Lilia's second visit came announced this time, with a cheerful letter arriving three days in advance declaring her intention to "properly interrogate you about your love life." I'd laughed reading it, then immediately felt my face heat thinking about what I might confess.

  She arrived in a flurry of energy and expensive perfume, sweeping into my room like she owned it. "Alright," she said, settling onto my bed with the ease of long friendship. "Spill. Everything. I want details."

  "There's nothing to—"

  "Eliana Sylvia, don't you dare lie to your best friend." She pointed an accusatory finger at me. "Your letters have been absolutely dripping with pining. 'Lord Alexander was so thoughtful today.' 'Lord Alexander showed me something fascinating.' I practically need a towel to wipe up all the yearning."

  Heat flooded my cheeks. "I don't sound like that."

  "You absolutely do. It's adorable." She patted the bed beside her. "Now sit down and tell me everything. And I mean everything—how you feel, what he's said, whether he's kissed you yet."

  "Lilia!"

  "What? It's a reasonable question between friends." Her grin was unrepentant. "So? Has he?"

  "No." I sank onto the bed beside her, unable to maintain my defensive posture. "We've... there have been moments. Close moments. But nothing like that."

  "But you want there to be."

  It wasn't a question. I covered my burning face with my hands. "Is it that obvious?"

  "Only to someone who knows you." She tugged my hands down gently. "Eliana, there's nothing wrong with wanting someone. Especially someone as objectively attractive and kind as Lord Alexander. Half the women in the capital would kill to be in your position."

  "It's not just attraction." The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I mean, yes, he's attractive. But it's more than that. It's the way he trusts me with his research, the way he listens when I explain concepts from my past life. The way he looks at me sometimes, like I'm... important. Precious."

  Lilia's expression softened. "You're in love with him."

  "I..." I wanted to deny it, but what was the point? "Yes. I think I am."

  "Oh, honey." She pulled me into a hug. "That's wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful. Does he know?"

  "I don't think so. I haven't said anything."

  "Has he?"

  I thought about all those moments—the almost-confessions, the interrupted sentences, the way his hand would find mine when we were alone. "Not in so many words. But I think... I think he might feel the same way."

  "Of course he does." Lilia pulled back, her expression knowing. "Eliana, I've seen the way that man looks at you. At the evening gathering, during that dance—he couldn't take his eyes off you. And not just in an appreciative way. He was looking at you like you were the only person in the room."

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  My heart did that familiar skip-stutter. "Really?"

  "Really. Trust me on this. I'm an expert observer of romantic tension." She grinned. "So what are you waiting for? Tell him how you feel."

  "I can't just—Lilia, it's complicated. There are things happening, research and dangers and—"

  "There are always complications." She took my hands seriously. "But life is short, and love is rare. If you feel this way about him, and he feels the same way about you, then the complications can be worked through together. Isn't that better than hiding how you feel and wondering what might have been?"

  I thought about Alexander in the garden, almost saying something important before stopping himself. About the weight of his curse and the secrets he carried. "What if telling him makes things harder? What if it adds pressure he doesn't need?"

  "Or," Lilia countered, "what if it gives him something to fight for? A reason beyond just survival?" She squeezed my hands. "You don't have to decide right now. But think about it. And in the meantime, just... let yourself be happy. You deserve that."

  ---

  We spent the afternoon in easier conversation—gossip about the capital, stories about Lilia's romantic misadventures, speculation about the upcoming season. But her words stayed with me, circling in my mind like persistent birds.

  Was she right? Should I tell Alexander how I felt?

  At dinner, the three of us—me, Lilia, and Alexander—shared a surprisingly comfortable meal. Lilia was her usual charming self, asking Alexander about his research with genuine interest, drawing him out on topics I knew he rarely discussed with outsiders.

  And I watched the way he smiled at her questions, the way he glanced at me when sharing particularly interesting details, as if checking that I was following along. As if my understanding mattered more than anyone else's. For a breath, his gaze drifted to a portrait of Lucia hanging on the far wall; his face flickered with something like loss and regret before he quickly masked it.

  "You're staring," Lilia whispered when Alexander briefly excused himself.

  "I am not."

  "You are. And it's sweet. He does it too, when you're not looking."

  Before I could respond, Alexander returned, and the moment passed. But Lilia's words hummed beneath my awareness for the rest of the evening.

  ---

  Later, after Alexander had retired and Lilia and I were preparing for bed, she brought it up again.

  "I like him," she announced, brushing her hair. "For you, I mean. He's smart without being condescending, powerful without being arrogant. And the way he looks at you..." She sighed dramatically. "I want someone to look at me like that someday."

  "You will." I sat beside her on the bed. "You're amazing, Lilia. Someone will see that."

  "Maybe. But we're talking about you right now." She set down her brush, turning serious. "Eliana, I've known you since we were children. I've never seen you this... alive. This engaged with your life. He's good for you. Whatever else is happening, that's worth holding onto."

  "Even if it's scary?"

  "Especially then. The best things usually are." She bumped her shoulder against mine. "Just promise me you'll think about what I said. About telling him. Life's too short for regrets."

  I promised, though I wasn't sure I meant it.

  But lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about it. About Alexander's hand in mine. About the way he'd called me precious. About all the things left unsaid between us.

  Maybe Lilia was right. Maybe hiding how I felt was the real risk, not admitting it.

  Or maybe I was just a coward who'd rather wonder than face possible rejection.

  Either way, something would have to change soon. The feelings were getting too big to keep contained, and I'd never been good at hiding things that mattered.

  Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow I'd decide what to do.

  But for tonight, I'd just let myself feel it—this vast, terrifying, wonderful thing called love.

  And hope that somehow, it would all work out.