Chapter 43: Heartaches

Inside one of the small, dimly lit cottage, Thomas sat shirtless on a stool while his father Julio knelt before him, carefully pressing a cloth soaked in herbal salve against the darkening bruises along his ribs.

The boy winced.

"Hold still," Julio murmured, voice thick with worry. "This'll sting."

"I've had worse," Thomas muttered, gritting his teeth.

Julio glanced up sharply, lines of concern creasing his sun-worn face. "Don't talk like that, boy. You shouldn't have had anything at all if you'd kept your head down like I told you."

Thomas looked away, jaw clenched, sweat at his temples. His lip was split, and one eye already showed signs of swelling. Still, despite the clear pain, his eyes burned with stubborn heat.

"He had no right to lay hands on me."

"No, he didn't," Julio said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. "But men like Master Emilio don't need a right. They have a name. A title. Power. That's all that matters in this place."

Thomas let out a slow breath. "I don't care."

"You should," Julio snapped, wringing out the cloth into the basin. "You should care enough to stay alive. Do you think he'll stop next time? What if he goes further? What if he breaks something?

Thomas didn't answer. His fingers curled into fists on his thighs.

Julio sighed, more weary than angry now. "I know what this is about."

Thomas's head turned slightly, but he didn't speak.

Julio stood, wiping his hands on a rag. "It's the young mistress. Juliana."

Silence hung heavy in the room.

Julio's voice dropped, soft but firm. "She's kind. She defended you. Maybe she even… cares. But kindness doesn't change the world we live in. You think the sister of the duke and of noble blood, could ever truly be with you? What do you think would happen if people found out?"

Thomas finally looked up at him, eyes clear. "I know what would happen."

Julio's shoulders slumped. "Then why?"

Thomas stood slowly, wincing as his ribs protested. He reached for his shirt but didn't put it on yet, instead folding it in his arms.

"Because I'd rather be beaten a thousand times than pretend she doesn't mean something to me."

Julio stared at him.

Thomas's voice was low, but steady. "Every day I see her, I feel like I can breathe. She looks at me like I'm seen, like I'm not just part of the dust beneath their boots. And when she spoke up for me, when she stood there crying while he hit me… I knew. I knew I couldn't walk away from that, even if it's foolish. Even if there's no future."

Julio sank onto the edge of the small cot, exhaling sharply. "You're your mother's son," he muttered. "Soft-hearted and stubborn."

Thomas smiled faintly. "She loved you, didn't she?"

"'Til her last breath."

"Then I guess it runs in the blood."

Julio rubbed his face, torn between pride and dread. "I'm not saying stop caring. But be careful, Thomas. You have no shield in this house. If it ever comes to a choice between protecting you and protecting the family name, she may not be able to save you next time."

"I'll take the risk," Thomas said, sliding his shirt on with a hiss of pain. "Because I'd rather be true to myself… than live quietly as someone I'm not."

Julio looked at him for a long moment.

Then he reached up and patted his shoulder, very gently.

"Just promise me something, son."

Thomas met his eyes.

"When the tide turns and it will but keep your wits. Don't let your heart blind you completely."

"I promise."

As Julio blew out the lantern, plunging the room into quiet darkness, Thomas laid back onto the cot, pain shooting through him but in his chest, something else stirred.

Hope.

Even if it was foolish.

Evelyn's Chambers, Late Night

Evelyn sat at her vanity in her nightgown, the tips of her fingers idly brushing against the fabric of her sleeve as her mind swirled.

Her gaze wandered toward the window, but what she saw wasn't the garden below, it was Juliana, crying in her bed, trembling from heartbreak and shame. The memory of her tear-filled confession echoed quietly in Evelyn's mind.

"Do you look down on me now?"

Evelyn had said no. And she meant it. But that didn't quiet the worry in her chest.

She turned from the window and let out a slow, tired sigh, rising to her feet. Her steps were soft on the carpeted floor as she crossed the room to her writing desk. She slid open the top drawer.

There, tucked neatly and still untouched, were the unsealed letters from Julian, letters that had followed her here like ghosts. The corners were worn from handling, but not once had she dared to read them. The top one still bore his handwriting, so familiar that her heart clenched.

Her fingers hovered over them, trembling slightly.

She reached down and picked one up not to open it, just to feel the weight of it again. Just to remember what it meant. What he meant.

Juliana's situation had opened something inside her, an ache she'd carefully buried beneath layers of composure and duty. Evelyn remembered all too well what it felt like to love someone you couldn't have. Someone who could never be yours - not in the eyes of society, not in the gaze of family, not in the future carved out for a noblewoman like herself.

"Poor Juliana," she whispered, holding the letter close to her chest. "She doesn't even know how sharp the blade she's holding truly is."

The stable boy was brave or foolish even. That much was clear. And Juliana... Juliana had always been spirited, wild, and sincere. But the world they lived in was not forgiving. It was rigid and cruel, and even kindness had consequences.

She sank down into her chair again, still holding Julian's unopened letter, and let her eyes fall shut.

What would she tell Juliana if she asked for advice?

Would she tell her to run? To forget? To fight?

And what had she done herself?

Nothing.

Not a single letter read. Not a single reply sent.

Evelyn slowly placed the letter back into the drawer and closed it, the soft click echoing like a quiet admission.

"I suppose we're both cowards in our own way," she murmured, and turned away, returning to the silence of her bed.

But her thoughts did not let her rest.

Not that night.