Beneath the black dye, pale gold was emerging. Not blonde. Not yellow.
Gold. Pure, shimmering gold that seemed to catch what little moonlight filtered through the storm clouds.
The memories slammed into me all at once:
"Never let them see, Roxanne. Never let anyone see your true hair."
Her mother's face, careworn, beautiful, terrified, as she mixed the black dye in a chipped bowl.
"The golden hair belongs to royalty. To those with imperial mana. If they discover you..."
Her mother had been a kitchen maid. A nobody. Until the Emperor had seen her, wanted her, taken her.
And Roxanne had been the result.
Illegitimate. Hidden. Dyed black from childhood to blend in, to survive, to disappear.
But I hadn't dyed it in.…..how long? Days? Weeks?
And now, under this torrential rain, the truth was literally washing away.
The Duke stepped closer, and I could see his expression shifting, shock, recognition, something almost like awe.
"You." His voice was barely above a whisper, rougher now. "What did you call yourself?"
"R-Roxanne," I stammered.
"Roxanne..." He stared at me like I was a ghost. "How do you have this hair color?"
"I—I don't—"
Lie. Tell him you stole hair dye. Tell him it's a wig. Tell him ANYTHING—
But the words wouldn't come.
His hand moved suddenly, reaching toward my face, and I flinched.
He froze, then slowly caught a strand of my hair between his fingers. The gold gleamed against his pale skin.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then: "Come."
"What—"
He turned, walking back to Maximov with ground-eating strides. Before I could process what was happening, he had swung back into the saddle and extended a hand down to me.
I stared at it like it might bite me.
"Now," he said. Not a request. A command.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god. What was going on?
I grabbed his hand.
He pulled me up like I weighed nothing, settling me in front of him on the saddle. His arm came around my waist to grab the reins, caging me against his chest.
HE SMELLS SO GOOD.
The thought exploded in my brain, completely inappropriate and utterly undeniable. Even soaked in rain, even in the middle of a crisis, he smelled like absolutely amazing. Nothing less than I expected for a duke!
Emily focus!
"Hold on," he said, voice low near my ear.
Maximov launched forward, and I grabbed onto the Duke's arm with a squeak I would later deny making.
~
The Duke's estate rose out of the darkness like something from a gothic novel.
Stone walls that seemed to stretch into the sky, towers with pointed spires, windows that glowed with warm light. The kind of place that screamed "Old Money" and "Generational Wealth" and probably "Dungeon in the Basement."
We rode through the gates, actual gates, with guards who saluted crisply, and into a courtyard paved with gorgeous looking stones.
The Duke guided Maximov toward the stables, a structure that was bigger than most houses I had lived in. He dismounted first, then reached up to help me down.
My legs were shaking. Everything was shaking.
"Come," he said again.
That's his favorite word, apparently.
I followed him out of the stables, through a side entrance, and into...
Oh.
Oh wow.
If the outside was impressive, the inside was devastating. Marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Tapestries that looked older than most countries. Chandeliers dripping with crystals that caught the light and scattered it like stars.
I was actively dripping mud onto priceless rugs.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
"Your Grace!" A woman appeared from a side hallway, older, stern-faced, wearing what had to be the most immaculate servant's uniform I had ever seen. She started to curtsy, then caught sight of me.
Her eyes went wide.
"Is she…..?" Another servant, younger, had appeared behind her. His gaze locked onto my hair, still dripping, still undeniably gold. "That hair color... is she a royal?"
"But she doesn't have their eyes," a third whispered. "The imperial family has green eyes. Hers are—"
"Blue," the first woman breathed.
Yeah, about that—
"Enough." The Duke's voice put an end to their whispers. "You will speak of this to no one. Understood? Not until tomorrow."
Three immediate nods.
He gestured toward me. "Clean her. Dress her appropriately. See to her wounds."
The head Maid or servant, whichever one, stepped forward, her eyes scanning me. "Of course, Your Grace. Should we prepare the guest wing?"
"The east tower. Private quarters."
East tower? That sounds ominous.
"And..." The Duke paused, his gray eyes finding mine one more time. "Tomorrow, we ride to the palace. I will seek an audience with the Emperor."
My heart stopped.
The Emperor.
Roxanne's father.
The man who abandoned her and her mother.
The man who, in the original story, denied her existence until it was convenient to acknowledge her, only to let her be executed.
"Your Grace," I heard myself say, voice barely steady. "I know you have been of great help and kindness to me already, but is that truly.…..necessary?"
He looked at me like I had asked if water was wet.
"You bear the golden hair of the imperial bloodline," he said slowly, watching my reaction. "Either you are who I think you are, or you're an imposter who will be executed for treason."
He turned and walked away, boots echoing on marble.
"Either way," he called back, "the Emperor will want to see you."
The servants descended on me immediately, guiding, fussing, murmuring instructions, but I barely heard them.
All I could think was:
I'm going to meet the Emperor.
The man who's supposed to let me die.
Tomorrow.
Oh shit.