Book One: The Marigold's Larkspur ~ A tale of mystery, magic, and obsession.

Chapter Eleven

The stained-glass window filtered the sunset in a wash of colors, casting vibrant hues over Callidus's stunned expression.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The dense silence between them hung in the air, suffocating her. She wanted to say something, to explain why she was there, but her mind was blank.

Callidus lowered his hand, which had been poised to knock on the door of the Sapphire Suite, and turned his body towards her. His gaze held a fiery intensity.

He was the first to break the silence.

"Cressida," he said, his voice low and controlled, his surprise now hidden behind a mask of calm, but for the tightening of his grip on the bouquet. "What are you doing out here?"

"Your Highness," she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "I thought I wouldn't see you until morning."

"I made time to surprise you," Callidus replied, his voice clipped, his eyes flicking down to the bouquet of marigolds in his hand. "Instead, I was the one who was surprised."

Despite his attempts to maintain his composure, his anger was palpable, and it seeped through the air around them. There was a tense, heavy, pressure in the hallway, as if an invisible weight had shackled her.

Cressida's mind raced for an excuse, but her nerves got the best of her, leaving her paralyzed and speechless.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked again, "Why aren't you inside?"

She didn't answer.

Callidus took a step towards her, his eyes intense as he studied her. "You tore your dress."

Cressida's eyes darted down and noticed a rip in the blue cloth. "I hadn't realized..." she mumbled.

Callidus took another step closer to her, his expression softening slightly as he reached out to touch the torn fabric. Cressida felt a jolt of panic shoot through her, and she stepped back.

Callidus's eyes narrowed as the barely concealed anger bubbled to the surface once more.

"That doesn't matter," Callidus said in a measured tone, dropping his hand back to his side, now clenched tightly in a fist. "How did you get outside?"

Cressida's eyes flickered to meet his for a split second before looking away again, unable to hold his intense gaze. The silence stretched on, choking her.

"Princess," he said, "Regardless of whether or not you tell me, I will find out. I would prefer if you answered me."

A single petal fell from the bouquet, landing on the dark wooden parquet. The vivid orange of the marigold stood out like a flame.

"Did someone let you out?" His voice was cold.

"No."

Not intentionally.

"Did someone help you?"

"No."

"Cressida."

"She didn't."

"She?"

Cressida inhaled sharply; her eyes fixed on the fallen petal before flicking up to meet Callidus's gaze. His expression grew dark as he murmured, "Mint let you out?"

There was a drop in temperature all around them, as if the air had turned to ice.

"It was my fault," Cressida blurted out, her voice shaking. "I stole the key from her. She didn't do anything wrong. She doesn't even know."

A heavy silence settled between them, fractured only by the sound of Cressida's shaky breaths. Cressida stared at the door to the Sapphire Suite, avoiding Callidus's penetrating stare. "I... I should go back inside," she said finally, breaking the silence.