Chapter 24: Chapter 24

KAMORA

It had been weeks since Lord Maroke’s outing with Kamora and his son. The journey had gone well—his son now clung to him more often, his laughter no longer rare.

Maroke made time for Jarosh whenever he could, and so far, the boy blossomed under his attention. But it wasn’t enough.

Kamora no longer accompanied Jarosh during their visits. And somewhere along the line, Maroke had begun to wait for her.

Every day, his hope grew alongside the dull ache in his chest. It was bordering on obsession, the way his thoughts circled back to her.

Because of it, he had become weak. He hid it well, but Greyson—ever perceptive—noticed the cracks.

They sat in his study, poring over correspondence.

“My lord, are you well?” Greyson asked.

Maroke blinked, lifting his gaze slowly. “Hmm? Why do you ask?”

Greyson hesitated. “I worry for you.”

Maroke raised an eyebrow. “Why assume that I’m unwell?”

“You’ve been staring at the same page for the past hour.”

Maroke glanced down at the document in front of him. He hadn’t turned a single page.

His mind had been far away—wandering to Kamora. What was she doing now?

Was she thinking of him? He clenched his hand under the desk.

Lately, that had become a habit—trying to compress the ache until it stopped gnawing at his ribs.

“Greyson,” he said at last, setting the papers aside, “I want to ask you something.”

The man straightened, instantly alert. “Of course. What is it, my lord?”

Maroke hesitated. “Do you remember how I met my wife?”

Greyson blinked. “I’m afraid not. I wasn’t here when she first arrived. Perhaps Claudia might have, but…after the incident, it’s like no one dares speak of her. She kept to herself, and few knew her face. Only you truly knew her.”

“What do you remember?”

Greyson exhaled slowly. “She was quiet. Always a little frightened. Always close to you. But when you were around…she was different. At ease. As if your presence alone gave her peace. And you—” He paused.

“And I?” Maroke pressed gently.

“You smiled, my lord,” Greyson said, a faint warmth in his voice. “You used to smile.”

Maroke tried to summon the memory of himself smiling, but it felt distant—like reaching for light at the bottom of a well.

All he found was the familiar sting tightening in his chest. “And the curse?” he asked, his voice lower now.

“You still suffered from it, but you used to say you were close to breaking it. That the pain no longer consumed you, even though you were often struck down with periodic illness.”

Maroke’s gaze lowered. “Do you remember my son’s birth?”

Greyson’s face crumpled. “We both weren’t around on the day of labor, as we had been called to attend something important the day before. You didn’t want to leave, but Kamora didn’t mind. We both didn’t expect to be held back by the rain. Neither did you know that she’d give birth the next day.”

He inhaled deeply, bracing himself. “Do you think it’s wrong of me not to tell Kamora that Jarosh is her son?”

Greyson looked thoughtful.

“It feels like fate is mocking me,” Maroke continued. “The boy clings to her like ivy to stone. Obeys her without question. How will he react if he learns the truth?”

Greyson nodded slowly. “I believe he’ll be overjoyed. He’s always longed for a mother. And Kamora is doing remarkably well with him.”

Maroke sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Greyson cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lord, but if I may ask, are you thinking of marrying Lady Kamora?”

Maroke blinked. “We are already a couple, aren’t we? There’s no need to formalize it.”

“She doesn’t know that,” Greyson said. “And though you now know she was your wife, you still don’t remember being her husband.”

Maroke frowned slightly. “What do you suggest?”

“Woo her,” Greyson said simply. “Make her your wife again.”

Maroke gave a short, bitter laugh. “Have you forgotten? I’m cursed with indifference. I can’t woo anyone.”

“You may not feel the way others do, but you can still act. You’ve observed enough. Even if it’s mechanical…coming from you, I doubt she’ll mind,” he paused, then added, “Besides, I’ve seen the way you look at her. You feel something, my lord. Whether you admit it or not.”

Silence fell.

Maroke exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the armrest. It was true. He felt it—whatever it was—whenever Kamora entered the room.

Like the ache beneath his skin stirred and heightened.

“I understand,” he said finally. “Thank you, Greyson. I’ll…consider it.”

Greyson bowed. “Then I’ll take my leave, my lord.”

The room fell quiet after the door clicked shut.

Maroke leaned back in his chair and let his thoughts unfurl. He imagined her—Kamora smiling, holding Jarosh close.

Maybe she would lean into him, offer a kiss under the moonlight. He pictured them atop the roof of their mansion, stars above, her laughter bright as the night air…

He doubled over, coughing sharply into his hand. The vision shattered.

When the fit subsided, he pulled his hand away and stared down. Crimson splattered across his palm.

***

Days had passed since Kamora last saw Lord Maroke.

After her discussion with Petal, guilt had begun to gnaw at her. She had been avoiding him—perhaps unfairly.

Despite Gwen’s warnings, Lord Maroke hadn’t done anything to warrant her suspicion.

That morning, as she was preparing the young lord for the day, a knock echoed at the door, catching both of them off guard.

“Come in,” Jarosh called.

The door opened slowly, revealing Lord Maroke, his face as unreadable as ever.

Kamora stiffened, nearly gasping. Flashes of her last vivid dream involving him flitted through her mind, reigniting her curiosity about their past.

She had attempted to ask Claudia about it multiple times. Yet each time, she lost the courage to follow through.

“Good day, Father,” Jarosh greeted.

Kamora bowed respectfully beside him. “Is something wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Lord Maroke asked.

Jarosh hesitated, then said, “I don’t think you’ve ever visited me at this hour. It’s still quite early.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Lord Maroke’s expression. His hands clenched faintly at his sides.

Then, to their surprise, he said, “I apologize for the way I’ve treated you.”

Both Kamora and Jarosh blinked, stunned.

Jarosh quickly waved his hands.

“There’s no need to apologize, Father. Really.”

Lord Maroke nodded, stepped into the room, and closed the door quietly behind him.

“Do you have plans for today?”

“Not really,” Jarosh said, adjusting the lapel of the coat Kamora had helped him with. “Kamora and I were just going to take a walk.”

“If you don’t mind…may I join you?”

Kamora and Jarosh exchanged surprised glances. Jarosh’s gaze on her was more knowing—almost mischievous.

“Of course,” Jarosh said with an overly wide smile, deepening Kamora’s suspicion. “You can come. We’re just about ready. Give us a second.”

Kamora furrowed her brow, confused by Jarosh’s sudden enthusiasm. She turned to him and made a few final adjustments to his coat.

“I’m done,” she said.

“Good.” He grinned. “Let’s go.”

Jarosh practically skipped ahead, humming. Kamora and Lord Maroke followed behind, the latter’s steps quiet beside her.

She risked a quick glance—and found him already watching her. She quickly looked away and hastened to Jarosh’s side.

The young lord frowned at her briefly, deepening her confusion.

“So, where are we walking to?” she asked.

“The garden,” Jarosh replied cheerfully. “It’s Kamora’s favorite place in the manor.”

“Oh really?” Lord Maroke said from behind, his eyes lingering on her.

Kamora’s cheeks warmed. It was true, but she didn’t expect him to care.

“I apologize for the trouble, my lord,” she said with a small bow. “Would you prefer a different location?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “The garden is fine.”

“All right then,” Jarosh said, leading the way.

The walk was mostly silent—awkward even—at least for Kamora. Jarosh, unfazed, continued to hum softly ahead of them.

Lord Maroke stepped closer to Kamora, matching her pace.

“How have you been?” he asked, his voice deeper than she remembered.

The sound sent a warm shiver down her spine, stirring butterflies in her belly. His presence felt different somehow—stronger, more intense.

Whatever it was, it was turning her brain to mush. ~Whatever happened to staying on guard?~ she scolded herself.

“I am well, my lord,” she said, thankful her voice didn’t betray her nerves.

“Hmm,” he murmured, falling silent again.

They reached the garden at last. Kamora let her eyes close briefly, taking in the fragrant air.

The familiar peace of the space wrapped around her like a favorite blanket. She must have spent a lot of time here in the past to feel such ease.

“Ah, isn’t this beautiful?” Jarosh sighed, folding his hands behind him.

Kamora smiled. His cheerful chatter had become more frequent since spending time with his father.

She was proud to have played a part in that change.

The garden stretched out before them, almost the size of a guest room. Roses, tulips, sage, jasmine, camellias, dahlias, and heathers filled the space with wild color.

Though there was a cobbled path in the center, vines curled over its edges in gentle rebellion. It was the height of spring in the kingdom of Amalith—a perfect day to visit the garden.

“This is beautiful,” Lord Maroke said quietly beside her. “I wonder why I’ve never been here before.”

“It really is,” Kamora agreed. “The maids caring for it have done a wonderful job.”

When he didn’t respond, Kamora turned to find his gaze locked on her.

“My lord…is something wrong?”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me?”

She stumbled.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and for a moment, she thought she heard genuine concern.

“I’m fine, my lord. Thank you,” she quickly straightened her uniform and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said softly.

Kamora took a breath, choosing her words carefully.

“My lord, I don’t believe I have any right to avoid you. Still, you’ve never asked for my assistance until now. If there’s something you need from me, you only have to ask.”

They had stopped in the middle of the path, their gazes locked, the rest of the world fading.

Neither noticed Jarosh sneaking up behind them.

Then—suddenly—a hard shove.

Kamora let out a startled gasp as she stumbled forward, falling straight into Lord Maroke.

Just before they could crash to the ground, he caught her, one arm wrapped securely around her waist. Her face pressed against his chest, her palms flat on his coat.

Her heart raced. His body was warm, solid—too solid.

“I—I’m so sorry, my lord,” she stammered, mortified.

She felt him swallow hard. His grip on her waist tightened slightly before relaxing.

“No problem,” he murmured near her ear, his breath warm against her neck.

Her entire body flushed.

Slowly, he stepped away. She dared not meet his eyes.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I must take my leave. There’s something I need to attend to.”

Kamora watched him walk away, and something inside her twisted painfully.

~Oh heavens~, she thought in dismay. ~What have I done?~

Whatever relationship she had with Lord Maroke… It was over.