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Nicabar chuckled, a deep, rich sound that stirred warmth beneath her cooling skin. “Sí, it is. Let us dress and get some sleep.”

Reluctantly, she sat up, gathering her scattered clothes from their blanket. As she pulled her blouse over her head, she cast aglance at him, admiring the way the moonlight brushed his golden-brown skin, making him look like a sculpture come to life. “I’m sorry we have to do this out here,” she said, fastening her bodice. “I just… I can’t. Not with my mither in the caravan. It’s too…”

“Mortifying?” Nicabar offered with a roguish grin, pulling his shirt over his broad shoulders.

Rosselyn laughed, nodding as she tugged her skirt into place. “Aye, I suppose that’s a good word for it.”

“No,mi tesoro. I am more than happy to frighten away the night creatures by making you scream my name under the stars.”

He caught her hand, his warm fingers wrapping around hers as he pulled her close, stealing a kiss that melted her protest. She lingered in the moment, savoring the heat of his lips, before she broke away with a soft, breathless laugh.

As they gathered the rest of their belongings, Rosselyn tilted her head to the sky. “Too bad there aren’t any stars tonight,” she murmured, her gaze thoughtful as clouds smothered the heavens.

Nicabar’s eyes softened as he followed her gaze, then drifted back to her face, his voice deep with affection. “I see the brightest star right before me.”

Her heart fluttered, and she kissed him again, her fingers curling into the rough fabric of his coat. “You’re a ridiculous man, Nicabar.”

“Sí, but I amyourridiculous man,” he said, his voice a teasing rumble.

“That you are.” She hugged his arm, a smile curling her lips, as he squeezed her hand and led her back toward the Romani settlement.

The Traveller camp lay hushed beneath the heavy night sky, the caravans cloaked in shadow save for the occasional flicker ofa lantern or the soft snuffling of horses in the distance. The air hung cool and still, carrying the faint scent of moisture clinging to the trees.

As they approached Nicabar’s vardo, Rosselyn’s eyes caught a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. She stilled, instinct prickling down her spine. Tugging on Nicabar’s shirt, she pressed a finger to her lips.

He turned a questioning gaze to her, brows lifting.

She pointed toward a shadowy figure slipping between the caravans, heading in the direction of the castle. The lamplight licked across flowing blonde hair she recognized at once. Rosselyn’s jaw tightened, her chest rising with indignation. “What is that girl up to?” she hissed under her breath.

Nicabar followed her gaze, his expression darkening. “Knowing Veronique? Only mischief.”

Setting their belongings outside the vardo, Rosselyn grabbed Nicabar’s hand, urgency sparking in her veins. “Come on,” she urged in a low whisper.

Together, they followed Veronique, keeping far enough back to remain cloaked by shadows. Rosselyn’s heart thudded in her chest, loud in her ears as they darted between trees. Her gaze never wavered from the blonde figure ahead. Veronique paused occasionally, glancing over her shoulder, and each time Rosselyn and Nicabar melted behind the cover of a tree, holding their breath until she moved on.

When Veronique reached the back of the castle, Rosselyn’s stomach twisted into a knot. She watched as the girl slipped toward the secret passage, her movements quick but too practiced for coincidence. Rosselyn clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. “How does she know about the secret entrance?”

Nicabar cursed softly under his breath. “She must have followed me,” he admitted, guilt shadowing his face. “I am sorry,mi amor.”

Rosselyn exhaled slowly, her anger tempered by his honesty. “The fault is mine,” she replied, firm and resolute. “Come on.”

They slipped through the hidden entrance, their steps feather-light against the worn stones. The passage pressed close around them, the faint glow of torches guiding them through the cold, damp walls. Moisture clung to the air, and Rosselyn’s ears strained for any hint of sound beyond the thundering of her own heartbeat.

Nicabar’s hand tightened on hers, a silent promise—they would face this together.

When they reached the end of the short passage, Rosselyn noticed the kitchen door was slightly ajar. She tugged on Nicabar’s sleeve, pointing toward it. He nodded in understanding.

The courtyard was eerily silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Shadows stretched long beneath the flickering torchlight, cloaking the corners in restless dark. Just as they were about to step forward, a guard strolled into view, his pace slow and casual. Rosselyn froze, her breath catching in her throat as she backed into the shadows, pulling Nicabar with her.

They waited, pressed against the cold stone wall, the chill seeping through Rosselyn’s gown. Her lungs burned from holding her breath, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Finally, the guard disappeared around the corner, and she exhaled shakily, the release of tension leaving her lightheaded.

They crept toward the kitchen door, Rosselyn casting a wary glance around to ensure no one else lurked nearby. Carefully, shepushed the door open, stepping inside. The kitchen lay in shadowed silence, the hearth cold, its embers long dead. The faint scent of stale bread and smoke lingered in the air.

Rosselyn closed the door behind Nicabar and lit a tallow candle, the flickering flame casting long, jittering shadows across the walls. Her heart thundered in her chest as she scanned the room. “What is that bitch doing in the castle?” she whispered fiercely, her voice tight with fury.

Nicabar placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, grounding her storm of fury. She pointed toward the door leading to the serving room, silently instructing him to check that direction. He nodded and slipped away, soundless as a specter.

Rosselyn turned toward the servants’ quarters but stopped dead as she passed the pantry. The door stood open just an inch—an ill omen. Cook never left the door open, wary of the stray cats that prowled the kitchens.