The door creaked open, and Kael stepped into the office, his posture stiff but composed. His appearance had changed since the last time Seraphina had seen him. The rough, worn clothes he'd arrived in were gone, replaced by a neatly tailored tunic of dark gray linen with subtle embroidery along the cuffs and collar—simple but refined, as befitting a servant assigned to the princess. His dark hair, which had once fallen messily around his face, was now combed back, though a few strands refused to stay in place, giving him an air of rugged charm.
His skin, no longer pale and sickly, held a faint flush of warmth, though shadows still lingered under his sharp, gray eyes, as if sleep had only lightly touched him. The sleeves of his tunic were rolled just above his wrists, revealing faint scars along his forearms—marks that hinted at a past he couldn't remember.
As he approached the desk, Kael bowed deeply, the movement smooth but tense. When he straightened, his eyes met hers briefly before dropping again, and he swallowed, as though words threatened to catch in his throat.
Seraphina studied him, her gaze sharp and unreadable. "Do you still wish to serve me?" Her voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable weight behind the question, pressing down like an invisible force.
Kael's shoulders squared. "Yes, Your Highness," he said without hesitation.
"Good." Her tone carried a note of finality, though her eyes lingered on him for a beat longer. "From this day forward, you will serve as my personal attendant."
His lips parted slightly, and for a fleeting moment, surprise flickered in his expression before he quickly bowed again. "Thank you, Your Highness. I will not disappoint you."
"We'll see," she replied, her voice cool.
The day passed in a steady rhythm of work. Seraphina's desk was covered with scrolls, maps, and letters, the weight of governance pressing down on her shoulders, yet Kael proved unexpectedly useful. He moved efficiently, arranging documents as she directed, refilling her inkpot without being asked, and retrieving records when she mentioned them in passing.
But it wasn't just his attentiveness that caught her notice. It was his observations.
"The trade deficit in the western province…" Kael began hesitantly at one point, stopping when Seraphina glanced up sharply.
"Speak," she commanded.
He cleared his throat. "It might not be an issue of tax evasion. If the raids from the east have disrupted supply lines, merchants may be hoarding resources or raising prices out of fear. Strengthening the patrol routes might encourage stability."
Seraphina regarded him carefully. "You seem rather thoughtful for someone who claims to have no memory."
Kael stiffened. "I can't explain it, Your Highness. I just… knew it made sense."
Her gaze lingered, searching his face for signs of deceit, but found none. Instead, she felt the slightest flicker of intrigue. He was a puzzle, one she was determined to solve.
By the time night fell, her body ached with exhaustion, though her mind remained restless. Lydia entered, carrying a tray laden with food. The aroma of roasted meat and spiced vegetables filled the air, and Seraphina exhaled softly, realizing only then how long it had been since she'd last eaten.
As Lydia set the tray down, Seraphina's gaze shifted to Kael, who stood quietly near the shelves, his eyes lowered in deference but his shoulders taut as though bracing himself for dismissal.
"Bring another portion," Seraphina said abruptly.
Lydia blinked. "Another, Your Highness?"
"For him."
Though Lydia quickly masked her surprise, Seraphina caught the flicker of hesitation before the maid curtsied and left the room. Kael's head lifted, his expression uncertain.
"You've worked hard today," Seraphina said coolly, as if explaining the decision to herself more than to him. "It's only proper that you eat."
"I—thank you, Your Highness," he said, bowing once more, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—perhaps gratitude, or perhaps wariness.
When Lydia returned with a second tray, Kael hesitated before finally sitting opposite her. The room fell into silence as they ate, the only sounds coming from the soft clink of utensils against porcelain.
Seraphina tried to ignore the strange tension that hung in the air, her gaze occasionally flickering toward him despite herself. He ate carefully, his movements precise and measured, yet there was a faint hunger in the way he cleared his plate, as though he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in a full meal in some time.
"You speak well for someone with no memory," Seraphina said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Kael looked up, his fork pausing midair. "I don't know why that is," he admitted, setting it down. "Sometimes it feels like my body knows what to do even when my mind doesn't."
"Convenient."
He flinched slightly at her tone but didn't argue. Instead, he met her gaze directly, and for the first time, she saw not just obedience in his eyes, but something far more unsettling—heat.
It was fleeting, a flicker of fire that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving her momentarily breathless. Her grip on her fork tightened, the air between them shifting into something she couldn't quite name. Yet Kael said nothing. Instead, he looked away, lowering his head and focusing on his meal as though the moment hadn't happened at all.
Seraphina blinked, her heart pounding faster than it should have. Had she imagined it? Surely she had. It was impossible—foolish, even—to entertain such thoughts. He was a servant, and she was the princess of Arundelle. There was nothing more to it.
And yet…
The memory of that brief intensity lingered, leaving her unsettled. She wondered, just for a moment, if he felt it too—the strange pull that made her more aware of him than she cared to admit. But she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, pushing it aside like an unwelcome intruder.
Trust was dangerous. Desires were even more so.
The meal ended without further words, but as Kael stood and bowed once more before leaving the room, Seraphina's eyes lingered on his retreating figure. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't ignore the faint hum of awareness his presence stirred within her—like the quiet crackle of embers waiting to catch flame.