hearing his words.

While Delaney and Patricia were planning a shopping trip that afternoon with Aliya, Jason walked in with a red envelope.

Oliver opened and read the contents, and closed it without a word.

With Christopher as chaperon, the younger ladies left for their afternoon shopping. Natalia stayed behind with Geneva while Oliver set out to Sinclair.

When he arrived, the room was almost empty. Nearly all other Royals had left Coulway to go home.

“What is it?” he asked. “What has happened?” he asked Blackwood.

“Mariam has been put on trial last week.”

Oliver stiffened and looked around the room at Rider, Tanner, Trent, Stefan Northcott, and Robert Dior. It was Rider who added, “She was sentenced to Sinhold.”

“How did it happen? What was she accused of? Surely she did not tell—”

“We are yet to find out.”

Blinking in disbelief, Oliver asked. “Then who is the new Mistress now that—”

“Who do you think?” Tanner asked, stealing Blackwood a look.

Oliver scoffed. “You cannot be utterly serious, Eaton,” he said in disbelief, turning to Blackwood.

West’s jaw tightened. “Do you think I like the news more than you do, St. Vincent?”

“Then what do we do?”

Blackwood stiffly walked to the table, opened a drawer, and pulled out a red envelope. “Darcy has sent another letter with instructions I agree to. Prepare, gentlemen. More challenges are on the way.”

---

Aliya’s aunt and cousins decided they could stay in Sutherland for a few more weeks while Delaney was trying to decide if she should travel back with them to the Americas.

No one was forcing Delaney to make a hasty decision. Everyone was patient, most particularly Aunt Geneva whom Aliya talked with at length about their life in Belcourt and how it might have affected her sister more as she had come into the institution at such a young age.

“Everything is still new to her,” she had told her aunt. “She could barely remember her life outside Belcourt. She has glimpses of memories, but even she is not certain if they were hers or mine.”

Patricia was a great help in making Delaney feel normal. The woman’s carefree spirit, albeit different from most ladies in Sutherland society, was very much American. Aliya supported the friendship that was growing between Delaney and Patricia, even giving the two ladies their own time when they would choose to talk in whispers and giggle like young, naïve girls.

But as Oliver’s news about Sasha becoming the new Mistress of the Court of Flowers would often cross her mind, Aliya was very much hoping that Delaney would decide to go to the Americas. She was willing to travel to the Americas to make certain that her sister arrived there safely. Delaney had to be as far away from Belcourt as possible.

Oliver agreed and even suggested that she could stay there for a while. But she would not have it. She told him that she would go with Delaney, but she wanted to return. She did not fear Sasha.

Her fear, however, came in the form of the woman herself one night.

Jason entered the parlor where they were enjoying a parlor game after supper, announcing that someone is calling on them from Belcourt.

“Who?” Aliya asked, her cold voice eliciting a look of curiosity from the Hayhurst siblings, a frown from Natalia, and a look of concern from Delaney.

“Lady Sasha, my lady,” Jason said, face tight. “I can tell her you are all indisposed—”

“Lead her to the drawing room,” Aliya said, standing to her feet. Oliver followed her and so did Delaney. The Hayhurst siblings looked on without a word. Her aunt was blinking with equal curiosity while Natalia remained where she was, stiff as a statue, but looking very much furious as Aliya.

“Stay in the parlor, Delaney,” said Aliya coldly, exiting the room.

“I will go with you,” her sister sternly said beside her.

“Delaney—”

“I do not know her too well, Aliya,” her sister said, stopping in the middle of the corridor, “but if she is from Belcourt, and if the news is correct that she is the new Mistress of the Garden, I want to be inside that room with you.” Delaney looked at Oliver. “And if he can join you, why can’t I?”

Aliya resignedly sighed. “Very well.”

Without a word, Oliver led them to the drawing room where they stayed to wait for Sasha.

Finally, Jason opened the door and dutifully announced Sasha’s presence.

The lady entered, clad in her red cloak, her face impassive. Aliya’s eyes went straight to the familiar gold brooch pinned on the left side of the woman’s chest. She did not have to peer closer to know what the insignia looked like: a rose.

The Rose Shield could only be owned by the Mistress of the Court of Flowers.

Aliya’s lips curled. “Congratulations, Sasha, you finally reached your dreams,” she said, standing to her feet. “Are you here for us to bless your newly acquired Shield?”

Sasha’s smile did not reach her bluish-grey eyes. “I care not for my Shield, Aliya, but I am proud to wear it.” Her eyes traveled from Aliya to Delaney, to Oliver, and then back at Aliya. “I was sent here because Belcourt wishes to claim your Vow.”

XL | Always a Lady

Aliya could almost taste the tension in the room as her light brown eyes held on to Sasha’s bluish-grey globes, daring the woman to speak.

Her heart was not hammering hard against her chest. In fact, it was calm, as if she knew this was coming. And she knew she was going to fail.

“Belcourt wants you to give up your claims on your sister.”

Aliya’s jaw tightened. Her hands closed into fists.

“No.” It was Oliver who spoke and his serious, cold voice echoed around the room. “You cannot do this.”

Sasha’s head turned to Oliver. “You have no say to this matter, Doctor St. Vincent.” And turning to both Delaney and Aliya, she added, “Belcourt believes that you have acquired Delaney with malicious intent.” Blinking slow, Sasha further explained, “Consider this a light punishment for it could have been worse. Owen Compton will likewise be subjected to punishment after he admitted to having accepted money from the Gambler.”

“You cannot do this. Delaney acquired her freedom through legal means by Belcourt law,” Aliya said.

“Gentlemen of Belcourt ought not be influenced by outside force when dealing with any of its ladies and entities, Aliya,” said Sasha. “Furthermore, the High Court’s decision can be overruled by the High Priestess. After having thoroughly examined Delaney’s case—her curious transfer into the Court of Flowers and the subsequent payment of her dowry—the High Priestess has issued an order to withdraw Delaney’s retirement from Belcourt.”

Aliya stepped forward. Sasha remained in her spot, staring at her straight in the eyes. “You are doing this to spite me,” Aliya growled under her breath.

“I am doing what I was ordered of me, Aliya,” said Sasha. Her eyes went to Delaney. “You know better, Delaney.”

In a panic, Aliya stood before her sister. “Belcourt cannot take her back.”

“Soldiers are outside the gates waiting to escort Delaney and I back to Belcourt. I suggest, Aliya, that you do not do anything impetuous. You, of all people, ought to know that Belcourt’s law prevails. Delaney’s dowry shall be paid back accordingly.”

“The Gambler will not be happy with this, Sasha,” Aliya threatened.

At the mention of the Gambler, Sasha smiled and stepped closer to Aliya to whisper, “Then let the Gambler come to me, Aliya.” Her eyes went to Oliver and then back at Aliya. “If he is indeed still alive, he is welcome to find me in Belcourt.”

Aliya gritted her teeth as she searched Sasha’s blank face and dead eyes. “What has become of you, Sasha?”

“I became a Belle, Aliya. You taught me how to be one,” the woman replied, tone as stoic as her expression. “And now I am the Mistress of the Garden. And because you have been a friend, I will not report your direct involvement to Belcourt. The Gambler shall remain the culprit. Do thank me later for having requested this Vow. As I have said, it could have been worse,” the woman said, eyes looking down at her abdomen.

Aliya stumbled back. How did Sasha know?

“News travels fast in Belcourt,” said Sasha. “I am taking up much of my time by prolonging my stay. Delaney comes home to Belcourt with me. You may do whatever you wish, Aliya, but you cannot be a hindrance when Belcourt enforces its laws.”

“I wanted to live it with my sister!” A tear of fury dropped from Aliya’s eye.

Sasha’s brow twitched. Whatever it meant, Aliya could never tell. “Your sister shall remain in Belcourt until she earns her own dowry.” Turning to Delaney, Sasha, said, “Delaney, I will be waiting for you outside. Say goodbye to your sister and your guests in the parlor.” To Aliya, Sasha added, “I hope that you can be more careful in the future, Aliya.” And stepping closer, she whispered for only Aliya to hear, “Do tell your Royal friends that the next time they try to spy on any of the Belcourt gentlemen, they may find themselves looking for bodies.”

Stepping back, Sasha turned to Oliver and said, “Thank you for such a warm welcome into your home, Doctor.”

And as gracefully as she came, Sasha turned and left the drawing room, her red cloak trailing behind her.

Aliya whirled around to face Delaney. “You do not have to go. We can find a way to escape. You can still disappear to the Americas—”

“No, Aliya,” Delaney sternly said, taking her hand, eyes moist with tears. “I wish to return to Belcourt.”

Her eyes widened in horror as she vigorously shook her head. Tresses of her auburn hair escaped from their clasps as she did so. “No,” she coldly growled. “You are not going anywhere!”

“Aliya, please, do not be selfish,” said Delaney.

Aliya stumbled back, face crumpling in disbelief. “Selfish? Me? Belcourt is selfish.”

“Belcourt saved us!” Delaney said. “And we betrayed their trust because we have been selfish.”

“I did not suffer all these years to be the perfect Belle just so I can leave you behind in Belcourt, Delaney!” she shouted. “Selfish? Perhaps I am. Perhaps I am too selfish I only want what is best for my happiness. But that happiness includes yours and everyone I love. You can never be happy in Belcourt—”

“What makes you say so?” Delaney interjected, lifting her beautiful face, her light grey eyes looking at Aliya with pride and integrity. “I am old enough to think for myself, Aliya. And as much as I wish to be with you, my dear sister, I do not think I belong in your new world.”

Aliya felt something clench at her chest and her knees suddenly felt weak. Oliver was fast to catch her to prevent her from falling to the floor.

Delaney’s face softened, stepping close to her, regret on her face. “Aliya, I am sorry. I do love you. You should know that I do. But this world—this new world you live in is not for me. I find my purpose in Belcourt—”

“By being its slave?”

“By being its servant.”

Aliya whimpered. “Belcourt has influenced your mind and I cannot even blame you for it.”

“No, Aliya. Belcourt simply showed me what I can be and I can only be that if I stay there.”

She closed her eyes, her shoulders shaking in anguish. What could she say to convince Delaney? She knew the answer to that.

Her sister grabbed her shoulders. “I will still be a Belle. We can still see each other.”

“Delaney,” Oliver carefully said in a soft voice, “if your decision is made because you fear Belcourt, we can find a way—”

Delaney shook her head. “I will never fear Belcourt.” Cupping her face, Delaney forced Aliya to look at her. “Aliya, let me do this. I know it is difficult for you. It is not what you have always wanted, but it is what I want. For once, please, give me what I want.”

“I have always given you what you wanted, Delaney.”

Her sister shook her head. “No, you always gave me what I needed.” Delaney smiled at her. “I am no longer a child, sister.”

“But Delaney, Belcourt is not what you think it is.”

“Belcourt is not perfect. So is your new family,” Delaney said, giving Oliver a teasing smile. “But they do make you happy, do they not?”

A whimper escaped her throat once again and she desperately clutched her hands around her sister’s arms. “Do not do this, Delaney, please.”

Delaney wiped her tears. “I will see you soon. Once I get my new flower, I will come and visit. And we can be sisters again as we always are. You are finally free of your Vow, Aliya, do you not realize that? You are forever free of Belcourt.”

She shook her head. “No, I will not. So long as you are inside—”

“I will be all right. I was courted into the Palace for a reason, remember? Even Belcourt knows that I am strong.”

“And apparently loyal,” Aliya choked out. “This is not a good idea, Delaney.”

“Please, let me do this, Aliya. I do not know how you managed to get me out, or what sacrifices you had to make—and know that I am overwhelmed for it, but please, do not do something dangerous for me again. Belcourt is still watching you.” As Aliya began to shake her head, Delaney sighed. “I am no longer a child, Aliya. I want an adventure. I do not see it in the Americas or Herst. I see it as a Belle.”

“It is going to be dangerous, Delaney. Your next flower could be—”

Delaney leaned closer and kissed her forehead. “I know. And I shall be strong as you were.”

---

The morning after Delaney’s departure, everyone was surprised when Aliya came down for breakfast in a pretty dress with her hair neatly done.

“Good morning,” she greeted everyone with a smile as she took her seat beside Oliver.

Oliver, noting the baffled expression on everyone else in the table, smiled. “Darling, they are wondering why you are acting in the manner that you are.”

Aliya looked at her aunt who was blinking at nowhere in particular, Patricia and Christopher who were frowning at her, and Natalia who was staring at her with alarm. “Delaney decided to return to Belcourt and I am utterly devastated, but I have decided to let her go as it was her wish to return. I cried the entire night.”

“That, she did,” Oliver seconded.

“But I cannot continue to be horrible especially when I am carrying a future St. Vincent in my womb. We will all have a chance to be with Delaney, just not as much as we would like to.”

Patricia opened her mouth as though she was about to say something, but she stopped herself and nodded.

Natalia’s gaze assessed Aliya but made no comment.

“You need not fret, for I am recovering quite well,” she further added. “I have come to the conclusion that everything I have done thus far is naught for anyone but myself. I intend to correct that.”

“Then perhaps we should stay a little longer in Sutherland,” Christopher said with a sigh.

“We can?” asked his sister, suddenly excited. “Delaney and I have made plans—oh, yes, Delaney may not be available for a while. But I wish to do many things such as go to balls and weekend parties. I heard about the Humbrick Ball—”

“No, not the Humbrick ball, Patricia,” said Oliver. “Not that one.”

“Why?”

Christopher sighed. “Unless you wish to be ruined, you will stray from that ball.” Then he shrugged. “But then, of course, you can go and still find yourself utterly untouched after. No man would dare be near an American girl—”

“I am half-Sutherlander, Christopher— we are half-Sutherlanders.”

“You are as American as you can get, darling,” their mother replied. “I should say you start observing how proper Sutherlanders act. Take for example the St. Vincents—”

“No, I would not suggest that you follow my husband,” Aliya addressed Christopher.

“And I would not suggest you take lessons from my mother—or my sister if you have the chance to meet her,” said Oliver to Patricia.

“I am here, son,” Natalia said in a stern, serious voice.

Aliya laughed, but she knew it was not as heartfelt as she would have wanted it to.

Oliver blindly searched for her hand and squeezed it.

He was telling her to take things slow.

---

Aliya received a note from Delaney, assuring her that she was safe and that she was not punished. Belcourt did not find it her fault, but she was given fair warning to earn her dowry her way just like Aliya did.

Oliver read the letter with her and silently sat with her as she cried.

“I feel like a fool crying all the time,” she sobbed.

“You are pregnant, darling,” he said. “And you can cry anytime you like.”

“You must find it hard to understand why Delaney chose Belcourt over me.”

“No, darling, I do not. You once told me what Belcourt means to many of the ladies inside. You also respect it as an institution even though you also abhor it for its laws. And Delaney made it clear. To many ladies, Belcourt is family. It is not perfect, but it provides.”

“And it demands.”

“Like a wife.”

Aliya snorted and slapped his thigh. She took a long breath and let out a sigh. “Do you suppose Delaney will hate me if she finds out we are part of the Circus?”

“I cannot tell, darling, but we can only hope that she will make the choice that matters to her in the future. As she had claimed, she is no longer a child. You ought to make her feel like she can freely make a choice.”

“You are telling me that I do not expect that she will choose me.”

“We all have something we want, but for some of us, what we want is not the choice we have to take.”

Hours later, while they spent the rest of the afternoon with Patricia and Christopher in Oliver’s study, her husband showing the Hayhurst siblings his vast collections of anatomical parts from different animals, Jason knocked and delivered a note to Oliver.

Aliya saw her husband’s face tighten. “What is it?” she asked in alarm.

Oliver turned to Patricia and Christopher. The pair understood right away and excused themselves from the study.

“Lady Renee.”

“What about Lady Renee?”

“Apparently, she was seen leaving Belcourt.”

Aliya blinked. “I do not understand.” Oliver did not explain, but she saw it in his face. “Rothsker is more than just a member of the Royal Circus, is he?”

“He is not the real Rothsker.”

“And Lady Renee knows of it?”

He nodded, grabbing his coat. “I am needed in Sinclair.”

“I will come with you—”

“No, darling, you stay here.”

“But—”

He approached her and kissed her forehead. “I will be home tonight.”

Aliya sighed and nodded as she watched her husband walk out the door, leaving her alone in his study.

XLI | To Save a King

“How certain are you?” Blackwood asked Trent.

“As certain as the fact that I am not blind,” Trent replied, face tight. “She was in a stagecoach, driving away from the direction of the Palace.”

Greene stood and said, “This is not good, Eaton. The prince is in danger.”

West nodded and turned to Terence Garmont. “Rothsker is currently in his villa here in Coulway with two Royals, awaiting instructions. Go to Rothsker at once. Take St. Vincent with you. We need a doctor in case the prince gets hurt.”

“Me?” Oliver asked. “I do not think I will be of much help protecting the bloody prince—”

“You will save his life if he gets hurt—that is what you have to do,” Blackwood interjected before he faced the rest of the Royals. “We do not know what Lady Renee has told the Palace, but precaution is a must. Belcourt is moving fast. I will travel south with Greene who will pretend to be Rothsker and get tickets to London. There is a chance Belcourt will be watching my every move. Greene and I will serve as diversions.” To Garmont, he said, “You and St. Vincent will travel to Herst with the prince after staying two nights in Eaton. There is a secret cabin in the woods. My valet will show you the way. Take the ship to Herst and leave the prince there.” To Robert Dior, he said, “Go to Herst this very night. Once the prince arrives safely, you travel back with Garmont and St. Vincent. The party should leave with three and return with three. Do you understand?”

Robert nodded.

The Duke of Remington frowned. “And what if something happens to you, Eaton? I do not think it is wise that you venture to the south.”

“I am the only person Belcourt will go after without question. And if something happens to me, you know what to do.”

Oliver scoffed. “I agree with Remington. You should stay here where it is safe, Eaton.”

“I can go,” Rider offered. “Belcourt believes I am a Royal.”

“No, you stay here with Tanner. Watch Belcourt closely. You have instructions on what to do once things go awry. Darcy has been informed of Lady Renee’s recent activity.”

West turned to Remington. “Remington, Darcy has sent word for you. Please stay behind.” To the other Royals, he said, “Opera is over. Go.”

---

“But Ollie, you do not take missions like this,” Aliya said that same night as her husband grabbed clothes from the closet.

“This is Rothsker we are talking about, Ali. I cannot simply stay here knowing he might be in danger. And there are only a few Royals left in Coulway. Rider and Tanner as useless as they are identified as possible Royals. Trent is currently on a different mission. The rest of us have to take up roles.”

Aliya worried her lips. “How long will you be gone?”

“Five or six nights the most.”

She bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. “Ollie, I do want to stop you, but I know it will be selfish of me to do so. But I am very selfish. I do not—Ollie, I do not know what to do if something happens to you.”

He rushed toward her and held her shoulders. “I will be fine, darling. My only task is to keep Rothsker alive until he reaches Herst. And then I come home.”

“Belcourt may also be watching you because of me. Delaney told me they have been closely watching me, Ollie.”

He smiled. “Herst is my home, Ali. I go there every time. Why would Belcourt be curious?”

She nodded, trying hard to convince herself. “Then what do I tell people? If they ask where you are?”

“You tell them I am at Herst, of course, tending to my old father and my insane sister.”

She nodded. “Very well.” She cupped his face. “Go. Go now before I stop you.”

Grinning, he gave her a long kiss. “I love you, darling.”

“Do not say that now. Say that upon your return.”

“I will also say that when I come back.”

“Once you come back,” she corrected.“

He kissed her again. “I promise.”

---

Rothsker was wearing a tattered black cloak when he entered the carriage parked outside the villa. He grinned at Oliver and Garmont as he took the seat opposite them. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted with a grin.

“We have to stay two more nights in Eaton, Your Highness,” said Garmont, his gray eyes serious as he explained their plan to Leo.

Rothsker nodded. “Whatever Eaton says, I will do it. I rather like the idea of staying in Herst for a while.”

Oliver and Garmont did not comment.

“I guess this is all my fault, is it not?” Rothsker continued. “This would not have happened if I did not draw much attention upon myself.”

“I do agree,” Oliver replied. Garmont hit his side with an elbow. “You should also agree, Garmont. What His Highness did was rather bold. He could have stayed hidden somewhere and wait for the safest time to reclaim the throne.”

“Ah, but gentlemen, it is not I who has a throne to reclaim.”

“Ah, of course, I forgot that your father is still alive,” Oliver wryly retorted.

“You did what you thought was right at the time, Your Highness,” Garmont said. “It would have been a good plan.”

“But a plan set to failure, nonetheless,” said Oliver. He rolled his eyes when Garmont elbowed his side once again.

The prince chuckled. “I do like you, St. Vincent. I am certain that your wife enjoys your humor as well.”

“Yes, of course, she does.”

“I was told that I will be staying with your father in Herst. Does he live there alone?”

“He would love that, but unfortunately, my mother is still very healthy. She is currently in Coulway, but she is due to return home soon. My father is currently alone in Herst with a Mirror and a fish who wish to be a shark.”

Rothsker narrowed his eyes, obviously amused. “Does this mirror talk?”

“If you can make it talk and move, you have my utmost respect.”

“And the fish? Does it walk?”

“It can also fly if it puts its mind to it.”

Rothsker’s chuckle echoed in the carriage. “Now, why do I feel ecstatic to arrive in Herst?”

---

Eaton’s valet and a footman led them to a hidden cabin in the nearby woods.

For two days, Rothsker did nothing but explore the trees and would have ventured further if not for Garmont’s constant reminder that he was being hunted. Everything he did, he wrote in his journal.

On their last night, Oliver asked him a question. “If things do not go exactly as the Circus wants, and your father winds up dead, would you be willing to take the crown from Louis?”

Rothsker blinked. “It is a question I am yet to find the answer to, St. Vincent.”

Oliver frowned. “Then you do not know if you want to be king.”

Rothsker sighed, his dark blue eyes thoughtful. “I can be king, but I do not think I can be as great as my father.”

“Your father was not great enough. He was ousted.”

Garmont glared at Oliver from across the room.

Rothsker smiled. “I appreciate your honesty, St. Vincent.”

“If you are to be king, Your Highness, you have to be worth the things we are sacrificing now.”

A look flashed Rothsker’s eyes, but it was one Oliver could not identify. It was the kind of look that required him to know Rothsker, but they do not have the time for that.

“All I can say is that we have to take my father back to where he belongs. He is the best man to deal with Napoleon.”

“Napoleon is advancing his reach. If we allow Louis any more time in the throne, we might all be under the French before your father can ever cross the ocean from London. At the very least, you must be ready.”

“I know,” Rothsker replied, face growing serious. “Which is why we have to get this Belcourt business out of the way soon.”

“It will be easy once we find out who runs it,” Garmont said. “They are all but women—”

“They are not just women,” Oliver and Rothsker chorused.

Rothsker smiled. “My first ever Belle was not an easy woman, Garmont. I had to be constantly on my toes around her.”

“My wife can skin me alive in my sleep and I would not even know until I am facing the devil,” Oliver added.

Garmont’s face painted bafflement.

“And we are not just talking about the ladies we know from Belcourt. We are talking about hundreds of others still inside—including children,” Rothsker addressed Garmont. “We cannot discount the fact that the institution is home to these women and children.”

Oliver looked at Rothsker. The prince raised his brows at him in question, and Oliver smiled. “I believe you will be a fair king, Your Highness.”

Rothsker groaned. “I was afraid you would say that, St. Vincent.”

---

Their journey to Herst was not met with women carrying swords and daggers. It went as smoothly as they had expected that Oliver expressed his fear that it was too easy.

“Not everything has to be difficult, St. Vincent,” Rothsker told him as they watched the island of Herst come to view. “Humans simply always expect the worst, thus our discomfort when things go too well. The opposite also stands true.”

An old carriage was already waiting for them upon their arrival on land. As a precaution, they were taken to different routes before eventually reaching Winfield where Robert Dior was already waiting for them.

Beside Dior stood Simon St. Vincent.

The old man bowed to Rothsker with a big grin on his face. “Welcome to Herst, Your Highness.”

Rothsker nodded, acknowledging Oliver’s father and Robert.

He looked around. “Well? Where are the mirror and the fish?”

---

They stayed another night in Herst.

For the one day that they were there, Rothsker was able to meet Mason, but not Ellise who had locked herself in her study.

“Is she the mirror?” Rothsker asked.

“Yes,” Oliver said. “You will know what I mean the moment she decides to exit her dungeon.”

Robert was the one who suggested that they find Rothsker another place to stay. Winfield should only be temporary, to which Simon replied, “I do have a plan, Robert, but in accordance to Darcy’s instructions, I shall not share it with you.”

The night before their departure, the three Royals could not sleep. They stayed up all night while Rothsker took a peaceful slumber in his bedchamber like the royal arse that he was.

They talked about their lives, both in and out of the Royal Circus. Garmont shared how he managed to procure The Grimes. He talked about planning to find a wife.

“How about you, Dior?” asked Oliver. “Any news of a betrothal any time soon?”

“None,” Robert Dior replied. “I am yet to find a woman who could suffer and survive the tests of the Circus.”

“Ah…” Oliver said with a smug look on his face. “I pity you, gentlemen.”

---

When it was time to go, Oliver and the others were surprised to find Ellise climbing down the stairs.

Rothsker who was insisting his tattered cloak on Garmont, froze as his eyes found Ellise stiffly descend from the second landing.

Mason rushed toward her and asked questions about riding horses, hunting, and swimming. “Later, Mason” Ellise said to the child, taking his hand while her eyes went to her brother. Her long brown hair was tied high behind her head. White shirt and a pair of buckskin, along with her riding boots, told Oliver that she only went out to ride her horse.

“You did not tell me you have a very magnificent mirror, St. Vincent,” murmured Rothsker beside him.

“You do not touch the sister, Your Highness,” Oliver warned before he met his sister at the foot of the stairs.

“Who are these people?” Ellise asked, her hazel eyes looking over his shoulder at Rothsker.

“You know who they are.”

She merely nodded and fixed him a look. “How is Aliya?”

“She is doing well.”

“Do tell her that I feel bad about Delaney. But I do agree that she ought to let her sister do what she wants. The Belle has to learn that she has made a mistake.”

“I will extend your words with a much nicer tone, of course,” he said, kissing his sister’s forehead. “Do not do anything stupid while the prince is here. If ever danger comes, you grab Mason and you escape.”

“And father?”

“Father, too, of course.”

Ellise nodded, eyes on Rothsker. “Go home safely, Oliver,” his sister said before she tugged Mason away, leading the child out to the balcony, completely ignoring the Royals they passed by, saying, “It is time for your riding lessons, child.”

---

Their trip back to the mainland was uneventful. And once more, Oliver expressed his concern that their plan was going too well.

“Do not fret too much, St. Vincent,” said Garmont, trying hard to fix the collar of Rothsker’s tattered coat. Rothsker insisted that if someone had been following them, they ought to show that they were the same company that left. And Garmont being the closest to Rothsker’s physique, he had to don the old coat.

Robert suggested that they stop at Eaton once more and hunt while they were there. This time, they stayed in Blackwood’s estate, Everleigh.

“Will you be back before luncheon, my lord?” Darren, Blackwood’s valet and messenger, inquired Robert Dior.

“Yes.”

“Very good, my lord. The estate shall prepare your meals. I am certain you will be famished upon your return.”

The three of them set out to the direction of the woods with their rifles, crossing the vast open grass field that separated the manor from the woods.

“Why are we doing this again?” Oliver wryly asked as he walked ahead of the group.

“Because we need an excuse as to why we are all together,” Robert retorted, catching up with Oliver, frowning at the path ahead.

“I hate hunting.”

“Says the man who cuts animals open.”

Oliver turned around to face Garmont, walking backward. “Dead animals, Garmont,” Oliver corrected. “I do not kill them. And I would rather go home to the wife, thank you.”

“If only I could say the same but I come home to my riches that my ambitious niece cannot wait to claim—”

Garmont’s words were left unspoken as a shot rang out from the darkness of the woods ahead of them. Oliver frowned when he felt a certain pressure on his left arm. Before he could assess it, he saw Garmont fall on his knees, clutching his shoulder. Soon, blood was dripping between his fingers.

“Garmont!” Oliver shouted, running over to Garmont.

Another shot was fired, stopping Oliver. He whirled around to find Robert flat on his abdomen, taking cover behind the grass, aiming his rifle at the direction of the trees up ahead. “Get down!” the man shouted.

Confused, Oliver looked down.

“Bloody tarnation,” he cursed as he fell to his knee. He lay flat on the ground and rolled on his back. His chin touching his chest, Oliver looked down and watched as blood started to drench his white shirt, right at the side of his torso. He looked to his right and found his rifle out of reach. He cursed under his breath.

Twisting his head back, he saw a figure clad in black right next to a tree, pointing a rifle straight at Garmont who was still on his knees a few paces from Oliver’s feet, picking up his weapon from the ground. “Garmont!” Oliver growled, scrambling to his knees and hands, lunging himself toward Garmont as fast as he could.

The tiny voice at the back of his mind screamed at him. He could not put his life on the line! Stupid!

But he had to. For some reason, he had to. If only he had much time to reach Garmont and push him on the ground—

He felt the impact of the bullet at his back, pushing his chest forward, arching his spine. He slumped over Garmont and they both fell on the field of grass. He stared at the man’s grey eyes. “No,” he groaned, looking down between him and Garmont. The man’s chest was bleeding. With shaky eyes, Oliver searched Garmont’s face. “Garmont!” he shouted as man’s pupils dilated, staring straight at him, life slowly fading away until it left naught but empty, glassy grey globes.

“St. Vincent! Garmont!” he heard Robert Dior shout as more shots were fired.

Aliya’s face with a monkey on her shoulder flashed before his eyes as they closed.

And then there was nothing.

XLII | A Royal Master

Aliya was roused from her sleep by a series of raps on the door.

Her eyes heavy, she sleepily groaned. “Yes?” she asked.

“Aliya.”

It was not the way her mother-in-law strode into the room without an invitation that made Aliya sit up in alarm, but the dread in the woman’s voice when she called her name. “What is it?”

Natalia’s green eyes were shaking with panic. “Oliver.”

Cold waves washed over her, stopping her heart. She feared to ask so she slid out of bed, her heart starting to beat again, drumming in her ears, rapidly and strongly it was almost painful. The darkness was not a hindrance as she reached for her coat. “Where?” was the only word she could muster.

“Everleigh.”

A shiver ran through her while she slipped into the easiest footwear.

A tear rolled down Natalia’s face. “We have to go now.”

Aliya nodded, her own tears blurring her vision as she followed her mother-in-law outside the bedchamber.

Natalia did not know much as well, all they knew was that Pemberton was rushed to Everleigh moments ago.

Aliya could not help the shaking of her hands, but as she silently cried, she noticed Natalia’s own hands slightly trembling. She reached out and they held on to each other tightly, both of them refusing to cry because the anguish and fury were too strong at the moment, and the idea of the unknown muddled their minds.

The journey to Everleigh was probably the most agonizing one Aliya had to suffer.

West Blackwood’s white manor was humongous, but neither ladies spared time to even marvel at its beauty as soon as they arrived. Aliya jumped out of the carriage and helped Natalia down before they both rushed up the stairs that led to the main doorways of the estate which was held open for them by a young man with blond hair and blue eyes that looked like they were about to burst into tears.

“I am Darren, my ladies, Lord Eaton’s valet.”

Aliya nodded. “Where?” Aliya asked the man.

“Upstairs, my lady,” the valet said, rushing to guide them upstairs. “The Duke and Duchess of Calbridge were likewise informed, but were told not to come as their son is quite fine,” the valet told them as they rushed down the corridor. “As to Mr. Garmont…”

“What?” Aliya asked, heart beating fast.

The valet paused to reply, “He—he did not make it.”

“Was his family informed?”

“Mr. Garmont has but one family. She will be informed once she is found.”

“Good God,” Natalia gasped behind Aliya.

The valet continued walking.

“What happened?” Aliya asked, harshly wiping tears from her face.

“They just arrived from Herst, the three of them—Doctor St. Vincent, Lord Calbridge, and Mr. Garmont. They decided to stay another day to justify their journey to Eaton. They went out to hunt—”

“Oliver does not hunt,” said Natalia.

“Yes, he said the same. But he went.”

“And?”

“As they were nearing the woods, shots were fired.”

Aliya stopped walking, her body unwilling to listen to her mind to move on, for she suddenly felt the dread that she had been keeping at bay since they left Coulway. Her shoulders began to shake. But then she shook her head as Oliver’s words rang to her mind.

I promise…

He promised he would return. And Oliver St. Vincent was always right.

“Where is he?” Aliya asked the valet.

“He is in that chamber,” the valet said, “but he is currently being operated, my lady!” the man shouted as Aliya rushed past him toward the door, quickly followed by Natalia.

She burst into the room to find Pemberton bent over the side of the bed. Robert Dior, looking completely unharmed, jumped from the corner of the room to rush toward Aliya and stop her from coming closer to the bed.

“Let go of me,” she ordered, fighting with her entire body.

“You cannot come closer. Dr. Pemberton is working, my lady.”

“Let go of me!” she growled, seeing her husband—her giant husband—lying lifeless on the bed.

“Let Lady Aliya go, my lord,” Pemberton murmured from the bed. Looking over his shoulder, the old doctor added to Aliya, “You stay at the other side.”

Aliya nodded and rushed to the opposite side of the bed. She reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed it. “Ollie,” she choked out. “Ollie.”

“He can hear you, my lady, keep talking,” said Pemberton, frowning at his work.

“What are you doing?” she asked, seeing the large, open wound at the side of Oliver’s torso.

“I just found the source of the bleeding and currently searching for more damages.”

“Then he will be fine?”

Pemberton’s face was grim as he looked up at her. “I cannot say.”

“But you have stopped the bleeding.”

“This is not the only injury he sustained,” Dr. Pemberton said.

Aliya’s eyes wandered all over Oliver and it was only then that she saw his bandaged left arm. “There is also one on his back that was the most fatal. The bullet passed through him and went right into Garmont’s chest. Lord Calbridge said he tried to save Garmont.”

Her face crumpled and she searched for Natalia.

“Did the bullet miss the spine?” her mother-in-law asked Pemberton as she joined Aliya at the side of the bed, lips pursed and eyes filled with tears. But her face was firm and strong.

Pemberton sighed. “Barely.”

Eyes shaking in panic, Aliya turned to Natalia. “What does that mean?”

“Oliver may or may not be able to walk if he survives this.”

“I care not for that. I need to know if Ollie will live—”

“He will survive this, Aliya,” Natalia said in a strong voice.

Aliya slumped on the bed and kissed Oliver’s hand. “Darling, please…” she begged. “Please, Ollie…”

Aliya could only beg. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, trembling with fear and anguish as she openly sobbed.

For the next hour or so, Aliya remained very still beside Oliver, holding his limp hand over her lap as her other caressed his forehead. From time to time he would flinch in pain and sweat would drench his face. She was both relieved and tormented for he was alive, but he was suffering.

Finally, Dr. Pemberton finished his work. He stretched his back slowly and told Aliya that he did his best. “I will return later to check on him,” the doctor started, then paused to look at her. “It is an advantage that Oliver has a large built, my lady, and he is still very young. I am confident that he will survive this if we prevent infection.”

Aliya nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. Please, have a rest. And do not go home just yet.”

The man smiled at her. “I will stay, my lady.”

Natalia approached her. “You need to rest, Aliya. There is a nearby drawing room—”

“No. I want to stay here.”

“I will stay here with him until you have fully rested—”

Her mother-in-law stopped herself as Aliya vigorously shook her head. “You are with babe, Aliya,” her mother-in-law reminded her. “You have to rest.”

She shook her head. “No. I am not tired. You rest, Mother. I will stay here with him.”

Natalia looked at her unconscious son and nodded, leaving Aliya in the room with Oliver.

She lay beside him, wrapping her arms around his good hand. Tilting her head, she brushed his hair out of the way. She listened for his weak heartbeat, she watched his chest slowly rise and fall while holding her own.

And then a picture of many Olivers flashed before her eyes.

Oliver walking down the path of the garden in the Winthrop estate. “Ali!”

“Ali!” Oliver shouting her name in the café.

Oliver’s foxed, booming voice in the middle of the corridor in Sinclair. “Ali!”

Oliver calling out her name on the side of the street in Strait. “Ali!”

She started to shake again, crying for how could such happy memories bring so much pain?

“Ali!” Oliver hissing her name in the café knowing too well they would be trapped there in a blizzard.

“Ah, you make my heart flutter, Ali!”

Oliver calling out her name to stop her from talking to those ladies in the Stapleton Ball. And Oliver hissing her name as she faced the pair of women who called him the beast.

Her Oliver poking his head through the door to hiss, “Ali!”

Her husband shouting, “Ali,” as he made love to her to tell her he loved her.

Aliya trembled with pain and fear. “Ollie,” she choked out, turning to snuggle closer to his side. “Ollie…”

Fifteen-year-old Oliver shouting his dreams against the wind,

“Bigger than Sutherland! Bigger than the world!”

“Please, darling…don’t… just don’t…” Aliya’s pained cry was muffled by his arm. “Ollie… please…”

---

Dr. Pemberton checked on Oliver hours later. Natalia came by to ask her if she needed anything, giving up on any attempts to tempt her to take a rest elsewhere. The woman stayed longer, sittign quietly beside the bed, looking at nowhere but her son.

Robert Dior spent a few minutes talking to them about their journey before he said he had to leave to inform Garmont’s remaining relative.

“Oliver told us that it was too perfect,” he said before he left. When Aliya remained mum, he added, “We should not have insisted that he join us for the hunt. He never liked hunting.”

Aliya could only nod then. “He likes dead things, my lord, but he prefers saving lives.”

She convinced Natalia to rest and promised to let the woman stay with her son later.

Then she fell asleep beside Oliver, hugging his arm.

She did not know how long she slept, but when Aliya awakened, she sprang up in bed in a panic. She looked down and found Oliver lying motionless on the bed. Scrambling, she felt for his pulse and waited for the rise and fall of his chest. And then she quietly sighed in relief.

Refusing to cry, she gripped her husband’s hand tightly.

She took a long breath and slowly let it out. She no longer know how she ought to feel. She was furious, but it was not as strong as the fear and pain.

Intending to ring for food because she did not need it, but her babe did, Aliya slipped out of bed, the room eerily quiet.

“Where are you going?”

Her husband’s voice made her whirl around in complete surprise. And even though it was weak and breathy, Aliya burst out in tears of relief and joy, and she rushed back to his side. “Nowhere,” she whispered, kneeling on the floor beside the bed to look into his half-open hazel eyes. She tried to stop the sobbing, but her body trembled yet again. “Darling, I am going nowhere.”

He blinked, slow and heavy. His lips twitched. “Good. And I love you.” Opening one eye, he added, “I told you I will… tell you… once I return. A bit late, but…”

Aliya planted a light kiss on his mouth. “And I love you, too.” He smiled. “You are no longer going to take missions. Nothing, Ollie. Do you understand?” A soft scoff escaped his lips. “You may be a giant, darling, but you do not know how to bloody fight.”

It took him awhile to answer and she saw how he struggled for each word. “No fight. It was ambush.”

“I care not. You still would not survive it. And Dr. Pemberton says there is a possibility you may no longer be able to walk.”

The scoff he released came out as a soft sigh. “Bloody old idiot. You… have very little confidence… in me.”

“I have very little confidence in myself. I do not know if I can survive another like this.”

His eyes tenderly looked at her. “I am fine, darling. Fret no more. This… just a scratch.”

Her eyes widened. “A scratch? Oliver St. Vincent, you can barely breathe!”

His eyes closed. “Hmm. Talk about this… later.”

Aliya’s shoulders started to shake, but not with tears. She was shaking with laughter.

---

Three days later, everyone thought it was a miracle that he could now manage to be out of bed, even Oliver.

And the moment he could Oliver wanted to leave Everleigh. Oliver wanted to attend Garmont’s funeral.

He glared at Pemberton. “I can move my toes, old man! Look!”

The doctor watched as Oliver wiggled his toes. “Hmm.”

“I will be on both feet in no time,” he insisted. “For now, I want to be wheeled to a carriage so I can go home.”

Aliya stood beside her husband’s bed. “Will he be able to endure the ride back to Coulway?”

“Ask the more competent doctor, Ali,” her husband snarled.

Dr. Pemberton chuckled, shaking his head. He kicked Oliver’s shin.

“What the bloody hell, Pemberton!” Oliver gritted out.

Pemberton nodded at Aliya. “If the carriage travels slow, he will survive the journey. You are the worst patient, Oliver.”

Oliver scowled. His mother helplessly sighed. “Very well, we go home.”

With Dr. Pemberton’s approval, he was transferred from Everleigh back to the villa in Coulway where the Hayhursts clamored around him with concern. Even Jason was seen smiling with relief as he pushed Oliver’s wheeled chair through the main doors.

“Ah, my kind of quiet,” Oliver said as he listened to everyone trying to talk at once. He was in the drawing room which had been transformed into a bedchamber due to his condition, and the said room had also become the new parlor where everyone would often find themselves wandering into when they had nothing else to do.

Christopher and Patricia would come by and chat, and even forget he was there on some occasions. His mother and Geveva would also stay there to talk about household matters. Even Jason would frequently find a reason to be in the room, claiming he was looking for hidden brandies which amused Aliya.

The day before Garmont’s funeral, they all gathered in the same room.

“Your father and Ellise are very worried,” Natalia told him. “They wish to come.”

“No,” he said. “This is not the best time to leave Herst,” he added.

Natalia nodded. “I told them the same thing.”

“Tell them I am unfortunately alive.”

“Ollie!” Aliya gasped. “That is not the way to phrase it. You unfortunately survived.”

Christopher and Patricia laughed while their mother blindly tried to stop them by swinging her arm in their direction. Natalia could only shake her head and roll her eyes.

“I want to walk around the garden,” her husband declared later that afternoon.

“You can barely manage to stand. Dr. Pemberton said that the bullet he took out your back was near your spine. Do not rush things, Ollie.”

He lifted his legs. “These legs are strong, darling. But I might need a cane for a while.”

Aliya sighed.

“I need to exercise.”

“No, Ollie—”

“Then I need a brandy.”

She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh as he grinned at her. “I will wheel you in the garden and you can practice standing for five minutes.”

---

The funeral was held in private. Merely Robert and Oliver were the Royals present.

“Sad thing to die a Royal,” Oliver said through his teeth as they watched Garmont’s coffin descend below the earth. “Your friends cannot even see you goodbye.”

Across from them, a woman wearing all black with her face hidden by a back veil stood quietly. She was not crying, and she left as soon as the coffin reached the ground.

“Who is she?”

“Sheridan Garmont,” Robert Dior replied, eyes on the woman’s back. “The only living distant relative.”

With the funeral over, Aliya felt bad for Terence Garmont. He died a hero, yet no one seemed to know, except for the very few who could not even come to celebrate the service he gave his people.

As Jason wheeled Oliver back to their carriage, Aliya took Oliver’s hand in hers. Staring down at him, she noted his taut face. She squeezed his hand. “Ollie, I hope you do not—”

“No, darling,” he interjected with a shake of his head, looking up at her, “I do not blame myself for his death. I blame the people behind the rifles.”

She could not find the right words, so she fell silent.

The silence was much needed for now.

---

The following day, while Oliver stayed in bed as ordered by his wife, Tanner MacMier and Rider Fairborne arrived without notice.

Aliya ushered the two men into their bedchamber and stood by the bed.

“Ah, so you are still alive,” Tanner greeted. “Good. Are you crippled?”

“I can kick your bloody arse all the way to Strait if that is what you are asking, my friend.”

Tanner grinned. “I trust that you can do just that.”

“If he does not kill himself first, that is,” added Aliya with a sigh.

Oliver’s gaze veered to Rider. “Why are you here?”

“We are here to ask you a question,” Rider said, wasting no time, giving Oliver the impression that something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked. “Did something happen to Rothsker?”

“No, he is fine. Your father transferred him to a nearby location from Winfield and hired a few men to protect him,” Tanner replied.

“When did you last see Eaton?” Rider asked, stepping closer.

Oliver shared a curious frown with Aliya. “The night we had the last opera before we took Rothsker from Coulway. Why?”

“He has not yet returned.”

“And Greene?”

Both Tanner and Rider shook their head. “Greene has also failed to return to his estate.”

With Aliya’s help, Oliver moved to sit at the side of the bed, his eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that Eaton is missing?”

“We cannot find him. No trace of him elsewhere and it has been more than a week. They should be here by now as planned.”

“He was last seen riding with Greene to the south,” Rider added, brows furrowed.

“Belcourt?”

“We do not know.”

“Bloody tarnation,” he cursed under his breath.

“Get ready,” Rider ordered. “Darcy is on his way.”

---

“I will go with you,” Aliya told him as she helped him dress.

“No.”

“Why? Is it because of Lord Darcy?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

Aliya sighed, looking at his pale face. She reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear and run her palm through his beard. “We will have to trim these.”

He chuckled. “You are a very cooperative Royal Wife, darling.”

His wife rolled her eyes at him. “I try to be.”

He placed his hand over her abdomen. “Wait for me?”

“I hate doing it, but do I have a choice?”

He laughed. “I am telling you, darling, we are becoming the standard Royal Couple.”

Leaning down to meet his lips, Aliya chuckled. “That, we are.”

Jason wheeled Oliver out of the villa with the Hayhursts and his mother and Aliya staring after him with concern, but Oliver could not be happier to finally be out.

But that happiness was shortlived as he was reminded of the seriousness of the matter he and the rest of the Royal Circus had to face.

With their Royal Master missing, the other one had to come out and take over.

It should not happen. No one desired for Lord Darcy to come out because it meant the Circus was in trouble.

It took Jason and Oliver a while to navigate the path to the Theater. Oliver was still in pain, but he managed to climb down to the basement with Jason’s help. “This is the closest we had ever been, Jason.”

The man merely nodded. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Are you thinking of throwing me down the stairs?”

“The flight is too short, Doctor.”

“You devil,” he said with a laugh.

Oliver would love to drown the pain with brandy, but he learned pain was good. It reminded him he was still alive. And he was one lucky bastard to be alive. He would have not forgiven himself if he left Aliya alone with their child.

Jason returned with his wheelchair and they proceeded to enter The Coffin.

It was empty.

Of course, it was. No wives should be present tonight.

The flight up the stairs was even more difficult as Oliver tried his best to not put pressure on his spine, his torso, and his left arm.

“You may consider letting me fall once we reach the top, Jason. The flight would be long enough.”

His butler remained expressionless as he said, “Three bullets were not enough to kill you, Doctor. What makes you think a tumble down the stairs will?”

“Ah, then you should find a better way.”

“I have books for that, Doctor.”

Oliver laughed once more.

When Jason delivered his wheelchair upstairs, he sat down. “I can take it from here, Jason.”

The butler nodded. “I will be outside, Doctor.”

As Oliver wheeled himself into the Theater, he found it packed.

Rider was not jesting indeed when he told Oliver earlier that Darcy ordered for every bloody Royal to be present tonight—and it seemed everyone would be here except for West Blackwood and Greene.

The Royals in the room turned to look at him as he entered.

“Man on wheels, coming through, gentlemen! Move your Royal arse out of my way!”

A Royal helped him traverse through the path the Royals made for him and his chair. “Take me to the front,” he told the Royal. “I have questions for Darcy.”

Robert Dior was sitting beside his father in front of the right side of the room. Their eyes locked. The man nodded at him. Oliver’s eyes landed on the seat Terence Garmont typically took. It was empty because everyone was paying tribute to the man’s life.

The Royals extended their concern by asking how he was fairing.

“Like a bloody doctor,” he replied, “as is my role here. So please, no missions for me unless one of you is dying!”

That elicited laughter from everyone, which slowly died as the gravity of their situation loomed over them.

“He never went to any Royal in the south?” he heard one man ask another.

“No. You know Eaton. He does not share his plans in detail.”

A groan. “Darcy will not be happy about this.”

“Darcy is not happy about this,” came the correction.

“Darcy will burn our arse, that is what I am saying. We bloody lost the Royal Master.”

“Eaton should not have gone.”

“He insisted to go,” Oliver replied over his shoulder. “And that is what we will tell Darcy.”

“Have you seen who attacked your party, St. Vincent?” asked one of the men behind him.

“No,” he said.

“Women?”

“I cannot say.”

“I told you, gentlemen,” said Robert Dior, “that they were too far for us to see.”

“But—” the Royal’s next words were left hanging as the door opened and Tanner MacMier entered the room.

His eyes told everyone that Darcy had arrived.

One by one, the Royals settled in their seats.

They knew what Darcy would demand from them and they were not prepared to provide an answer.

“This is not going to be fun,” Oliver heard one Royal whisper behind him.

“Not fun at all,” replied another in a strained voice.

Once more, the door opened and Rider Fairborne rushed inside, face completely unreadable. “Settle down, Royals, opera is about to start.”

Distressed groans echoed in the room as the men shifted in their seats.

Oliver waited in anticipation simply because he enjoyed dramas.

As Rider settled in his seat beside Oliver’s wheelchair, a figure strode into the room clad in a black hooded cloak. The room immediately went quiet as Darcy’s boots echoed in the room.

Face hidden underneath the shadows of the hood, Lord Darcy stood in front of the Theater where Blackwood used to stand. The sublime presence of their other Royal Master traveled to all corners of the room like a wave, seeping through their skin and into their bones.

Darcy pulled down the hood of her black cloak. “Gentlemen,” she greeted without a smile as her bluish-grey eyes swept the room, powerful and compelling as it was gentle and mild. Blinking, Sasha asked, “Can anyone please tell me why my fiancé is still missing?”

XLIII | Darcy

“We were hoping you will tell us, Darcy,” the Duke of Calbridge said.

Sasha blinked. “I would not be here if I know. I do not have enough eyes on the ground, gentlemen, because my mission is no longer keeping Rothsker safe. And the very moment I handed him to you, we lost a Royal. And a Master.”

“That is because you were not there to watch Lady Renee in the first place because of your sudden decision to be Mistress!” Calbridge heatedly retorted. “By being one, Darcy, you are putting us all in danger.”

“You did not even inform Eaton,” Rider pointed out.

“Of course I did. And as you must know, he was not happy about it. And it was with Rothsker’s consent. We had to grab the opportunity.” To Calbridge, she added, “And yes, I admit we have been too confident in Lady Renee. Apparently, the money she received was not enough.”

Some of the men in the room shook their heads. Oliver merely stared at Sasha, patiently waiting.

“Ever since my wife stepped down as Lord Darcy, we have very little knowledge of your plans with Eaton,” Lord Winthrop gently said.

“That is because we cannot be too careless, my lord,” Sasha sternly said. “Did you all think that since I am Mistress, we can all be careless?” She looked at everyone in the room. “And do not compare me with the other Lord Darcys before me for I have made clear last summer that I would be different and you all voted to place me in this position because you believed I am an advantage.” She lifted her chin and added, “I am willing to answer questions at the moment so we can get this over with and make a plan.”

Oliver lifted his good hand. “What are your plans for Delaney?”

“None. I merely took her so your wife will be free of her Vow.”

“You chose the lesser evil.”

“One woman who lost a child to Belcourt should be enough, Doctor.”

“But Delaney was—”

“For the Circus, Delaney cannot be trusted,” Sasha interjected.

Oliver sighed because he understood. “And I thought it was merely one of your tests,” Oliver wryly commented.

“I found myself testing your wife too many times, but taking her sister was not a test.” She turned to the other gentlemen. “Let us move on. Any more questions?”

The Royals looked at each other.

Ross raised his hand. “How is my sister?”

“I do not know. She is in the palace. I am being careful whenever I enter it.”

“Have you made progress?”

“With the High Priestess?”

“Yes.”

“No, but I learned that she stays underground.”

“What do you know of the attack in Everleigh?”

“It could have been a secret carried out by the Court of Arms. I am yet to find out more. If we are lucky, they should believe that they managed to kill Rothsker.” She turned to Robert Dior. “Have you had a talk with Garmont’s niece?”

Robert nodded. “She will continue to act on behalf of her uncle. Otherwise, she will lose everything.”

“Good.”

To one Royal, she ordered, “Get Lady Renee at once.”

Eyes on Tanner and Rider, she added, “I want West and Greene found immediately. Gather anyone you can and search the south. Belcourt may now believe they managed to kill Rothsker, but I want West back.”

She turned to the Duke of Remington. “Your Grace, I need to talk to you alone with Chalbarth.”

Trent sighed not far from Oliver.

When no one moved, Sasha cocked her brows. “Well? Unless you have more questions, this opera is over.”

As the Royals left the room one by one, Oliver stayed in his wheelchair. Sasha looked at him and in a gentle tone said, “I hope you understand what I had to do, St. Vincent.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “I do, unfortunately.”

“Aliya’s sister went into Belcourt far too young, and they are the women who are most loyal to Belcourt. We cannot have her in your life at the moment.”

“I said, Darcy, that I understand,” Oliver said. He looked around the room at Trent and the Duke of Remington. “Whatever you plan on doing next, I hope it is not to destroy Belcourt and the ladies.”

“You know I will never allow that to happen, St. Vincent. We should protect as much as we can.”

Oliver sighed and nodded. “Very well. Good night, Darcy.”

“Good night, St. Vincent.”

He wanted to say something more. He wanted to thank the woman for keeping his child safe. But it would mean he was also grateful for separating his wife from her sister. So he just nodded and wheeled himself out of the Theater.

---

Sasha faced Trent and the Duke of Remington once they were alone.

“Finding West is not the only mission we have. We still have an ongoing one we need to see through.”

“How is she?” Laurel Comhar, the Duke of Remington asked.

“She is doing fine. Her presence in Belcourt is important.”

“No, it is not,” Trent nearly snarled. “It was a stupid plan from the very start.”

Sasha sighed. “I needed someone I can trust, Trent.”

“Bloody hell, Sasha, Caroline is my fiancée!” Trent turned to his future father-in-law. “I cannot believe you even agreed to this. Belcourt will never trust her—”

“Which is why I am at Belcourt,” Sasha interjected.

“Does she know who you are?”

“No. We cannot risk Belcourt knowing about me. As of now, I need you to hand Caroline her mission,” she told Trent. “If you have changed your mind, I can find a way to get her out of Belcourt now.”

Remington turned to Trent. “I will do what Caroline thinks is best.”

Trent sighed. “She bloody enjoys the act, Remington.”

“The memory loss was her idea,” Remington proudly told Sasha.

“Well?” Sasha asked Trent. “What do you think Caroline wants, Trent?”

Trent’s jaw tightened. “She has been waiting for a mission.”

The duke nodded and turned to Sasha. “My daughter speaks for herself. Give her the mission.”

Sasha faced Trent. “Find Caroline in Belcourt and deliver her mission.” Trent waited for her to continue. Sasha’s jaw tightened. “Tell her she has to find the rat amongst the Royals.”

Trent and Remington’s eyes widened. “What?” they chorused.

“This is a serious accusation, Darcy,” Trent said.

Sasha’s brow cocked high. “And you think I am jesting?”

“But—”

“Belcourt invited Lady Renee. She did not go willingly.”

“Someone told Belcourt about Renee.”

“Yes. And who could that be?”

Trent cursed under his breath.

“We have a rat, gentlemen and we need to find him fast before I am compromised within Belcourt if I already am not.”

---

Aliya was waiting for Oliver when he returned.

She patiently watched as he struggled to transfer from his chair to the bed. And when he was settled, she came to lie beside him, resting her face on his chest, her arm around his waist.

“Ollie, I fear that I am starting to hate Belcourt.”

“You said so yourself, darling, that the women in Belcourt need saving. We only need to know who the enemy is. That is who you have to hate.”

“I want to give Mason his mother. And I want Delaney to be free,” she whispered. “I want to give her the chance to see the world outside Belcourt. She had not seen enough. Even as a Belle, she will still be controlled and I fear that I will lose her someday.”

Oliver sighed. “Fret not, darling. We will get there.”

“How did your opera with Darcy go?”

“As expected, Darcy is not pleased Blackwood is still missing.”

She let the silence linger for a little while. “How many Darcys had there been, Ollie?”

He chuckled. “Why am I not even surprised that you have figured it out?”

She did not comment. “Just answer my question.”

“Nearly as many as the Royal Masters. The Royal Master and Lord Darcy are always a pair.”

“Can you tell me who the last one is?”

“No. And even if you know who the last one is, he would never tell because only the Circus knows the elected Darcy.”

“And how about this current Darcy? How long has he been in the Circus?”

“A year or so.”

“A year? And you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“How can you say so? Do you know him so well?”

“Not quite, but I know Darcy made a big sacrifice for the position given to him.”

“And will he be able to find Blackwood?”

He hugged her close. “Darling, Darcy will kill to get Blackwood back. As I would if I lose you.”

Aliya snuggled even closer. “And I would kill if you were ever hurt again, Oliver St. Vincent.”

---

Oliver was back on his two good legs in less than two fortnights, and they subsequently returned to Strait where Darcy expected them to stay.

West Blackwood and Greene remained missing, but the missions were still very much active.

The Hayhursts had rented a villa in Strait with the intention of staying in Sutherland for a year. They were the most frequent callers of the St. Vincents, with Patricia quite ecstatic as the days went by and Aliya was showing more and more. She had always wanted to be an aunt, she said. “And I am certain Delaney will be happy to meet your child, Aliya,” Patricia had said.

Oliver could sense that his wife wanted to reach out to her sister who was assigned in Coulway, but she was hesitant.

“Delaney will come to me once she is ready,” she told him one day. “Perhaps when our child is born,” she added, caressing her bulging abdomen.

Apart from Blackwood and Greene still missing, Oliver had very little worry. His mother had returned to Herst and recently sent a letter informing them that their pest problem was being controlled marvelously.

But in the Royal Circus, there was a little unrest. With Lord Darcy in Belcourt, operas were being presided by Rider or Tanner. Even Aliya was aware of the tension amongst the Royals as she had been spending quite a lot of time with Lady Winthrop.

“There is a rumor that there was a little argument in the last opera,” she nonchalantly said one day while they were taking a walk in the park.

“It could not be helped. Men are quite lost. Each mission is not being shared with all.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Darcy’s orders.”

“Why the need for secrecy?”

He sighed. “I do not know, darling.”

“But you have an inkling.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

His face was grim as he said, “Darcy may suspect someone in the Circus.”

His wife froze. “Ollie, if that is true, we have a problem. It could also place Darcy on dangerous grounds. If there is a rat within the Circus, he now knows who Darcy is.”

Oliver had the same thoughts, but if there was indeed a rat in the Circus, whoever the bastard may be, he would never expose Sasha to Belcourt for it would also mean exposing himself.

Yet Oliver could not tell his wife this for now. It meant he had to tell her who Darcy was and it was the last thing he could do. So, instead, he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Fret not, darling. Let us simply take this as a sign that we are making progress.”

“Not a good sign, Ollie.”

He laughed. “There will be no light if there is no darkness, darling.”

---

Aliya could only smile as she walked with Oliver. She looked around the park. Winter was on its way. And soon, she would welcome their first child.

She looked up at the cloudy sky and silently wondered if Lady Hartcaster was watching.

Was the lady proud of what she had achieved?

She hoped so.

Stealing her husband a glance, Aliya felt the overwhelming sense of joy. The constant fear of losing him was there; the pain that Delaney was not with her lingered.

But she had this man and she had their child, and Aliya vowed to protect him and what they had in whatever means necessary.

Looking back, Aliya felt she had not built a new life after Belcourt. She simply returned to a much better one.

XLIV | Sailing Home

SEPTEMBER 1810

“I went to the Royal Theater.”

For the first time, she saw something in his eyes change. Anger, she was familiar with. Tenderness, yes. But this one was different for she could not tell what it was. He just suddenly… shut off.

The empty look in his eyes was unnerving, not what she had expected for she expected rage.

“I told you not to trust me fully, did I not?” she added, fighting the tears in her eyes.

West’s light blue eyes never wavered as he flatly said, “I was wondering when you will figure out, but now it is clear what your trip to Belcourt was all about.”

At his words, at the callous way he said it, her tears fell. “You are working against the kingdom.”

His jaw clenched. “All I can say, Sasha, is that I am loyal to the true king of this kingdom.”

Sasha fought the whimper that escaped her lips. She fought the shaking of her shoulders by clutching her skirts with her fists. “Then you are like your father after all.”

His face was completely unreadable, telling her that he knew this was coming and he was prepared. “No, I am never going to be like him. He died a damaged man, but he passed a silent hero. It was his fault, but I do not intend to follow his path.”

Sasha shivered at his words. “Why? Because he fell in love with a traitor?”

His jaw tightened. “My mother did many horrible things against the previous monarchy, Sasha, but that is all I am willing to say for it is clear you have made a choice.”

She slowly nodded, accepting. With a bitter scoff, she looked around the meadow, their beauty no longer potent as the truth of what she had to do dawned on her. Closing her eyes slowly, she felt the warm tears roll down her face.

Lifting her lids, she searched for his face. “It is a shame. I would have loved to see this place in fall.”

He remained quiet, his eyes impassive. He was stiff as stone and at that moment, Sasha would have wanted him to be enraged. But he was not. He was accepting everything.

She inhaled deeply and swallowed and a small whimper escaped her lips as she let out a shaky breath. Her heart was being crushed, clenched dry as she was forced to maintain a strong resolve. “Your club will be raided tonight.” Good God, how could he maintain such a blank face, Sasha thought. “I am telling you this because I want to play a fair game. You saved my life and we are now even. It is my parting gift.” She paused, searching his eyes. Nothing. There was nothing there. “Know that I do not blame you for keeping your secrets. Our worlds molded us to be loyal first and foremost. Emotions are rendered useless in our worlds, are they not?” she asked, tasting the bitter taste at the back of her throat. “It is merely a shame we have been loyal to two opposing forces.”

Finally, he spoke and it was a question. “Is that what you intend to do then, Sasha? Play at the opposing side?”

She squared her shoulders and finally spoke her decision in the only words she could summon. “I intend to win and like our many little games, West, you are going to lose again.”

When he kept his mouth closed, Sasha smiled. “Because that is what Belcourt expects from you. You have to lose if you want to win, West.”

---

West frowned as hope began to spread within him. But he tried to ward it off.

Sasha took a step toward him. From inside her pelisse, she took out his father’s journal.

And then she handed it back to him.

Her words when he asked her when she intended to return it months ago came back to him.

“When I am certain that I can trust you enough.”

He blinked against the tears at the back of his eyes as he breathed in the first real breath he took since they stepped into the meadow.

Her bluish-grey eyes were filled with fear that she bravely bared to him. Her lips were quivering as she held the journal out toward him, waiting for him to receive it. “I am forced to make another choice and you know I always make the unexpected ones.” She took another step toward him. “And I choose you,” she choked out, more tears flowing down her cheeks. “I am willing to listen and after, you will let me make more choices.” He nodded, unable to speak. “But if you prove to be working with the devil himself, West, I swear I will choose to kill you myself.”

With a shaky breath of relief, West crossed the space between them in one big step and gathered her in his arms and kissed her—deep, savage, and raw. “I love you,” his shakily whispered against her mouth. “I love you…”

She whimpered and wrapped her arms around her neck while he buried his face in hers, letting go of the tears. “I love you,” he murmured, gasping air as if he were breathing her in, breathing in life itself.

She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. “And I love you.”

At that moment, West showed Sasha his tears.

---

They returned to the manor and made love again. It was different for the act felt freeing. Or perhaps they felt the freedom.

And as they lay naked and sated in bed, he told her about his mother. He told her everything Elizabeth Blackwood did. She listened to the story of how a Belle from Belcourt managed to destroy a kingdom by using the man who loved her. She cried silently as Addison Blackwood’s story was revealed to her, the betrayal he felt when he learned that his wife used him to plant evidence against Reginald, how she led him to believe that he was the only man.

West remained calm and collected, comforting her as she struggled to accept the fact that Belcourt did more than just support Louis. He was patient when she struggled with the fact that Belcourt used its women and children to cast away a king. And later, when her tears subsided while wrapped in his arms, she told him she would not be like his mother.

“I know,” he whispered against her forehead. His arms tightened around her. “God, I know.”

Pulling away, West reached for his father’s journal and handed it to her. “If I am to lose, give them this. Belcourt has to know that you are loyal to them.”

A bitter smile touched her lips. “They will find many things here.”

“The Circus had made many changes. They would find close to nothing in that journal. I kept it because it was my father’s.”

Sasha turned to lovingly gaze at him. She craned her neck and kissed him. “I promise to return it.”

He crawled over her and the journal fell on the floor as she wrapped her limbs around him, receiving his kiss.

“What made you decide?” he murmured against her jaw. “What made you make a choice?”

Sasha took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “They forced your mother to be rid of her child, and when she did not, they turned the same child into one of their puppets. I intend to take her back to you, West, and I will,” she told him, determination in her voice. “Not all ladies in Belcourt are capable of imagining a different life outside for they are not given the choice. They manipulate us by giving us the basic needs that our parents ought to have been giving us, showing us that we can never get it elsewhere. Belcourt used your mother to destroy Reginald through your father and they are doing the same thing to everyone inside. This time, you use me to destroy Belcourt and save your sister.”

“I do not like this plan of yours, darling.”

“You never liked any of my plans.”

“Because you will be in danger.”

“No, I will not be.” She kissed away the grim look on his face. “But know that I will miss you terribly.”

He groaned and kissed her hungrily. His hand kneaded her breast as his other traveled down to caress her scar before venturing lower. And soon, he was inside her again, plunging deep as if it was the last, moving fast as if the world was ending.

Sasha writhed beneath him, taking all of him, taking what she could. “We cannot meet like this until this is over,” she murmured in his ear and she buckled at the force of his hips in response to her words. “When you see me with another flower, know that I do not do this with him.” A guttural growl escaped his throat. His hands came to her knees, pushing her thighs on her chest as he moved faster. “Until we meet again, please be well,” she said as he slowed down, his gaze locked with hers.

“Please,” he begged, his eyes brimming with tears. “Do not do this, darling.”

Sasha shook her head. “I have to. We have to. This is our sacrifice, West. We do this to save the women and children. We do this to correct the wrong.”

His mouth captured hers in hunger, pain, and fury. She met his thrusts with equal measure, spreading her fingers on his hips as tears flowed down her face.

She reached the peak first and he quickly followed, roaring against her neck as he shuddered with pleasure and pain.

Sasha’s fingers raked his hair.

“And after?” he choked, lifting his head, eyes searching. “After, will you marry me?”

Sasha nodded, his beautiful face blurred by her tears. She blinked them away, wanting to engrave his face in her mind. “Yes. After, I will marry you.”

“No Belcourt.”

“After, we will give Belcourt a true purpose.” She wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes. “West, no more secrets or I swear to God.”

He grinned. “You just discovered the last I have.”

At that moment, Seven jumped into bed and started licking Sasha’s face. She laughed and gathered the dog closer. Sasha sighed, feeling home. This was home.

But not for now.

Soon.

Her eyes returned to West and she nodded. “Now, it’s time to make a plan, Your Grace. Where do we start?”

He gave her a lingering kiss before he smiled. “We start with Lord Darcy.”

DECEMBER 1811

West faced the endless ocean before him, his face taut, his mind on one goal.

Two months.

They were gone for two bloody months.

Anything could have happened.

Greene stepped beside him, resting his hand on the railing of the ship. “We will get there in time, Eaton,” the man said.

“Sasha does not know who he is, Greene.”

“Sasha is wise, Eaton. I am quite certain she had already figured out by now who the rat is.”

“That is not what I fear.”

Greene nodded. “He knows who Sasha is.”

His jaw tightened.

“You gentlemen seem too eager to arrive in Sutherland,” a woman’s voice said behind them. West and Greene turned to find the ship’s captain grinning at them.

“I told you I will take you home safely, didn’t I?” Vanessa Lyndon said as she brushed her wavy black hair over her forehead. She looked at both men. “You seem better than two weeks ago when my men picked you up floating in the middle of the ocean.”

Greene grumbled something under his breath.

“What was that, Stefan?” Vanessa asked.

“Nothing, woman,” Greene retorted. “Have you prepared what we asked?” he asked Vanessa.

Vanessa shrugged. “If you deliver Christopher Hayhurst to me, you have my word. As I have said, my men are ready.”

Greene sighed. “Here we go again.” Greene shook his head at the American. “You are crazy.”

“No, I am not.”

“You traveled all the way to Sutherland for a man. Of course, you are crazy.”

Vanessa scoffed, looking at West. “I say Blackwood and I are the same. He is traveling all the way back to Sutherland for his woman.”

“Not just a woman, Captain,” said Greene. “We are traveling back to save a kingdom.”

West turned to face the ocean again.

As much as he was proud to say he suffered the weeks of torture on a ship owned by Belcourt for the kingdom of Sutherland, West knew he was coming home for one reason.

And she better be there when he arrived.

Author’s Note

I just want to say thank you for being with me on this journey.

If you are not aware, I am editing the entire Town Series this year (because it’s about time I do that). Once that’s done, I plan to also edit the Sutherland Series. For now, I hope you can bear with the errors.

See you in the next book!

Best,

J.D. Ruiz (greenwriter)