Chapter 16

The discussion about Claire's contract would continue the following morning, leaving her with an evening to think. Royfield led her through the castle corridors to her assigned room in the west wing. Outwardly calm, Claire's thoughts were anything but settled. Her disguise, painstakingly crafted and maintained, had been seen through with disturbing ease by none other than the Lord of Arlecia, Baron Seth. The man she had written off as a simple tyrant had proven far more cunning than she'd anticipated.

When Royfield opened the door to her room, Claire's breath caught in her throat. She wasn't prepared for what awaited her.

The room was nothing short of magnificent. High ceilings adorned with intricate molding cast shadows under the soft glow of a crystal chandelier. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath her feet, while tall, velvet curtains draped elegantly around windows that offered a sweeping view of the castle gardens. In the center of the room stood a grand canopy bed, its frame carved from dark wood, draped in rich red and gold satin sheets. A faint scent of roses lingered in the air, subtle but unmistakable.

She stepped inside, her eyes sweeping over the elegant vanity, the delicate porcelain dolls, the vases of fresh roses scattered strategically around the room. The pastel-colored walls were adorned with floral patterns, and an inviting chaise lounge sat beside a bookshelf stocked with rare novels. Feminine, refined, and—oddly enough—exactly to her tastes.

Claire blinked, unable to shake her disbelief. How could this room be so perfectly suited to me?

Once Royfield had shown her everything, he excused himself with a polite nod, leaving Claire standing alone in the luxurious space. She remained still, staring at her surroundings, the strangeness of it all weighing on her.

This is too perfect. There's something off.

She wandered to the vanity, gently running her fingers across its smooth surface. The reflection in the mirror—a figure dressed as her brother, Clark, but standing in a room designed for the real Claire—only deepened the knot of confusion in her chest. How had Seth known her so well? Could it be that he'd anticipated her every move, even her tastes?

Sighing, she sat on the plush bed, sinking into its impossibly soft pillows. The mattress was a luxury she hadn't experienced in years. For a brief moment, Claire allowed herself to enjoy it. But as her head rested against the pillow, her thoughts returned to her brother, and the weight of her reality quickly set in again.

Could Lord Arlecia really have the cure for Clark's illness? she wondered, staring at the ornately carved ceiling. Or is this all some elaborate trick?

She had initially planned to gather information about the Black Death treatment and leave as soon as possible—hit and run. But now, it seemed impossible. Seth had known who she was from the moment she arrived. He had even known her real name before she had spoken it aloud.

How does he know so much?

The thought troubled her. She had walked into this situation thinking she held some semblance of control, but now she felt as though she had fallen into a carefully laid trap. Was the job advertisement just a lure? she thought, her brows furrowing.

Shaking her head, she stood and paced the room, the soft click of her boots against the marble floor echoing in the quiet. "I need fresh air," she muttered to herself. The room, for all its comfort, felt stifling.

Claire left the room in search of clarity, hoping the cool night air would offer her a moment to think without the looming shadow of Seth's unsettling presence.

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The moon hung high in the sky as Claire wandered through the castle grounds, her thoughts as turbulent as ever. The breeze rustling through the trees was cool, but it did little to calm her mind. She had no time to waste—her brother's life was slipping away with every passing day. Yet, the decision before her felt impossible. Should she trust Seth? Should she stay, risking everything, or leave and search for another answer?

As she walked, the sharp clang of metal clashing against metal pulled her from her thoughts. The sound was unmistakable—swords.

Who would be training at this hour? she wondered.

Her curiosity piqued, Claire followed the sound until she arrived at the training grounds. The sight that greeted her made her pause.

Under the moon's pale light, a lone figure with fiery red hair moved with practiced precision, his sword cutting through the air with deadly accuracy. His movements were fluid, like water, each strike and parry perfectly controlled. Sweat glistened on his skin, catching the moonlight and giving him an almost ethereal glow.

It was the knight from earlier.

Claire's breath caught in her throat as she watched him. There was something captivating about the way he moved—so focused, so deliberate. His red hair, shimmering in the light, made him look almost like a creature of legend.

But as she watched, something else caught her attention—his movements were too smooth, too fast. There was an almost unnatural grace to them, as though he wasn't entirely human. She blinked, realizing she was holding her breath. Could it be? Was there something more to this knight than just his impressive swordsmanship?

Before she could dwell on it, the knight stopped mid-swing, his amber eyes locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Claire's heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening under the weight of his attention.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They simply stared at one another, the silence between them thick with tension.

Claire finally managed to stammer, "S-sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt your training." Her voice shook, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Aiden, his expression calm and unreadable, sheathed his sword with a practiced motion. His deep, husky voice broke the silence, sending another shiver through her. "It's fine. I was just about finished, miss."

Miss. Claire's eyes widened in surprise. "How... how did you know?" she whispered, her heart racing.

Aiden offered a faint smile, almost amused. "My sense of scent is sharp. You don't smell like a man."

Claire's face turned scarlet. What did that even mean? She had spent years perfecting her disguise as Clark, but now it seemed all her efforts were pointless in the presence of this man. Her thoughts were a jumble, and her nerves only worsened as Aiden took a step closer.

His eyes softened with concern as he studied her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quieter now. Without hesitation, he reached out and placed a hand on her forehead.

The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through Claire's body. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it. "N-no, I'm fine!" she blurted out, stepping back quickly. Her face was burning, and she could hardly form coherent thoughts.

"I... I just need to go!" she added, her voice shaking. Without waiting for a response, she turned and fled, her footsteps echoing in the still night air.

Aiden watched her retreat, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Did she... need to use the bathroom?" he muttered, genuinely confused. Shaking his head, he returned to his training, though his thoughts occasionally drifted back to the strange encounter.

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Claire stormed back to her room, her cheeks still flushed from the encounter. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Aaaa, just what is wrong with me?" she groaned, pacing the room. The memory of Aiden's touch—his hand resting gently on her forehead—kept replaying in her mind, and every time it did, her heart skipped a beat.

"Why am I getting nervous like this? I shared a dorm with guys at the academy and never felt anything like this!" she muttered, throwing herself onto the bed and grabbing a pillow to press against her face.

She lay there for a moment, her thoughts spinning in every direction. I need to focus. I came here to save Clark. That's what matters.

But the image of Aiden, his calm amber eyes and gentle touch, refused to leave her mind. Why is this so different? she thought, frustration building inside her.

Is he more handsome than the men in the capital? a voice inside her head teased.

"Well, he's more manly," she muttered to herself, flipping over onto her back. "Better than His Highness, that's for sure. That prick's personality ruined his looks."

A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself, but her expression quickly turned serious again.

"I think I've made up my mind," she whispered to the ceiling. "I'll accept Lord Arlecia's offer. Whatever the job entails, I'll do it. As long as it helps Clark."

A faint smile returned to her lips as she thought back to Aiden. "If I meet him again... I'll ask his name."

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Elsewhere, in a room adorned with the trappings of royalty, a man lounged in a night robe, sipping fine wine. His golden hair, still damp from a late swim, fell across his shoulders. The sapphire-blue eyes behind his glass sparkled as he stared into the distance.

For a moment, he paused, feeling the faintest whisper of air brush against his ear.

"Did someone just curse my name?" he murmured, a lazy smile curling his lips. He swirled the wine in his glass, setting it down as he leaned back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes.

His smile widened, a mix of curiosity and dark intrigue playing across his face. "Interesting…" he mused, reclining deeper into the plush comfort of his chair, as if waiting for the next piece of the game to fall into place.