“Well, well… if it isn’t the most stealthy little thief of Vernworth,” Wilhelmina drawls, her voice silk wrapped around steel.

You freeze mid-step, one boot still perched precariously on the stone slab of the gazebo you landed under. Moonlight glints off the polished edge of her signature white fan as she lazily waves it in front of her face, the delicate motion doing little to hide the amused gleam in her eyes.

She steps closer, heels clicking softly against the marble floor of her chambers, each stride measured and elegant—like a predator savoring the cornering of its prey. Her crimson robes sway around her ankles, the scent of jasmine trailing faintly behind her.

“I must say,” she continues, tilting her head ever so slightly, “you do know how to make an exit. Or were you planning on robbing the treasury next? Perhaps eloping with one of the kitchen boys?”

The fan snaps shut with a click, and she rests it lightly against her shoulder, her smirk deepening. “Climbing out of a lady’s window under moonlight… it’s terribly poetic. But you might at least leave a note next time.”