When Mr. and Mrs. Covet returned with the rolls, Marie had somehow managed to convince Scarlett to get a croissant. It was all she felt she could stomach, but she knew the Covets made the best ones north of Moshtain—flaky, warm, and impossible to match anywhere else.

"Are you sure that's all you want, Scarlett, dear?" Mrs. Covet asked, brows creased as she watched her fold the pastry into a handkerchief. "That’s hardly a treat. More like breakfast. Why not pick something special?"

"But it’s got chocolate on it, see?" Scarlett held it up with a hopeful grin. "That’s sweet—so technically, it counts as a treat."

Mrs. Covet shook her head with a fond huff. "You young ladies and your diets. Can’t get a lick of sugar in you, can we?"

Scarlett rolled her eyes affectionately. "Just place all of it on our tab. We'll be back after we visit a few more shops." She picked up the basket, noticeably heavier with the added rolls.

"Oh, wait!" Mr. Covet pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She took the small cloth bag, carefully opening it with her free hand to reveal cookies. "Thank you, sir, but you really shouldn't have." She readjusted the basket in her arms and smiled at him.

"Nonsense, love. Give 'em to some of your friends if you see 'em around. Or, just have 'em for yerself." He winked at her.

She couldn't help but laugh, pocketing the cookies with her croissant. "Thank you, sir. I'll see if the Abbot girls are out when we pass their house. I'm sure they'd want some."

She had to admit—she might take a few for herself anyway. They were her favorite kind, and the Covet's were the only people she knew who made them. Soft, sweet, and made with almonds.

Despite the pit in her stomach and the unusually rough start to her day, it felt like things were leveling out to be normal. She had a good feeling about the rest of her afternoon.

"Here, let me get the door for you." He rushed ahead, holding it open as she carefully waddled through. "Are your parents back yet?" he asked, glancing around as they stepped outside. His eyes swept over the market, searching.

"There they are," she said, spotting them a few stores down. They were deep in conversation with another couple. When they finally looked over and saw her, her mother gave her a gentle wave.

"Thank you again, Mr. Covet," Scarlett said, adjusting the basket in her arms.

"Let me take that for you while we wait. It looks a bit too heavy," he offered, hovering nervously at her side.

She chuckled at his concern. "I’m fine. Besides, with the way my father describes me to potential employers, you'd think I had the strength of the gods. I should be just—"

Her words trailed off. Something across the street caught her eye.

A young man was pointing—at her. She turned her head, following his gesture. That’s when she saw them. Uniformed guards—six, maybe more—marching straight toward her. At first, she blinked in confusion.

Then her stomach dropped.

Harmon?

There was only one reason she could think of for royal guards to be looking for her.

Something had happened to Harmon. Something bad.

The thought slammed into her like a wall. Her breath caught, her body locking in place as panic swept through her in a cold wave.

Her mind raced.

When was the last time she’d spoken to Harmon?

Just a quick goodbye as he left the house—a hug, a promise to write soon. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And the last letter? Two weeks ago? Maybe longer. A month?

Surely she would’ve noticed if something had been off… wouldn’t she?

Obviously not if royal guards were looking for her.

"Ma'am? Are you Scarlett Dominique?" A tall guard with a gruff voice asked.

"Yes," her voice came out in an embarrassing squeak. Luckily for her, Mr. Covet had already pushed her behind him.

"Excuse me, but is there something I can help you with?" He somehow managed to make his voice even lower and gruffer than the guards.

"Are you her legal guardian, sir?" The guard asked, unflinching.

"And what if I am?" Mr. Covet stayed stock-still, immovable.

"This girl needs to come with us." He reached out a hand for her, ignoring Mr. Covet entirely.

Fortunately, the Dominiques seemed to have noticed the commotion and were rushing over. She could hardly register them while her mind was still reeling.

"Are you here about Harmon?" She moved in front of Mr. Covet despite his attempts to keep her back.

For the first time, the guards betrayed a flicker of emotion. The lead officer's brow furrowed as he glanced back at his comrades, all wearing the same puzzled expression, like she had done something so wildly unexpected. His gaze settled on Scarlett’s worried face, and the hard edge in his eyes softened, but just barely.

“No. You’ll need to come with us,” he said, his voice still low and clipped.

“Excuse me, but what is going on here?” Mr. Dominique’s voice rang out as he marched toward them.

“Are you her legal guardian, sir?” The guard’s tone didn’t shift.

“I am her father, yes,” he said stiffly, casting a quick glance at Scarlett. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m afraid your daughter must come with us.”

She didn’t like the way the word daughter sounded coming from the guard—like it didn’t quite belong to her. As if it were a borrowed title, ill-fitting and fragile, improperly bestowed upon her. Like he knew. Like they all knew she wasn’t really their daughter. That only worsened the chill working its way up her spine.

Do they know? Her mind rattled. How much do they know about me? And why?

"Wait—what?" Her mind and body reconnected, sparking her back just as one of the guards reached out to grab her. She recoiled, heart slamming against her ribs. Her breath ripped from her lungs.

The guard’s grip closed around her arm, firm and unyielding. His expression was just as cold and firm as his grip. “Please come with us.”

She gasped, feeling her body being jerked forward, but her mind lagged behind her. Her limbs felt disconnected—uncooperative and useless. She stumbled like a ragdoll, more dragged than led.

“Hey!” Mr. Covet’s voice cracked like thunder. His large hand clamped around her other arm, firm but protective. “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing with her?” She had never heard him yell like that. Scratch that—she had never heard him yell at all. He had a booming voice, one that nearly froze the guard pulling her.

"Unhand her!" Her father surged forward—only to stop short as two guards stepped in, blocking his path like a solid wall. His angry expression faltered as he took a small step back.

"Jacob?" Mrs. Dominique clutched his arm, her voice tight with panic. Her eyes darted to Scarlett, wide and pleading, the desperation etched into her face like cracks in glass.

Scarlett froze. She had never seen that expression on her mother’s face before. It chilled her to the bone.

"John? What’s happening?" Mrs. Covet rushed out from the bakery, wiping her hands on her apron, breath catching in her throat.

"Nothing, love. Just keep Marie inside." Mr. Covet didn’t look back. His eyes stayed locked on the guard, his jaw clenched, his voice like steel barely sheathed.

"Please come with me, miss," the guard holding her said. His voice was calm—unreasonably so, like he was asking her for directions instead of dragging her away.

"You cannot just take my daughter!" Her father’s cane slammed against the ground with a sharp crack. "At least tell us what this is about. She’s done nothing wrong."

"I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not authorized to share that information." The guard raised a hand, his tone rehearsed and flat, like he’d said the same line a hundred times.

"Sir, please let go," said the one gripping Scarlett, casting a warning glance at Mr. Covet.

"Like hell I will." Mr. Covet tightened his grip ever so slightly. His voice was low and steady despite the dangerous flare in his eyes. “Scarlett, get inside. Go to Joanna. Now.”

She tried to obey, to move, but the guard still had her. She twisted, her limbs sluggish, her breath too shallow. Her movement betrayed her wish to escape, a pathetic attempt to free herself. Her mind screamed at her to try, but her body felt suspended—quite literally trapped between two forces.

She felt Mr. Covet give a slight tug on her arm, and for a moment it seemed like the guard might let her go. Then his grip went tense before quickly loosening.

"John!" Mrs. Covet’s voice cracked through the air. Her hands were outstretched but frozen.

She turned—and that’s when she saw it. A blade.

Just inches from Mr. Covet’s throat, gleaming in the sunlight, the sword hovered with chilling precision. The polished steel shimmered, casting flickers of light across his collar. He didn’t flinch, but his eyes betrayed him—wide, frightened, and locked on the blade’s edge.

"Please," the guard said, voice disturbingly temperate, "don’t make a scene."

Mr. Covet’s hands dropped to his sides. The blade lowered just as silently as it had risen, resting at the guard’s hip. He exhaled shakily and took a cautious step back, allowing his wife to slip in beside him and grab his arm.

Scarlett stiffened as the guard resumed pulling her back. At some point, a carriage had arrived, but in the whirlwind of panic and shouting, she hadn’t fully registered it. Suddenly the open door loomed in front of her like a gaping mouth waiting to swallow her whole.

Her heels dragged slightly against the dirt. She resisted—just enough to feel like she was still in control.

“Sir?” she choked out, eyes locking on Mr. Dominique, a desperate glimmer in her expression.

His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, sweat beading on his brow. “Scarlett… stop.”
The calmness in his voice was all wrong. It made her stomach lurch.

"Jacob?” Mrs. Dominique whispered, torn between them, her voice trembling.

“No! Stop!” Her panic surged as she was shoved toward the carriage. Her shoulder hit the doorframe hard, and her eyes darted between the familiar faces around her, looking for something that might mercifully help her.

“Please, I don’t want to!” She looked at her father—begging like a child, knowing it was useless but unable to stop herself.

“Scarlett.” His voice hardened. But there was a tremble in it. A crack.

Her heart plummeted. Her body went slack, and the guard used the moment to shove her the rest of the way inside. She hit the carriage floor with a dull thud, her head snapping against the wooden boards. If fear hadn’t consumed her, she might’ve been embarrassed.

“Sorry, miss,” the guard said quietly, something soft flashing behind his eyes. He reached for the door.

She blinked up at him, startled by the glimpse of sympathy. But behind him, she saw her father.

“Father?” Her voice broke, small and shaking, raw with disbelief.

What shattered her wasn’t that he didn’t respond—it was the way his expression collapsed. His mouth opened like he might call out, but no words came. As the door started to close, he broke past the guards. None of them stopped him. They didn’t need to. They all knew—there was nothing he could do. Only a flash of desperation and the instinctive reach of his hand—

The door slammed shut.