Steam still clung to Aire’s skin as she stepped out of the bathtub.
There was no maids around, as Mabel had done sothing to her maids, and she had set Madam away.
Droplets slid down her shoulders, tracing slow paths along her arms before falling quietly onto the marble floor. The warmth of the water should have grounded her, but it didn’t.
Her head spun slightly, not enough to make her fall. But enough to make her pause.
Aire’s fingers curled lightly against the edge of the basin as she steadied herself. She closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath.
Her pulse refused to settle.
Her thoughts... refused to quiet.
She couldn’t unsee the tree, the light, the feeling, the war, and everything she had seen. And also, she couldn’t forget everything Mabel had said.
Her lips pressed together.
That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Everyone knew what faes were, what they had done, and what they ant.
Faes were villains, deceivers, and monsters hidden behind beauty and illusion. Her entire life had been built on that truth. So how would she have fae blood?
Her jaw tightened slightly.
How could that possibly be a part of her?
Aire straightened slowly, reaching for the cloth draped nearby. She wrapped it around her body.
Her mind was elsewhere.
Did the Moon Goddess’s curse... co with this?
The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit because it fit too easily.
A curse.
A punishnt.
Sothing unnatural forced into her existence. That would make sense. That would make it easier to accept.
Her gaze lifted slowly, settling on the small vial of lilac oil resting on the table across the room.
It shimred faintly under the soft light.
Aire walked toward it. She stopped just in front of the table, and stared at it.
Her fingers twitched slightly at her side.
Mabel’s voice echoed faintly in her mind. ’Or let’s say... you suspected it.’
Aire’s jaw tightened.
"No..." she whispered under her breath but the denial didn’t feel as strong this ti.
Her hand lifted slowly, hovering over the vial.
She focused hard.
Her brows furrowed as she narrowed her gaze. She tried to lift it as she normally did, but nothing happened.
"Move..." she murmured.
Still, nothing happened.
The oil didn’t even tremble.
Aire’s breathing shifted slightly.
She tried again. This ti, harder and concentrating deeper.
For a brief mont, she waited for it to move, longer than she have. Still, nothing happened.
Aire’s hand dropped. Her chest rose slightly faster now, and frustration crept in. Confusion followed quickly behind it.
"Nothing?" she whispered. It was supposed to move.
Before she could try again, a knock cane to her door. The sound cut through the room cleanly, and Aire froze as if she had been caught killing soone.
Her head snapped toward the door.
Her heart, already unsettled, picked up again.
There as another knock, softer this ti, but more deliberate.
Aire hesitated, then she moved towards the door. Each step toward the door felt heavier than it should have.
She reached the door, paused, then slowly pulled it open and froze.
"Madam?" The word left her lips before she could stop it.
For a second, relief, familiarity, and stability surged through her.
Before she could think it through, Aire stepped forward quickly, closing the distance between them.
She stopped abruptly right in front of her as her body stilled after reading the air, and realizing Madam does like too much familiarity.
Her hands hovered slightly at her sides, unsure and uncertain. She felt the instinct to hug her. However, that instinct collided violently with doubt and suspicion.
Aire swallowed.
Her chest tightened slightly. She didn’t move closer and didn’t step back either. She just... stood there, caught between two choices she didn’t trust.
Madam noticed.
Her gaze lingered on Aire for a brief mont longer than necessary, taking in everything.
"Mabel said you were both attacked." She finally broke the silence.
Her statent hit Aire like a quiet shock.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Attacked?
The word echoed in her mind. That was wrong. Completely wrong.
However, she didn’t let it show.
Aire blinked once. Her expression smoothed over, and turned controlled and careful. "I’m sorry I accused you wrongly." She said instead.
Madam’s gaze sharpened slightly. That was not the expected response.
Silence stretched between them.
Aire held her gaze.
Madam didn’t call her out. She didn’t question Aire again. At least not yet.
She stepped past her into the room.
"Sit," she said simply.
Aire hesitated, then obeyed. She moved toward the chair near the mirror, lowering herself into it slowly.
Her damp hair clung lightly to her shoulders.
Madam moved behind her, picked up a cloth, and without another word—began drying her hair.
’God, this feels so good,’ Aire murmured inwardly.
Aire didn’t pull away.
"Do you rember how it happened?" Madam asked, breaking the silence again. Her tone casual. Too casual.
Aire’s gaze lifted slightly, eting her reflection in the mirror. She saw Madam behind her, and watched her movents.
"No." She replied, easily.
Madam’s hands slowed slightly. Her brows drew together faintly.
The story wasn’t aligning.
Sothing about it felt off to her.
"I fainted imdiately after," Aire added quickly.
Madam’s gaze remained on her reflection. She said nothing. She simply continued drying her hair.
Aire exhaled softly, then turned her head slightly.
"How old are you, Madam?" The question ca out suddenly, and unprompted.
Madam’s hand stilled. Then she lowered the cloth slightly, and raised a brow at Aire’s reflection.
"That’s an odd question."
"I have questions," Aire replied quietly.
Her eyes didn’t leave the mirror.
"I simply wish you are old enough to have been present."
Madam held her gaze through the reflection for a long mont. Then, she exhaled.
"Count seven centuries."
Aire’s lips thinned slightly. Her mind worked quickly.
Seven centuries.
That ant—
"You witnessed the war between the wolves and the faes."
Madam’s expression darkened imdiately.
"I was a child," she said. Her voice lost its neutrality. "Not younger than you are."
Aire turned slightly more toward her. Her curiosity flickering stronger now. "But—"
"It’s dinner ti, Aire." She interrupted Aire, clean and final.
The conversation was over.
Aire stilled. Her lips pressed together slightly. She didn’t push.
Now, she knew two things: Madam had been there. And Madam didn’t want to talk about it at all.
Madam resud drying her hair.
Aire gaze slowly dropped. Her fingers resting lightly against her lap. She’ll get her answers.
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