The streets of Ravenrow’s upper district were alive with chatter, the smell of bread and ink, the glint of jewelry, and the rustle of cloaks brushing against cobblestones. Mer stepped down from the carriage with a graceful ease that belied the purpose burning in her chest.

Behind her, a female knight followed silently, armor glinting beneath a cloak. Her presence was subtle, but Mer could feel the weight of her gaze.

She turned.

“What is your name?”

The knight straightened. “Vivi, madam.”

Mer nodded once. “Dame Vivi, Do you know where I can find a mana stone shop?”

“Yes, madam. There is one not far from here.”

Vivi led her to a luxurious storefront with tall glass windows and a gold-etched sign. The moment Mer stepped inside, the manager recognized her and practically leapt to her side with practiced reverence.

Glass cases lined the walls, displaying mana stones of varying cuts—smooth, jagged, carved into pendants and staffs. Blue, green, violet, ember-red. She examined them all.

But something was missing.

None of them sang.

They stepped back out into the sunlit street. Just then, a young girl brushed past Mer, laughing as she darted through the crowd.

Mer’s breath caught.

Energy.

Not powerful, not flashy—but pure.

“Wait,” Mer said.

She gently stopped the girl and gestured to the bracelet on her wrist. A small mana stone glimmered among the woven threads.

“Where did you get that?” Mer asked.

The girl pointed toward a smaller alleyway. “Down there. Near the corner bakery.”

Mer smiled and handed her a silver coin. “Thank you.”

---

The shop was nothing like the one before. No glass towers. No grand enchantments. Just shelves made of reclaimed wood, and a low, dusty counter with small accessories on display.

Mana stones—tiny ones, set into rings and hairpins—sat neatly beneath the glass. And near the corner of the room, something caught Mer’s eye.

A small aquarium. Fish swam lazily through crystal-clear water. At the bottom—mana stones, nestled among smooth pebbles.

Next to it, a miniature flowering bush, rooted in a shallow bowl of earth. Half-buried in the soil were more stones, catching soft glimmers of natural light.

She knelt, touching one of the stones gently.

Warm. Calm. Alive.

The energy wasn’t just clean—it was sustainable. Self-replenishing.

Footsteps sounded from behind the curtain. A middle-aged man emerged, wiping his hands on a soot-stained apron.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said, voice warm. “Had to fix a ring setting. I’m Frederick.”

Mer stood. “I’m fascinated by your display. You’re letting the stones stay near living things?”

Frederick smiled. “Simple idea, really. Mana stones are from the earth. Like any living thing, they respond better to being near other life. The cleaner the environment, the more efficiently they restore themselves. Stronger. More stable. Less waste.”

Mer blinked, then smiled wide.

“That's… incredible. That means your stones last longer. Recharge. You're not just selling magic—you’re changing how we treat it.”

He looked slightly embarrassed, scratching the back of his head. “Well, I don’t know about all that. Just thought it was worth a try.”

Mer offered her hand.

“Marianne Lance. Duchess of Ravenrow.”

Frederick’s eyes widened. “Oh—madam, I didn’t—”

“I’d like to invest in your work.”

He blinked, stunned.

“I believe this method could change the industry,” she continued, her voice steady. “I’m not just here as a noble. I’m a researcher, too. And you’ve just given me something I’ve never seen in a textbook.”

She glanced back at the flower bush. “You’ve brought magic back to where it belongs.”

---

The fire in the hearth crackled gently as Mer sat cross-legged on their bed, brushing her damp hair behind one ear. Cecil leaned against the headboard, arms folded, listening as she spoke.

“…and his name’s Frederick,” she said, eyes glinting. “His method makes the stones last longer, even recharge. All from staying close to natural energy.”

Cecil didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t nod.

Just listened.

His face unreadable.

She paused, watching him. “You look grim.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down at his hands. “You really don’t have to do anything, Mer.”

Her brow furrowed. “So… what should I do then?”

She crawled toward him, slow and feline, until she was lying across his chest, her chin resting just over his heart.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, fingers brushing gently against her back, he murmured, “Just stay.”

She looked up at him, amused.

“Oh? You want me clinging to you all day and night?”

“That sounds great,” he said, deadpan—but there was a trace of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

She laughed, low and teasing. “You're possessive.”

He stilled.

The smile vanished.

She tilted her head. “You want to own me?”

He didn’t respond—but the way his jaw tensed spoke volumes.

She slid herself up, straddling his hips, the moonlight catching on her bare shoulders as she pulled her nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor.

His breath hitched.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, warm against his skin.

“Then do it.”

That broke him.

Cecil sat up fast, one hand behind her neck, the other at her waist as he kissed her with sudden, unrestrained hunger. He turned, pressing her down against the sheets, his body hovering over hers.

She shrieked with laughter, breathless, thrilled.

Her legs wrapped around his waist.

And then there were no more questions—only heat, movement, and mouths seeking something deeper than words.

---

"I'm here."  

"I love you."  

"I want you."  

"Hug me."  

"Kiss me."

Her voice—those words—echoed in Cecil's mind, soft as whispers and sharp as glass. They clung to him like a fever.

His thumb brushed over the curve of her brow. She was asleep, lashes fluttering lightly against her cheek. The sheets were tangled around her hips, and love bites—his—bloomed faintly across her pale skin like wildflowers claiming their space.

He watched her breathe.

Maybe everything will be okay.

He closed his eyes.

But his mind betrayed him.

The memory rose—unbidden, searing.

Mer, broken and still, sprawled on the marble floor at the bottom of the staircase. Blood spreading like a dark stain beneath her golden hair. Her arm twisted unnaturally. Her lips parted as if to speak, but silent.

He had stood frozen—heart empty, lungs unwilling.

That night, when the healers came, when the castle filled with panicked footsteps and shaking voices, he had raged.

He had wanted to kill the architect who designed those stairs.

He had dragged every maid and butler on duty to the dungeon and left them there for weeks—without trial, without question. Just to do something. Just to punish the world for letting her fall.

She stirred beside him.

He opened his eyes and pulled her closer.

Mer smiled in her sleep.

And then—slowly—spread her legs in invitation, as if her body remembered even before she fully woke.

Cecil moved over her, kissed her gently. She gasped when he entered her, breath catching, voice hoarse with sleep and want.

She called his name, barely above a whisper.

"As long as she’s here."

She moaned softly, her arms curling around his back, mouth seeking his shoulder.

"It would be fine."

She kissed him, full of fire and something deeper—something binding.

And in the silence between their breaths, as their bodies moved like prayer, Cecil made his vow again:

"I will protect her."

No matter what.