Celestia’s violet eyes widened, cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink as she realised her mistake. Mr. C. Nightglen was indeed the young Lord Nightglen everyone talked about. Every woman wanted to be with this bachelor. Every man respected his strength and political intellect, and he was the best information broker known in the city. How could she not connect this earlier? “I… I’m sorry if I was disrespectful,” she managed, unable to meet his gaze.

  Caleb raised a brow, his tone playful. “Oh, not at all. In fact, I found it… endearing.” His gaze softened. “Come inside, Lady Pendragon.” He offered her his arm, guided her into the cosy, wood-scented room, and closed the door. The room felt warmer and surprisingly inviting, lined with shelves brimming with books, and on his desk, a cup of now-cold tea beside mountains of open books, parchments, and stacks of closed books.

  Celestia’s nerves settled slightly as she took in the room’s gentle lamplight. “It’s… lovely,” she murmured, admiring the ambience. Caleb observed her reaction with a faint smile. “I find it to be a quiet retreat,” Caleb chuckled softly. “I have a weakness for books. They keep me company in my lonely hours.” His gaze flickered over her face, studying her as she took in the surroundings.

  He led her to a plush couch, motioning for her to sit. “Thank you…” The dim lighting felt cosy, and the absence of heavy curtains let the soft glow of two small lamps create a serene ambience. The scent of aged wood and books mingled with a hint of musky cologne, making her feel at ease. For the first time in months, she felt relaxed. As she settled onto the couch, she flinched slightly when he turned on a small desk lamp, illuminating the room more. He said softly, his gaze following her around the room. “Now, shall we continue our conversation? What brings you here, Lady Pendragon? What have you been up to that has left you confused?”

  She looked up, worry clouding her eyes. “I—I’m not sure myself…”

  Caleb’s gaze softened as he noticed Celestia rummaging through her bag again, her burgundy hair slipping forward as she searched. Annoyed, she tucked it behind her ear and finally pulled out a small, intricately bound hardcover book.

  “I… started writing down almost everything,” she said, flipping carefully through the pages. “I have this... condition. It’s been at least a year… maybe even longer. It started after I visited the 10th level of the City Dungeon with my old party.” She paused as if trying to remember. But suddenly, her face contorted in pain, her hand grasping her left temple. “And... every time I try to… remember more, I get this terrible headache.”

  Caleb’s brows knitted with concern as he observed her struggle, leaning forward to sit beside her. Caleb paused, his gaze lingering on her as if weighing some unspoken thought. Celestia felt her pulse quicken, each breath suddenly a conscious effort. Then, slowly, he leaned in—just a fraction closer, the air between them narrowing with an intensity she hadn’t anticipated.

  The distance was slight but enough that she could catch a faint, earthy scent clinging to him, something dark and warm, like old leather and winter firewood. His eye held her captive, not in command but in invitation, and she couldn’t look away.

  Was he testing her? Or was there something… more?

  Celestia swallowed, willing herself to stay still. Her fingers itched to move, to reach out and break the tension, to either pull him closer or push him back—but she did neither. She could only wait, her mind spinning with questions she dared not voice, wondering what he saw in her silence.

  Then he blinked, pulling back just slightly, but the impression he left remained heavy, suspended in the air between them like a word left unspoken. His voice was low, almost soothing. “That sounds like more than exhaustion. Did anything… unusual happen during that descent to the 10th level? Any strange encounters or sights? Any new monsters?”

  Celestia flipped through her notebook again, frustration seeping into her expression as she scanned the empty pages. “I… I don’t remember. And when I asked my old party, they just laughed and walked away. The dungeon staff were no help either. As if someone had paid them to stay quiet.” She sighed, exasperated. “So I started searching for information on my own. I heard stories in taverns and guilds about Mr. Nightglen—a man known not only for his skill in swordsmanship and horse riding but also as an accomplished mage. Then... I think it was four weeks ago the voices started... so I tried to find this Mr. Nightglen... finding the name here in the city office. I’m ashamed to confess that I didn’t think for even a second that it would be you, my Lord. Two weeks of effort, and I finally got this appointment…”

  A faint smirk played at Caleb’s lips. He studied her as if intrigued by her persistence. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment,” he said, his eye gleamed with amusement. Leaning forward slightly, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Two weeks is quite the effort. Did the staff treat you well? Did they tell you the reason for such a long wait?”

  “Well,” Celestia said, frowning slightly, “a very serious-looking woman in the atrium gave me a hard time, I think. She seemed… judgemental and a little rough when I arrived today. But two days ago, an elderly man wrote down the appointment for me. I would’ve thanked him, but he disappeared before I could.”

  Amused, Caleb leaned back, crossing his arms. “A very serious woman, hmm?” A mischievous glint lit his eye. “Would you happen to remember her name?”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Celestia rummaged through her bag again, glancing around anxiously. “She didn’t tell me her name, but I remember her look—stunning, beautiful, skinny, blond, long hair, pencil skirt, sharp heels. Honestly, the total opposite of me.” She sighed, her hand still searching her bag. “Oh, and—did you see my note, by any chance?” She glanced toward the door, half-expecting she might have dropped it.

  “That is quite a detailed description. And your note?” Caleb chuckled, producing a small, folded slip from his pocket. He held it out, then, suddenly feeling flustered by her presence and wanting to prolong the interaction, added with a playful grin, “Is this the note you were frantically searching for?” Why am I being so awkward? he thought, inwardly berating himself.

  “Yes!” she gasped, reaching for it. Caleb, thrown by her nearness and the intensity of her gaze, pulled his hand back just slightly, his grin widening despite his inner turmoil. He hadn't intended to tease her; it just came out wrong.

  “My lord, please give it back!” Her voice wavered, and a hint of desperation flashed in her eyes.

  Caleb’s smile faltered. He hadn’t realised how distressed she was. I’m making this worse, he thought, feeling a pang of guilt. “Of course,” he began, starting to extend the note, but then, in an attempt to recover his earlier playful (and now clearly misjudged) tone (and perhaps prolong the interaction), he added, “Tell you what—I’ll return it if you answer a single question for me. Just one, and it’s yours.” Smooth, Nightglen, real smooth, he thought sarcastically.

  Celestia slumped back against the couch, defeated, her gaze dropping to her black skirt. “And what question would that be, my lord?” she replied, her voice quiet, her mind a murky fog. The burning was unbearable, the voices laughing at her to think she really could get help.

  Caleb, seeing her slump, felt a wave of remorse. He’d completely misjudged the situation. I’m such an idiot, he thought, cursing his own clumsiness. Trying to recover, he said gently, “Just a simple one. What’s my favourite colour? Answer correctly, and this note is yours.” He chose something he thought was easy, something that would get her to engage, completely oblivious to how his words were landing.

  She sighed, defeated. “How should I know that?” she murmured. “Not one bit of information I gathered on you covered something so trivial.” Her voice softened, resigned, as her head dipped further. The voices made it impossible to get a clear thought. She didn’t expect her answer to satisfy him, but after a beat, she whispered, “Dark green,” glancing at the green fabric of his jacket. The colour seemed familiar, reassuring somehow, though she knew she was likely wrong.

  To her surprise, Caleb’s smile softened, his golden gaze warming. “Dark green, is it?” he murmured, and he almost seemed to approve of her answer. “You’re right. It is my favourite colour.” He leaned forward as if drawn in, his expression considering. “Yet… I have another favourite, too. Care to take a second guess, my lady?” He was genuinely trying to connect with her, but his nerves were making him act like a fool.

  Celestia sighed, visibly frustrated. “You promised the note after one guess,” she said, a hint of a pout in her voice.

  But she couldn’t help but mutter, “Fine… purple.”

  Caleb’s smirk softened to something almost genuine, his eye glinting with faint admiration. “Purple?” He paused, watching her closely, his tone both amused and curious. “An unexpected choice, but… an apt one.” I’m making a mess of this, he thought, finally realising how badly he’d misread the situation.

  With a glance at her trembling hands, he extended the note to her at last.

  “Here, my lady.”

  Yet as she reached for it, she seemed to falter, her expression drained and vulnerable. Suddenly, a tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another, and she quickly wiped them away.

  The voices had done it; she believed them. Repeatedly, they mocked her. ?He doesn't care!? Why would he? You're nothing to him! No one cares about you!?

  “No, thank you, my lord,” she murmured, her voice a faint whisper. Tossing her notebook into her bag, she rose unsteadily, keeping her gaze averted. “I don’t need the help of Lord Nightglen. Good day, my lord.” Her tone was soft but edged with hurt and pain, each word weighted by disappointment. She turned and strode toward the door, her steps swift and determined. Celestia knew she was running away. Maybe from the only help she would ever get.

  Caleb’s amusement faded in an instant, his expression stricken as he watched her retreating form. He rose quickly, reaching her before she touched the doorknob.

  “Please, wait,” he said softly, his voice edged with regret. “I didn’t intend to make you feel this way… truly. I thought it harmless, but clearly, I misjudged—”

  “Please step aside, my lord.” Her voice trembled, but it held a note of finality, her face streaked with tears she didn’t bother to hide. “If I wanted to be teased or laughed at, I could find it elsewhere.”

  The pain in her words stung him, and his gaze dropped, remorse flickering in his golden eye. Why did the words from this stranger matter so much to him? “Lady Pendragon,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I apologise. I only meant it in jest. It wasn’t my intent to hurt you. I wanted to lighten the mood.” And I completely failed, he added silently.

  She looked down at her hand, still resting on the doorknob, and then at him, her expression unreadable, a flicker of disappointment and sadness in her eyes. Was she frustrated with him? Or with herself?

  “Goodbye, my lord,” she whispered, her voice thick with the effort of holding herself together. At that moment, Celestia gave up, and no one would help her. After a lingering glance, Caleb finally stepped aside, his remorse evident as he watched her go.