The morning after their elegant lunch, the Duchess insisted on taking Ezekiel out again — this time for a proper tour of the town, not just tea and pastries.

“We’ll see the market,” she declared as she pinned a feathered hat onto his head, ignoring his muttered complaints. “Then the bookshop, then maybe the jeweler if you behave.”

“I don’t need jewelry,” Ezekiel grumbled.

“Of course you don’t. But I do.” She smiled brightly, pink eyes glinting. “And you can help me pick something. That’s what grandsons are for.”

They took the same open carriage without banners, keeping the trip quiet. Rue rode close behind, silent as always, though he never once took his hand off the hilt of his dagger.

The market square smelled of fresh bread and horses. Children ran between carts, merchants shouted prices, and the world felt almost normal. For an hour Ezekiel forgot about assassins, emperors, and cursed bloodlines. He even laughed when his grandmother bought him a sugared pastry and scolded him for eating too fast.

They browsed bolts of cloth, tasted honey from traveling beekeepers, and even fed coins to a street performer who made fire dance on his fingertips. “Your mother would hate this,” the Duchess said cheerfully. “Which is why it’s wonderful.”

They were stepping out of a bookseller’s shop when Ezekiel felt it: a prickling at the back of his neck, the same way he’d felt danger before. A boy  no older than seventeen stumbled into their path, dressed in patched clothes, his face lowered as if in apology.

“Sorry, my lord,” the boy mumbled, and his hand flashed toward Ezekiel’s chest.

Ezekiel didn’t even have time to shout.

The strike never landed.

A dark blur moved between them — one of Lanastha’s shadow knights, appearing as if from nowhere. His black-gloved hand caught the attacker’s wrist mid-thrust, wrenching the dagger away with a snap of bone. Another knight stepped from the crowd, sword already at the boy’s throat.

Screams erupted as people scattered from the square. The Duchess held Ezekiel against her side, face calm but eyes blazing with fury.

“Alive,” she ordered, her voice suddenly cold enough to freeze water. “I want him alive.”

The knights dragged the whimpering youth away while Rue stood guard over Ezekiel, checking him quickly for injuries.

 “You’re fine. You’re fine,” Rue muttered, though his jaw was tight. “Stay behind me. We’re leaving.”

Ezekiel’s heart pounded. The boy’s eyes:

 desperate, terrified 

 Burned in his memory. This wasn’t just a thief. He’d tried to kill him.

They returned to the manor under heavy escort. Ezekiel expected Lanastha to be furious, cold, sharp as ever. What he didn’t expect was the look on her face when she saw him step out of the carriage.

For the first time since he’d met her, her composure broke.
Her crimson eyes widened. Her breath caught audibly.

“Ezekiel.” She crossed the courtyard in three strides, hands gripping his shoulders as if to confirm he was real. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

“I’m fine,” Ezekiel said quickly, still shocked. “The knights stopped him.”

Her hands stayed on his shoulders a moment longer than necessary. For a heartbeat, her mask slipped completely concern, distress, and something dangerously close to fear etched across her face.

Then it was gone. She straightened, voice cool again. “Good. Take him to his rooms,” she ordered Rue. “I’ll deal with the rest.”

As they walked inside, Ezekiel glanced back once. Lanastha was still standing in the courtyard, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

She looked less like the Witch of Bonaventura… and more like a mother terrified of losing her son.