The room was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outside—distant laughter, the occasional clatter of hooves on cobblestones, and the faint hum of a world that seemed so far removed from their current reality.

Selene stretched languidly, the silk sheets whispering against her skin. Beside her, Lord Alexander lay propped on one elbow, watching her with an expression that was a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

“Well,” Selene murmured, breaking the silence, “this wasn’t how I imagined the day would end.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she turned to face him, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Alexander chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Nor I,” he admitted. “Though I must say, sharing a chase through the markets with you was far more exhilarating than any duel or diplomatic meeting I’ve endured of late.”

Selene laughed softly, her gaze drifting to the faint bruise on his cheek—a souvenir from their earlier misadventure. “You handled yourself surprisingly well for someone who was just supposed to be picking up tea,” she teased.

“And you, my dear, are remarkably talented at turning a simple stroll into a life-or-death escapade,” Alexander countered, his tone dry but affectionate.

Their encounter earlier that day had started innocently enough. A chance meeting in the bustling market square had led to a shared drink, then a quiet walk, and finally a chaotic scramble when a gang of pickpockets decided to make Selene their mark. What the thieves hadn’t anticipated was that their mark was a rogue of no small skill—and that her companion had an exceptional talent for swordplay.

The memory of Alexander vaulting a cart to intercept one of their assailants made Selene grin. “I didn’t think you had that in you,” she said, lightly poking his shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow. “What, you thought a lord couldn’t be spry? You wound me, Selene.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice softening. “You just keep surprising me, Alexander.”

"The use of his first name caught him off guard, and his expression softened. 'As you continue to surprise me, Lady Selene of House Silvercrest.'"

Selene stiffened, her playful expression vanishing as if struck by an unseen force. Her lips parted, but no words came. For a moment, she seemed to weigh her options—deny it, deflect, or confront him head-on.

“You’re sharper than you look,” she finally said, her voice cool but edged with curiosity. “But I can’t decide if I’m flattered or annoyed that you’ve been digging into my past.”

Alexander sat up. “Annoyed, most likely. But flattered would be more accurate.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Selene's mouth. “So, how did you figure it out?”

He leaned forward, his tone taking on the measured cadence of someone presenting evidence in court. “At first, it was just… a feeling. The way you moved at the ball—the ease with which you navigated a sea of nobles, slipping into their ranks as though you belonged. It was seamless, effortless. Too seamless for someone without training.”

Selene’s smirk faltered, replaced by a guarded look. Her fingers idly traced the edge of the silk sheet as she studied Alexander’s face. “You’ve been busy,” she said coolly, though her voice betrayed a flicker of unease.

Alexander nodded, his expression thoughtful rather than triumphant. “I had to be. You’re not an easy woman to track down, Selene. At first, I wasn’t even certain I had the right name. But when I came across the records of Lord and Lady Silvercrest, I started to see the pieces fall into place.”

She arched an eyebrow, her voice sharp. “And what pieces were those?”

He shifted slightly, leaning closer as though he could feel the weight of her suspicion. “You, the youngest of six children, known for being clever, quick, and… shall we say, rebellious. A thorn in the side of tradition. And then I saw something else. Your grandmother.”

Selene’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

“Lady Freya,” Alexander continued. “The barbarian warrior who became a Lady of Artur. A legend in her own right, known for her unmatched skill in combat and her refusal to bend to anyone’s will—even as a noble. They said her blood ran with fire and steel. And so does yours, Selene.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the city beyond the velvet curtains. Selene’s eyes softened as she stared out the window, lost in thought. The soft flicker of the moonlight caught the lines of her face, giving her an almost ethereal quality. Her voice, when it came, was low and filled with a deep reverence.

“My grandmother was my hero,” she said, her gaze distant as she remembered. “She wasn’t just a warrior, she was a force of nature. I wanted to be like her. A barbarian warrior, feared and respected.”

Alexander remained silent, watching her with a blend of understanding and curiosity. He could see the faint shimmer of emotion in her eyes, a rawness that she didn’t often let show.

“But ironically,” Selene continued, “she was the one who told me that being a lady didn’t mean abandoning strength or spirit. It meant learning to harness them. She promised to teach me swordsmanship one day, but she also told me to focus on grace and refinement first. She said that would be the foundation for everything else—that strength isn’t just in the sword, but in how you carry yourself and move through the world.”

Selene's expression darkened, the flicker of sadness in her eyes deepening as the memories of that day resurfaced. Her gaze turned inward, as if she were tracing the painful edges of a wound that had never fully healed.

“That was the last advice she ever gave me,” she said softly. “She died that very day, after telling me that. It was... so sudden. I never had the chance to prove to her that I could be both—the warrior and the lady.”

Alexander didn’t speak at once, allowing her the space to gather her thoughts. He could see the weight of the loss in her posture, the subtle slump of her shoulders, the distant look in her eyes as she relived the pain of it all.

“I honored her in my own way,” Selene continued, the words flowing now, though heavy with the weight of the past. “I learned how to be a Lady of Artur, how to wear the titles and the silks, how to move with grace and speak with respect. I learned the art of diplomacy, the power of charm, the way to command a room without raising my voice.”

Selene paused, her chest rising with a deep breath, and she gave a faint, bittersweet smile. “It wasn’t easy to respect or love the life of a lady. The court, the rules, the endless expectations… But as I grew into it, I started to understand the quiet power in it. The way a woman can rule with both softness and steel. The way she can bend the world to her will, not with brute force, but with influence. And I find that I respect it. I even love it, in my own way. But I knew it was not the life I was meant to live.”

Alexander studied Selene’s face, her bittersweet smile and the flicker of defiance in her eyes. His voice was gentle but curious as he broke the silence.

"Why didn’t you follow in your grandmother’s footsteps and become the barbarian warrior you so admired?"

Selene’s expression shifted, her gaze hardening slightly. She pulled the silk sheet tighter around her as if it were a barrier against the vulnerability she had just revealed. Her lips curved into a wry smile, and her voice, when she spoke, was laced with irony.

“Oh, I planned to,” she said, her tone carrying a faint edge. “I spent years dreaming of the day I’d trade silk for steel, the ballroom for the battlefield. I trained in secret, honed my skills, and vowed to become the warrior she would have been proud of.”

She paused, her blue eyes narrowing as if recalling a memory that tasted bitter on her tongue. “But the God of Mischief had other plans.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “Antioch?”

Selene nodded. “The one and only. He found me at my most vulnerable, torn between the life I wanted and the one I was told I had to live. He came to me in disguise, as a rogue. Charming, clever, and utterly impossible to resist.”

Her voice softened, taking on a wistful quality as she continued. “He didn’t force me. He didn’t coerce me. He simply… saw me. Not as a noble, not as a warrior in training, but as someone torn between two worlds. And he offered me something I couldn’t refuse—a way to have both. To embrace the chaos and freedom of the rogue’s life, unbound by the expectations of society or the rigid codes of warriors.”

Alexander leaned forward, his interest piqued. “And you believed him?”

Selene laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Of course I did. That’s his gift, isn’t it? He makes you believe. He made me feel seen, understood, even loved. And I was young enough, foolish enough, to think I could handle whatever price came with his blessing.”

“What was the price?” Alexander asked, his voice low.

Selene’s smile faded, replaced by a shadow of regret. “Love,” she said simply. “He didn’t just trick me into the life of a rogue; he tricked me into loving him. Truly, deeply, maddeningly. And for a time, I thought it was worth it. But with Antioch, love is never simple. He’s a god of mischief, after all. His love is chaos, fleeting and unpredictable. It tears you apart and rebuilds you into something you never expected to be.”

“Here I am—Selene, the rogue. Not the noble lady my family wanted, nor the barbarian warrior I once dreamed of becoming. I walk the shadows, dance on the edge of chaos, and answer only to myself. Or at least, I try to.”

Alexander was silent for a moment, absorbing her words. Then he reached out, his fingers brushing hers in a gesture of quiet solidarity. “You’ve lived a life most could never dream of, Selene. And you’ve done it on your terms, even when the gods themselves tried to shape your destiny. That’s no small thing.”

Selene’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but her eyes remained guarded. “It’s not the life I envisioned, but it’s mine. And I’ve learned to make peace with that. Even if it means crossing paths with lords like you who ask far too many questions.”

Alexander chuckled softly. “Consider it a compliment. You’re not the sort of woman a man forgets, Selene.”

For the first time that night, a genuine smile broke through her defenses. “Good,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Because I don’t intend to be.”

Selene woke with a start, the cool forest air brushing against her skin. She blinked, disoriented, her heart racing as the remnants of the dream clung to her like a shroud. The image of Alexander’s teasing smile refusing to fade.

She sat up in her makeshift camp, the damp earth beneath her a stark contrast to the silken sheets of her dream. The fire she had lit earlier was now a bed of glowing embers, casting faint shadows around her. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of an owl. She tried to shake off the unsettling feeling that always followed the dream, which had grown more frequent since she had left behind her life as a rogue—and walked away from Antioch.

She rose slowly, stretching the stiffness from her limbs. The forest felt alive around her, the trees whispering secrets she couldn’t quite hear. She had chosen this solitude, seeking refuge from the chaos that had defined her life for so long. Yet, in moments like this, when the past bled into her dreams, she wondered if she could ever truly escape.

Selene cleared her camp with practiced efficiency. Once the fire was smothered and her belongings secured, she saddled her horse, a sleek, midnight-black mare she called Nyx.

The horse nickered softly as Selene stroked her neck. “You’re my only constant, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice tinged with affection and weariness. Nyx pawed the ground, as if in agreement.

 Selene mounted and guided Nyx onto the narrow trail. The earthy scent of the woods and the rhythmic clop of hooves against the dirt path helped ground her, the dream slipping further into the recesses of her mind.

As they descended into the valley, the first rays of dawn began to pierce the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold and crimson. The road ahead was uncertain, but Selene rode toward it.

The past might have shaped her, but it would not define her. And whatever lay ahead, she would meet it head-on, with grace and steel in equal measure.