Alright, fine.


    A prisoner should know their ce.


    Just like that, M fell in line.


    Her nightgown was gently slipped off, and she was led-firmly, without any room for argument—toward a steaming bath. The maid fussed over her, scrubbing her clean with painstaking thoroughness. M was ufortable with the attention but knew better than to resist.


    The bath didn''tst long.


    Afterward, the maid removed a brocade cloth from a silver tray, revealing an ornate golden gown-something straight out of a European fairy tale. She dressed M piece by piece, fasteningyers of intricate fabric until M began to fidget, uneasy.


    "This dress is too small," she finally blurted, frowning. The bodice pinched her ribs, squeezing her breath thin—it was at least a size too tight.


    The maid ignored her, silently slipping golden silk gloves onto M''s hands.


    Seriously, was everyone here mute?


    Aside from the blond man who''d fired at her yesterday, M hadn''t heard a single word from anyone. The ce was swarming with people, yet the silence was uncanny, almost eerie.


    When the gown was finally in ce, M thought she might be done. But then the maid produced a white veil from the tray and moved to drape it over M''s head. M tried to stop her, but her hands were pinned-surprisingly strong for a woman; clearly, she''d been trained.


    M''s curiosity deepened. Who were these people who''d captured her? Every servant in this ancient castle seemed far from ordinary.


    The veil came down, thick and heavy, plunging her world into a blurred haze.


    She couldn''t see the path ahead. Swaddled in silk gloves, her hand was taken, and the silent maid led her forward. M had no idea where they were going, but she knew she didn''t have a choice-her only option was to follow.


    At least she didn''t have to stick around with the wolf.


    ...


    A veiled woman in gold, led by a blond maid in stark ck and white, drifted through the old stone castle. Down to the first floor, across the echoing hall.


    M could barely make out anything, but she sensed they''d left the building. The air changed-fragrant, floral. She caught glimpses of bright blooms, realized they''d entered a garden. Then, suddenly, the maid let go.


    No voices, only the distant call of birds and insects—a hush that stretched on and


    on.


    M waited, then tentatively called out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"


    She tried severalnguages, repeating herself, but got no reply. After a moment''s hesitation, she reached for the veil, only for her wrist to be caught.


    A gloved hand-ck leather, not tight, but unbreakable.


    Through the veil''s edge, she glimpsed a pair of polished ck Oxfords and crisp, tailored ck trousers. A man. His right hand, at his side, gripped a ck-tipped cane.


    The image struck a memory-Lysander''s grandfather. The cane was never for walking, but for power, privilege, and old money. In early twentieth-century Europe, every gentleman had one. Now, only the most traditional, aristocratic types kept up the habit.


    Was this the master of the castle? Her kidnapper?


    M stared through the veil, seeing only a vague silhouette-shoulder-length, slightly wavy hair.


    She watched as the man bent to pluck a flower from a nearby bed, then took her gloved hand and ced the bloom in her palm.


    A rose-deep crimson, nearly ck at the core. Sinister, strange-yet strikingly beautiful.


    So her abductor had a sense of style. Guessing he was the ringleader, M held the rose obediently, letting him guide her to a white wrought-iron bench twined with flowers.


    He sat beside her.


    M waited, expecting threats or demands. But for half an hour, the man said nothing at all. He simply opened a book and began to read, as if she weren''t even there.


    She couldn''t fathom what he was thinking.


    Suddenly, her stomach rumbled-loud in the silent garden-just as she was about to speak.


    She closed her eyes, mortified. Then, with a weary sigh, she gave in. "I''m starving," she said. "You went through all the trouble to bring me here, but you haven''t killed me, so you must want something-money, a favor, whatever it is. Just say the word. I''ll give you anything I can, as long as you let me go. I mean, I''m more useful to you alive, right? You''re not really nning to starve me to death, are you?"


    The man stayed silent.


    M was starting to think food wasn''t on the menu today, when he finally reached for a silver tray on the table and offered it to her.


    Food?


    She was too hungry to care about poison or mind games. Without hesitation, M peeled off her gloves and reached for the pastries.


    The tray slid away, just out of reach.


    She froze, stunned. Was he toying with her?


    After being chased by a wolf all day yesterday, M already suspected the castle''s master enjoyed games. But this this was just childish. Was he ever going to let her eat?