The air in Maplewood tasted different than Civen—like pine sap and woodsmoke instead of the perfume and sweaty desperation of people performing wealth for each other.
Poppy sat in front of the small stone dragon statue, picking the skeletons of dead flowers off the vines wrapped around its base. It had been a week since they’d returned to Maplewood. The itch was there, scratching at the back of her throat—a reminder that she needed to dose soon—but out here in the cold she didn’t feel the immediate need to numb it.
Why do you come here? Echo asked. Draconus doesn’t answer. Doesn’t do anything.
I’m not asking anything. I’m not even trying to talk to him.
Then what are you doing?
Enjoying the fact that something isn’t pushing expectations on me. Isn’t demanding anything. He just… leaves me alone.
That’s kind of sad.
A twig snapped.
Poppy didn’t jump. She just sighed, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her dagger as she turned her head.
“You’re loud for a professional, Niko.”
Niko’s voice came from the shadows. “And you’re sitting in the moonlight like you’re trying to attract every predator in a ten-mile radius. Bold choice.”
He stepped out of the pines, stretching his arms like he just woke up from a nap. He wore the garb of his company: a doublet of yellow and black slashed silk that puffed out through the cuts in the fabric, tight parti-colored hose, and a broad, flat cap cocked at an angle with one of the most obnoxious red feathers she had ever seen jutting from the brim.
She’d only seen him in the Freelands a handful of times, but he looked more comfortable standing in the mud like a dangerous peacock than he ever had in her grandfather’s marble corridors.
“There are things out here that don’t care about your press pass,” he added, eyeing the dark woods around them. “Or your new title.”
“At least wraiths are honest about wanting to kill me,” Poppy said.
He snorted. “Is that what you’re calling this? Embracing honesty?”
“What do you want, Nikolas?”
“Abraxus sent me.” He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small, dense wooden cube, carved with heavy runes. “Though I’ll admit, I didn’t hate the excuse to check in on the Company while I was up here.”
He tossed the cube onto a flat rock near the shrine. With a sharp crack of his boot heel against the top, the magic discharged. The wood groaned, air displaced with a pressurized pop, and the cube rapidly unfolded and expanded into a full-sized, reinforced travel trunk.
“Travels light, lands heavy,” Niko muttered, unlatching the lid. “Much like your grandfather’s expectations.”
He pulled a garment bag from the trunk and tossed it onto the frozen leaves next to her. It landed with the soft thud of expensive fabric.
“He sent the dress,” Poppy said flatly.
“He wants you to have it for your… ‘festivities.’” Niko’s tone and air quotes made it clear what he thought of that word. “He thinks it’s charming. A little rustic pre-celebration before the real event.”
“There is no real event. We cancelled it.”
“According to you.” Niko kicked the trunk again. It collapsed in on itself with a snap, returning to the size of a die. He snatched it up and pocketed it. “According to Abraxus and Helena, you’re having a moment. A ‘highly emotional sabbatical.’ Lucas spun quite the tale about bride nerves and needing creative space. Very touching, really. I almost believed it myself.”
Is he trying to make you squirm?
Except she wasn’t squirming. Maybe it was the change of scenery, maybe it was the Blight starting to wear off, or maybe it was the shrine, but she found herself extraordinarily calm.
“The message was specific,” Niko continued. “‘Tell Penelope to enjoy her holiday. Wear the dress. Have her little woodland wedding. Get it out of her system. We’ll see her in the spring when she’s ready to be serious again.’”
Poppy stared at the bag, sitting next to her stone dragon like an invader. She could almost hear Abraxus saying, Go ahead. Play house in the mud. I know you’ll come back.
“And if I don’t?” The words came out quieter than she intended.
Niko really looked at her then. The mockery slid off his face, leaving something harder behind.
“Then things get complicated,” he said. “Lucas bought you time, Princess. Not freedom. You’ve got until the snow melts to figure out what you’re actually doing out here.”
He turned toward the trade road, his boots crunching in the frozen leaves.
“Nice spot, by the way,” he called over his shoulder, nodding to the statue. “Draconus. God of doing whatever you want. Fitting for someone who keeps insisting she owns herself.”
“At least something around here sees me as an individual,” Poppy replied. “Are you staying or leaving?”
“Staying. Company has a contract near the Terran border.” He stopped at the edge of the clearing, looking back. “And before you ask—yes, Grandfather’s paying me to keep an eye on you. He thinks you’ll fold by spring and come crawling back to Civen with your tail between your legs.”
Niko offered a lazy, mocking salute that somehow suited him perfectly.
“Try not to get eaten by anything with teeth, Lady Marianus. I’m still betting on you, and I would hate to lose my money on a technicality.”
Then he was gone, melting back into the forest like he’d never been there at all.
Poppy sat in the silence he left behind, staring at the garment bag before finally reaching out and opening the folds. The fabric was black and purple, soft to the touch but heavy enough to survive the woods.
Elegant but functional. Like everything Grandfather did—beautiful on the surface, practical underneath, and always serving his purposes.
She stood and brushed the snow off her skirts, closed the bag, and tucked it under her arm.
Is Niko still watching? Echo asked.
Probably. It’s his job.
You didn’t tell him to leave. You stopped telling him to leave.
Poppy adjusted the bag in her arms.
Niko’s surveillance was something she understood. It was a job, a contract, something she could predict and manage. But Titus?
He asked for nothing and offered everything. No transaction to track, no leverage to calculate. Just someone who kept showing up, catching her, and expecting nothing back.
She headed back toward Maplewood and the terrifying possibility that she might be deserving of it.