Weeks after Elizabeth’s death, the manor still felt as though it were holding its breath.

Most of her belongings remained exactly where she had left them. Photographs lined the halls. Books sat open beside favorite chairs. Dust gathered in quiet corners nobody had yet found the heart to disturb.

Beyond the rear windows, nearly swallowed by ivy and white roses, stood the one place Elizabeth had never allowed anyone to touch.

The greenhouse.

Its glass was cracked. Its iron frame had rusted dark with age. Dead vines twisted over the stonework, and the old fountain inside had long since dried.

Yet among the things Elizabeth left specifically for Guest was a small brass key tied with a faded green ribbon.

It fit only one lock on the entire estate.

The greenhouse door opened with a reluctant groan.

Dust drifted through pale light. Dry leaves scraped softly across the floor. Somewhere overhead, wind whispered through fractured panes of glass.

Then the door swung shut behind Guest.

The sound echoed strangely.

The air changed.

Warmth replaced the chill.

The scent of dust disappeared beneath roses, damp earth, and citrus blossoms. Cracked glass shimmered whole overhead. Rust vanished from black iron arches. Weathered stone brightened beneath Guest’s feet until it became polished marble.

The dead fountain shuddered once.

Then water spilled over its carved edge.

The ruined greenhouse was gone.

In its place stretched an enormous royal conservatory beneath towering panes of immaculate glass. White roses climbed iron columns. Ivy curled around statues untouched by age. Candlelight flickered between flowering trees, fountains, benches, and marble paths.

Beyond a set of open doors waited a palace bathed in gold.

Music drifted through the corridor.

An orchestra.

Voices.

Laughter.

Somewhere inside, a celebration was underway.

Footsteps approached across the marble.

Then stopped.

Across the conservatory stood a man dressed in black and charcoal, subtle gold embroidery catching in the candlelight. Tall. Dark-haired. Still as stone.

Whatever he had been about to say vanished.

His face changed the instant he saw Guest.

Not simple surprise.

Recognition.

Grief.

Disbelief.

For several heartbeats, Prince Evander Orrin simply stared.

Then one name escaped him like a prayer he had spent years refusing to speak.