"You are rather an interesting person," Nareen said with a light laugh.
She turned and began walking toward the embroidery hall, but after a few steps, she glanced back once more.
"Oh—by the way. My mother says the butterflies you embroider are especially beautiful. Will you teach soday?"
"...Of course."
And just like that, that strange conversation was over.
In the days that followed, Caelith began to feel—more than once—that she was being constantly watched.
The first ti was when she went to the rear courtyard to fetch silk thread. As she walked beneath the corridor, a sudden chill crept along her spine. She turned sharply, but saw nothing. Only a few embroidered panels hung from wooden poles, swaying softly in the wind.
She stood there for a mont, then dismissed it as imagination and continued on.
The second ti was on her way ho after work. She walked beside Yvaine, when suddenly she stopped and turned to look behind them.
The alley lay empty. There was not a single soul.
"Sister, what is it?" Yvaine asked nervously.
Caelith said nothing. She stared down the length of the alley for a long while.
In the end, it was Yvaine who tugged at her sleeve and urged her onward.
The third ti was at the entrance of the embroidery house. The instant she stepped over the threshold, she felt it—a gaze, fixed squarely upon her.
So intense that her entire body stiffened.
She turned abruptly.
Across the street stood a few passersby—a vegetable seller, a traveler—nothing out of the ordinary.
And yet... sothing felt amiss.
Yvaine, too, had grown increasingly frightened these past few days.
She finished work early each day and dared not remain alone. Instead, she waited crouched by the embroidery house gates for Caelith. The mont she saw her, she would rush forward and clutch at her sleeve, unwilling to let go.
"Dear sister... I feel as though soone is watching ," she whispered, her face pale. "These past few days... it has not stopped."
Caelith studied her with sharp intensity.
The scar upon Yvaine’s face had yet to fade; in the dimming evening light, it stood out starkly. She hunched her shoulders, her eyes darting about like a startled hare.
"You feel it as well?"
Yvaine nodded fervently.
Caelith fell silent for a mont.
"From now on, we leave together," she said at last. "Do not wander alone."
Yvaine froze, then her eyes reddened. "Sister, you–"
"Co." Caelith took her hand and led her ho.
She did not turn back once along the way, yet she knew... That unseen gaze had never left.
***
anwhile, Nareen had begun visiting the embroidery house with increasing frequency.
She ca daily—sotis bearing pastries, sotis bringing her own embroidered patterns, claiming she had co to "learn the craft." Yet once there, her eyes would inevitably drift toward Lucas Ostenton. Wherever he went, her gaze followed.
As for Caelith, she began, consciously or not, to avoid him.
Before, when he ca to the workroom with deliveries, she would pause her stitching to exchange a few words. Now, the mont he appeared, she found reasons to leave—fetching thread from the rear, taking water in the kitchen, stepping out on one errand or another.
On one occasion, when Lucas ca looking for her, she simply called Nareen over in his stead.
At first, he did not notice.
But after several such encounters, the pattern beca impossible to ignore.
That afternoon, he had asked an embroiderer to deliver newly arrived silk thread to Caelith. The embroiderer was occupied and could not leave, so he took it upon himself to carry the bundle to the rear courtyard.
Halfway there, a figure darted out from the side.
"Lucas, my dear brother!" Nareen stood before him, her face bright with a cheerful smile.
Lucas paused, montarily taken aback. "What are you doing here?"
"My mother asked to fetch sothing," Nareen replied lightly. Her gaze dropped to the bundle of silk thread in his hands. "That is for Miss Emberlyn, is it not? I can take it to her!"
She reached out to take it, but Lucas did not release his grip.
"There is no need. I will deliver it myself."
Nareen’s hand froze in midair.
Lucas looked at her—and in that instant, sothing seed to dawn upon him.
"Nareen."
"Yes?"
"Is it that you..." He stopped himself, the words trailing off. "No matter. I shall deliver the thread myself. You should return."
With that, he stepped past her and continued on his way.
Nareen remained where she stood, watching his retreating figure, stamping her foot in frustration.
When Lucas entered the embroidery room, Caelith was bent over her fra, stitching a butterfly.
Hearing footsteps, she lifted her head. Seeing that it was him, she paused briefly—then rose to her feet.
"Lord Ostenton, I was just about to fetch so thread from the rear—"
"Do not avoid ."
Lucas set the silk upon the table and looked at her directly. "Lady Emberlyn, I know you have been avoiding . Is it because of Nareen?"
Caelith said nothing, choosing silence over a silly truth.
"She cares for —I am aware," he continued. "But I do not return her feelings."
"Nareen is a good girl," Caelith replied softly. "And Lady Lian is your godmother. If the two families were joined, it would be a fine match."
Lucas stepped closer. "Lady Emberlyn, I—"
"Lord Ostenton." Caelith cut him off. "I am here only to work at the embroidery house," she said, her voice steady though quiet. "And in this life, there is but one person in my heart—Rhaegar Thorne."
Lucas stood still for a mont, as though the words had struck deeper than he had expected.
At last, he gave a faint nod. "I understand."
He turned and left, not daring to face her again that day.
The following night, he sat alone in his room, lost in thought.
A jug of wine rested upon the table, already more than half empty. There were dishes set out before him, yet he had not touched them—drinking instead, cup after cup, the bitterness of the wine left untempered.
Again and again, her image rose unbidden in his mind—Caelith, bent over her embroidery fra...
Caelith, lowering her gaze as she spoke...
Caelith, calm and resolute as she uttered those words.
There is but one person in my heart.
The echo lingered, refusing to fade.
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