CHAPTER 43

Far from Belfoire, Julian rode into the capital city under the blaze of morning sun. The towering spires and bustling cobblestone streets reminded him of earlier missions. Yet this time, his heart felt heavier, burdened by the ghosts he left behind at Belfoire.

He reported promptly to the War Office, striding through imposing corridors lined with portraits of esteemed generals. A stern-faced commander debriefed him for hours—Julian recounted every detail of the sabotage, from Bernard's blackmail to Nathaniel's final capture. The commander listened intently, nodding at intervals.

After the exhaustive session, Julian was dismissed to a side office, where a younger clerk compiled documents for official filing. As he waited, a familiar voice startled him: "Lord Wakefield. So you've returned triumphant, I hear."

Julian turned, spotting Lord Harring, a fellow intelligence operative. Harring smirked. "Word spreads that you uncovered quite the conspiracy, toppling a traitorous Hawke cousin. Bravo."

Julian offered a tight smile. "I had help. The Duke of Belfoire was instrumental in that victory."

Harring's gaze sparkled with curiosity. "Yes, yes, but I also heard intriguing whispers about a lady involved. Some say you two were quite entangled. Others say she's the Duke's mistress. Do clarify?"

Julian stiffened, annoyance flaring. "She was an ally, crucial to the mission. Nothing more need be said."

Harring raised hands in mock surrender. "Ah, hush hush. Understood." He cast a sly grin. "In any case, the War Office likely has new tasks for you soon. The realm faces unrest along the eastern borders. We'll see if you volunteer."

A pang shot through Julian. Another mission—another departure from any semblance of personal life. Memories of Vivienne's tearful gaze flickered in his mind. "We'll see," he said tersely, not wanting to commit.

Harring left with a smug wave, leaving Julian stewing. The day ended with the War Office granting him a short respite before possible reassignment. He found lodgings in a modest townhouse near the city center. Alone in his rented rooms, he wondered if the path of an intelligence operative was truly what he wanted anymore. Vivienne's face haunted him, and so did the pang of leaving her in Lucien's orbit.

Days passed. Julian's daily routine involved mild debrief updates, a few social visits from acquaintances praising his success, and endless reflection on his next move. Should he remain in intelligence? The mission at Belfoire had shown him the toll it took on the heart. He poured over this dilemma in sleepless nights, absentmindedly penning letters but never sending them.

One afternoon, as he wandered the palace grounds, a messenger approached, bowing. "A letter for you, Lord Wakefield." The messenger handed over a sealed note. Julian's stomach flipped at the sight of the familiar handwriting—Vivienne's.

He retreated to a quiet bench under a flowering tree, breaking the seal with trembling fingers.

Lord Wakefield,The manor feels quieter without you. Lucien and I have maintained a cordial front, but I sense new struggles ahead. I wonder how you fare in the capital, whether your next mission beckons.I long for clarity—yet find none. My heart remains torn, and each day I question if I should remain or follow my own path. But I wanted you to know I think of you often. Perhaps that alone is worth writing.Yours in uncertain times,Vivienne

He inhaled, relief and longing coursing through him. She wrote first. The subtle mention of her inner turmoil reflected his own. He read it twice, then carefully tucked it into his coat. As he stared at the palace gates, a thousand thoughts warred in his mind. Perhaps he should go back, or invite her here… but would that be fair to Lucien or her?

Duty pulled him one way, love another, and a deep yearning for a life of honest belonging overshadowed all. For now, at least, he had her letter, a slender thread connecting them across the miles. He resolved to write back soon, though what he'd say remained uncertain.

In that moment, as the city's bustle echoed around him, Julian realized that leaving Belfoire didn't mean escaping heartbreak. Indeed, heartbreak followed him into these stately corridors, pressing him to confront whether a solitary life of espionage was worth sacrificing the bond he had nurtured with Vivienne.