The village was too quiet. Kaelen had passed through dozens like it on his travels—dusty streets, flickering lanterns, and the smell of earth baked by the sun—but this one was different. Every set of eyes that met his quickly turned away. Children were ushered indoors the moment he stepped foot onto the cobbled street, doors creaked shut, shutters snapped closed. He hadn’t even asked a question yet, and already they acted as if his presence carried a curse.

He adjusted the strap of his satchel and offered the first man he saw a grin. “Evening, friend. I’m looking for work. Heard there’s a palace nearby. Belongs to a woman of—ah—considerable wealth?”

The man froze like a rabbit caught in a snare, his face pale. “Stay away from there.” His voice cracked. “Turn back. You’ll not return if you go near her.” Then he scurried off before Kaelen could press further.

The next villager gave him the same answer. So did the next. Some whispered about her, never daring to speak her name. Others muttered prayers under their breath as though his question alone was blasphemy. By the time Kaelen reached the edge of the village, he wore a smirk he didn’t feel. Superstition clung to the air like damp fog, but where others saw danger, he saw opportunity.

“Never return, eh?” He flipped a coin over his knuckles and caught it. “Sounds like a challenge.”

The palace rose out of the dark woods like a dream—or a nightmare. Black stone walls climbed high, and scarlet banners rippled faintly in the night wind. No torches burned on the ramparts, yet the place seemed lit from within by a dim, bloody glow. Kaelen waited until the clouds swallowed the moon, then scaled the outer wall with the ease of long practice.

Inside, the corridors were unsettlingly empty. No chatter of maids, no footsteps save his own. He crept through shadow after shadow, his gloved fingers tracing carvings of roses etched into the stone walls. Every hallway smelled faintly of crushed petals and iron.

He had almost reached what he guessed was a vault chamber when a voice snapped from the darkness:

“Stop.”

A dozen strong hands seized him. He lashed out with elbow and dagger, but they overwhelmed him with sheer numbers. Male servants, not guards—yet they moved with disciplined precision. Their grips bruised his arms as they dragged him deeper into the palace.

Kaelen cursed under his breath but held his head high. “If this is the welcome party, I’d hate to see what the mistress has planned for dessert.”

The men ignored him. They hauled him into a vast chamber that could only be described as a throne room. Black marble stretched beneath his boots, veined with crimson. Roses—real roses, fresh and blooming—were scattered across the floor, their scent heavy in the air.

Then she entered.

The double doors swung open with no sound at all, and every servant dropped instantly to one knee. Kaelen was the only one left standing, though his captors forced his arms tight behind his back.

She moved like silk across the room, her crimson gown trailing behind her like a spill of blood. Silver-white hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the faint glow of candlelight. Her lips curved, not into a smile, but into something sharper. Predatory.

“Who,” her voice was smooth, resonant, “dares crawl into my home uninvited?”

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed. So this was the woman the villagers feared—the mistress of roses, wrapped in beauty and menace both. He saw now why only men filled her palace. Every servant’s head bowed so low their foreheads touched the ground. Not one dared to breathe until she did.

He smirked, despite the weight of a dozen eyes and the chains on his wrists. “Kaelen Veynar. Traveler, thief, occasional charmer. I was hoping to leave here with something valuable… though I suppose I already have.”

Her gaze locked on him, those red-tinted eyes shining with cruel amusement. “Bold,” she murmured. “Arrogant. A man who does not bow.” She stepped closer, the hem of her dress brushing roses aside. With one gloved hand she lifted his chin.