The carriage rattled softly through the cobbled streets of the Inner Rim. Moonlight spilled over the rooftops, pale and distant.

  I slumped against the window, coat collar turned up, cap pulled low. My arm was wrapped in strips of torn fabric under my coat - hastily bound, soaked through but holding. The bleeding had slowed. The dizziness hadn't.

  Still, I was thankful.

  Thankful the Garden of Yarrow had been in the Inner Rim close to my apartment, and not the Outer Rim or the Nobility District. Any farther, and I would've had to arrive in front of Mary in a blood-covered suit.

  The driver glanced at me through the small mirror above the reins. "You all right there, sir? You look pale."

  "I'm fine," I muttered, which was only true in the technical sense.

  The man hummed, unconvinced. "Heading to Saint Patrick's Cathedral at this hour is quite unorthodox. You a clergyman?"

  I hesitated before replying. "Not yet. But soon."

  He smiled faintly, the kind of gentle, aging smile you only saw in men who believed they'd already lived their best years. "Good to hear. Youth these days - always chasing drink and coin. Nice to know someone's still got faith in something greater than himself."

  "Mm," I said, looking out the window. "Faith. Very important."

  He chuckled softly. "Her Highness, the Seventh Princess, lives there, you know. A blessing on this city, she is. With all the trouble lately, it's proof the Almighty hasn't forgotten us. Nor His Majesty."

  "Yeah," I murmured, more to myself than him. "You're probably right."

  Though in truth, I didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

  The rest of the ride passed in silence.

  ---

  The Cathedral loomed out of the mist like a white monolith - its spires reaching high enough to scrape the moonlight. Even at this hour, faint hymns echoed within, sung by the sleepless faithful.

  I stepped down from the carriage, boots meeting cold marble, and walked up the stairs.

  Each step felt heavier than the last.

  When I knocked, the sound barely carried. A moment later, the door opened just enough for a figure to emerge - white cloak, hood drawn low, face unseen.

  "Ah," the man said, voice soft and formal. "You're expected. But it's late. If Her Highness has retired, you'll have to wait until morning."

  "I understand," I said, forcing myself to stand straighter.

  He nodded and gestured me inside. The Cathedral was colder than I remembered - vast, echoing, filled with the smell of candle wax and sanctified dust. Statues watched from the shadows, their eyes blind but knowing.

  I waited near the entrance, doing my best to appear composed as sweat ran cold down my spine. The dizziness was worse now - each heartbeat a drum behind my eyes.

  Finally, the priest returned. "She'll see you," he said. "This way."

  ---

  Her chamber door stood half-open, soft light spilling from within.

  The priest stepped inside first. "Your Highness, Damian has arrived."

  "Let him in," came her voice.

  The priest bowed his head and withdrew, leaving me at the threshold.

  Mary sat before her vanity, brushing her hair. The candlelight caught in the gold strands, spilling warmth across the room. She turned slightly as I entered, the brush slowing.

  "Damian," she said, her tone gentle but uncertain. "You came."

  "Yeah," I said, my voice quieter than I expected. "Sorry for the hour."

  The door closed softly behind me.

  Mary set the brush down, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Is this about my offer?" she asked, her voice nervous, hesitant.

  I didn't wait.

  "I accept."

  Her eyes widened - hope blooming across her face like sunlight. "Truly? You mean it?"

  I nodded, though the room was starting to tilt around the edges. "Yes, so please…"

  The next word tangled in my throat. I stumbled forward, vision going white.

  "…help me."

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  My knees hit the floor. The world folded into black.

  ---

  When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at a ceiling gilded with faint silver stars.

  I knew the pattern. The same stars lined Mary's ceiling. The scent of herbs and rosewater lingered in the air.

  I sat up too quickly. Pain didn't come - just weakness, heavy and slow. I felt my shoulder - no bandages, no wounds.

  Mary sat in the corner, shoulders trembling as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. She looked… tired. More tired than I'd ever seen her.

  "Hey," I said softly. "You all right?"

  She looked up, startled, then smiled faintly. Her eyes were red - not from exhaustion, but from something else.

  Realization hit me like a knife.

  "Shit," I muttered. "I'm sorry for making you do this."

  She smiled, voice hoarse but steady. "Let this be my thanks - for accepting my offer. It's the least I can do for one of my followers."

  "Still," I said, guilt threading through my voice, "it's cruel to make you go through such a thing. I truly am sorry."

  Mary didn't answer. She only smiled again, weary but composed, and took the stool beside my bed. "If you are sorry, then you'll answer me honestly."

  Her eyes changed. Warmth vanished - replaced by something cold and sharp. A princess now, not a friend.

  "Who did this to you?"

  I hesitated, then met her gaze. "I got it from the Garden of Yarrow."

  Mary blinked, golden lashes catching the candlelight. "The Garden of Yarrow?" she echoed softly. "I saw soldiers and medical workers rushing in that direction. What happened?"

  "There was an assassination attempt," I said. My voice came out flat, too tired for anything else. "Judge Arken was the target. Many died." I hesitated, eyes lowering. "I was there on… personal matters. Got involved."

  Mary's eyes widened, and for a moment, light poured through her pupils - golden, divine, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Her voice teetering between fear and authority. "You weren't… one of them, were you?"

  "No." I met her gaze steadily. "I wasn't."

  The glow dimmed at once, her shoulders relaxing. "Good," she whispered, almost to herself. "That's… another political assassination attempt in the city. This isn't good."

  "Yeah," I said, sinking back against the headboard. "Didn't seem like heretics either. So the Regent probably won't impose martial law again - but still, political violence on this scale… it's bad news."

  Mary nodded slowly, the lines of her face drawn with thought. "It's usually quiet killings - poisoned wine, bad staircases, accidental falls. This is different." She paused, studying me. "What were you doing there, Damian?"

  I looked down. "I can't say."

  Her brows furrowed. "Can't? Or won't?"

  "Can't," I said quietly, shaking my head. "I'm sorry."

  Mary exhaled through her nose, her eyes narrowing slightly in annoyance. "So let me make sure I understand this. You show up bleeding at my door, I heal you - which hurts, by the way - and now you're asking me to keep a secret I have no obligation to keep, without even telling me why it's a secret?"

  "Correct," I said, smiling bitterly. "It's selfish of me."

  Her gaze hardened. "Was it Arthur who sent you?"

  For a moment, my mind blanked.

  "…What?"

  Her voice turned sharp. "Did Arthur do this to you?"

  "No." I said instantly.

  The golden light flared behind her eyes - and then dimmed. She leaned back, expression softening slightly. "You're not lying. I suppose that will have to do. I'll let you off the hook for now."

  I let out a slow breath. "Thank you."

  "Don't thank me yet," she said, her eyes complicated. "If someone as proud as you is willing to carry this much guilt to keep a secret, it must be something I'm not meant to know. Not yet, at least."

  I smiled bitterly. "You're not wrong."

  Mary's expression gentled, though her words carried steel. "Then I'll postpone this. Not forgive it. Postpone it. Because if we're to trust each other, Damian - eventually, no secrets can remain between us."

  I nodded slowly. "Understood. I'll make it up to you."

  Her lips curved faintly into a smile. "Good. You're lucky I'm in a generous mood tonight. You're officially part of my faction now - and my Ecclesiarchal assistant. So I guess I'll be the bigger person."

  I grimaced. "Even the title sounds terrifying."

  She laughed lightly, rolling her eyes. "You're dramatic."

  "I'm observant," I countered. "You don't seem to like Arthur much."

  Mary's expression cooled again. "I don't trust him."

  "Seems the only people you do trust are me and your uncle," I said with a faint smile. "That's… not a low bar, is it?"

  She gave a small laugh. "Maybe not. But something about Arthur unsettled me that night. In the forest, he seemed to... already know."

  I nodded grimly. "I thought so too."

  For a while, the room fell quiet again - the candlelight soft, the air heavy with the scent of incense.

  Then I asked, carefully, "This room. Is it like your garden?"

  Mary blinked, surprised. "Do you mean monitored? No. My uncle personally inspected it. He wanted to ensure I had privacy from both the Church and the Crown."

  I leaned back against the pillow, relief slipping through the exhaustion. "Good. Because no matter what, no one should know about my injuries. The only people who can know are people I trust - okay?"

  She studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly - smiling. "I understand. Your secret is safe with me."

  She scratched her cheek, eyes averting slightly in embarrassment. "After all, that's what friends do - right?"

  I stared at her in silence, my mind churning with a mix of guilt and slight amusement.

  This princess… she's a Veilwalker, a future Saintess of the Empire… and somehow she's this simple? There's no way all she wanted was a friend. Right?

  The thought made me grimace softly.

  I feel even guiltier now. I was going to turn her offer down originally and disappear if not for the Regent.

  Mary's voice pulled me back. "Anyway, the capital's going to be wonderful this time of year. I'll have to show you around once we're settled - oh, you'll love it, Damian. You'll see things that make your countryside look like an afterthought."

  "Mm," I said, faintly amused. "I'll take your word for it."

  She went on, lighthearted again - talking about music, palaces, the new gardens blooming by the Emperor's square. I didn't say much, just listened. Her voice filled the room, warm and alive, a sound I hadn't realized I'd missed until now.

  And for the first time in a while, I didn't mind the silence between her words.

  I don't hate her company, I thought. Maybe friend was a bit of premature, but I wouldn't actively try to avoid her now - and that was a lot coming from me.

  Though I still felt guilty for keeping so many things from her.

  Sorry, Mary, for keeping so many secrets. But any wrong move could spell my death. You'll have to bear with me a little longer."

  A knock came at the door. "Your Highness," a voice murmured from the hall, "it's time for rest."

  Mary straightened, the light in her eyes softening back into saintly composure. "Take Damian to one of the spare rooms," she said, her tone smooth and formal. Then she turned to me, her smile returning. "He'll sleep here tonight. After all…"

  Her eyes glinted with quiet pride. "He's officially my Ecclesiarchal assistant."

  The man outside hesitated, then murmured, "As you wish."

  I pushed myself up carefully, giving Mary a small nod. "Goodnight, Your Highness."

  "Goodnight, Damian," she said warmly.

  As I followed the priest down the quiet corridor, I could still feel her gaze at my back - soft, unwavering, painfully kind.

  And undeserving.

  It lingered long after the door closed.