Many eyes followed the two Apostles at their departure from the Interior Garden, with the 4th Apostles mind still in foreign land.

Too many things, too little time to sort them out one by one, with her usual impeccable ways she would have resolved things like this in a matter of days, saying a week already once would have been considered as a low blow against her pride.

And yet even what once had seemed so secure had turned volatile like a dandelion lost in the wind, it's petals at the mercy of the higher currents that lifted them over the clouds.

Rosalynde looked upwards on last time, towards the glass dome built over the interior gardens to withstand the biting cold, the light refractions blinding her eyes as if gifting her of its last gift. Another, and last warning she was probably going to receive that day.

She lowered her gaze soon after that, not wanting to see that core- wrecking view any more her reddish checks slowly turning back to their original cream-like colour. She held the urge to pinch them slightly after passing before a full-length mirror. If she had not been walking till now, she too would have started doubting about her heart, still apparently beating changed inside her chest.

It looked like death itself had decided to accompany her back inside, but it was not the afterlife she was trying so hard to escape, no.

She already had a partner escorting her around, and tugging her arm free of his gasp, she turned around to watch him better. Ten days had passed, a whole week and a half since their last encounter.

Something had changed too, not in what she had to admit was an impeccable dressing style, his dark trench coat the colour of obsidian hiding underneath the manually dyed leather, his refined shirt closed by heavy handcuffs at the sleeve ends and small, round, golden buttons, and pants held up with a midnight belt with golden refinements to make other around him gloat the riches they knew they did not possess.

He looked less curated than his usual self, his usual effortless good-looking hair completely combed backwards, hairstyle she rarely had seen him use since their first meeting months ago.

The Smiling Dame raised an amused brow when he lost the way he bumped against a tray full of pasties a maid had carelessly left unattended, a few chocolate delicacies falling on the ground, others on his polished shoes.

She suppressed a sly laugher, tugging him to go forward and not bother in making a scene, without the maid around it would have been difficult administer the punishment she already had come up with – oh well, other occasions would have surely come up for her to experiment with.

She led him to her office room, praying that Pharah had not left the previous occasion go waste to slip away and not get caught by nor the serving staff and the shadow of the King of Cards.

"Explain yourself," she said, moving past her desk, hiding the bin with the broken fountainpen away from his prying eyes.

His grey eye wondered the room, taking in as many details as he could. "You won't serve me tea this time? I feel offended, Silver" he said politely, crossing his legs after leisurely finding himself falling on the couch.

Her smile widened at his words, taking out from a drawer a small cotton bag before throwing it at him.

Catching it with ease he eyed her suspiciously. "Poisoning me in your office doesn't sound like a smart choice," he said, tasting the bag before prying it open with thumb and index.

"If I were to poison you. I would hide your body under my desk and then throw it out of the window with a rope tied around your neck to make it look as if you'd grown bored of life," she explained it step by step, methodically omitting out the most gruesome details she'd come up with time to occult a fresh corpse.

The newest addition to that list had been the former 4th Apostles body. When she'd thrown him off the edge of the High Searis, in a secluded zone close to the Imperial Botanical Gardens, inviting him with sweet words mixed with the booze he'd consumed in one of the many pubs between District Street and Merchants Road to jump of and make her a favour.

Katherine once has told her to keep a diary on such thoughts, but the idea had been quickly flushed down the sink by Pharah, who had threatened to get rid of all locks and replace they with simple iron knobs – much to The Smiling Dame displeasure.

She studied Grey as he took out the content of the cotton bag, thin greyish leaves with small chunks of chocolate, anise, cardan, cinnamon, and shredded orange zest.

"Are my eyes deceiving me, or this is indeed a gift?" He asked, bringing a hand over his heart. Gesture that made him earn a sever roll of eyes from his partner.

"If you don't want it, give it back here," she would have burned them without second thought the moment he would have left her room, now that she thought of it the hearth needed something to keep the flames high and unforgiving like she liked them.

She got up from her seat, striding confidently before him, her gloved hand waiting mid-air for him to give back the tea leaves.

What she didn't expect was the gesture that he did after. He was quick, faster than a falling leaf brought down by the imperious torrential rainstorms. Instead of giving her the bag, he shoved her gloved hand just like an adult scolding a child in need of candy, making it retreat it at impossible speed.

"Only a fool would refuse such precious gift," he said, neatly closing the bag, making it slide inside the internal pocket of his coat, patting it to show her the exact position.

"Have you always been this charming?" She asked, with his face stilling as if someone had thrown to his face a bucket filled with gelid water and cubicles of ice.

He continued to look at her for some interminable moments before chuckling lightly politely bringing a hand before his mouth to hide what high society considered an improper gesture. "Only to those who I deem worthy of it."

He sure knew how to sweet-talk people into believing his every word like a prophet announcing the will of the great Gods.

Rosalynde didn't need to question herself how'd he grown his business up until now. She wondered if he had always been like his. If as a child he would go around spinning words like a storyteller coming from another land full of stories to tell? If he had ever fooled adults into believing his every word, that being a white lie passing through his once child-looking lips?

The feline smile Rosalynde send his way was the last jesting interaction between the two.

Hector had come to her for a reason, and Rosalynde herself had newly found information to share with him.

She started her tale first, with Grey silent as she carried on, reminiscing the small talk she'd just had with Lord Regulus inside the Interior Garden whole duration of her speech, not interrupting her once as he took everything in. Throughout the conversation Rosalynde came to notice one subtle detail which hadn't been as obvious as now.

Out of all the things she had shared, he seemed all but surprised, his grey eyes calm and collected as he methodically made his right fingers tap one after another against her navy silk cushions, his fingers sinking into the soft fabric.

It was always rare to find someone so composed such as him in front of such unparalleled danger. Few were the people she'd met who possessed such skill, and nearly all of them unsurprisingly had been or had just become an Apostle themselves.

"I'm not surprised," he started, clicking his tongue. "Sternstorn has been in high society for years now. The probabilities that he'd encountered the previous members of Verity had always been extremely high," he added right after.

True, that had indeed always been a possibility that she had taken into consideration at first but had discarded it after Lord Regulus had faked ignorance on the matter. Leaving her amiss an ocean of doubts and a mountain of secrets to untangle one by one, just like when searching for knots to extricate.

So long it had taken to find the pillars sustaining that whole carousel ride she and Grey had hopped on, her on battered battle horse who long should have stopped charging right straight into the battlefields, Grey on a shiny golden painted carriage drawn by mares studded everywhere with incomparable gems.

Rosalynde moved not a single muscle as his turn to expose things came. She stood still in front of him, hands behind her back, clutching each other as he let her to what he'd been up to in the last weeks.

"We'll need to figure it out fast if we want to outsmart Verity," he said, his gaze sliding on her as she agreed with a small nod of the head. "We even need to find out what exactly is the lead Lord Sternstorn has just given you."

Go where no woman has ever set foot before.

Go where no woman has ever set foot before.

Go where no woman.

Has ever set foot before.

Your search for the truth starts now.

Rosalynde kept on repeating those words in her mind, as if hoping that after the answer would have swum from the rivers of the mind to her brain. Many were the places where woman still had no access to. Even after the reigns of powers had passed onto her Majesty, nearly nothing had changed since those early days.

"Too many are the places we have to check," he said, voicing one of the many doubts that which had formed in her head out loud.

Indeed, too many places to check, and no time at their disposal.

The hourglass had been turned by an omniscient hand of dust, and the few grains of sand that still hadn't fallen were struggling with all their might to not fall on the other side.

"We have to narrow our research down to somewhere, there has to be a thread connecting everything. We just have to untangle it," Rosalynde said, but that was easier said than done.

Grey gave her an amused grin before shaking his head in disagreement. "As much as I find commendable your sense of security. We're sailing in deep waters, Silver," with their boat instant away from sinking under the water level, never to be seen again.

"True. But this doesn't mean there's still something we can't do. Lord Regulus is a member of high society, right?"

At his nod she started pacing around the room, hands still clutched behind her back to make sure to not let go of her rational thoughts. "And the Black Judge confirmed that many members of the original Verity were members of High Society, meaning that they had ways to not get caught thanks to their status," she added quickly, eager to reach the final argumentation.

Grey's eyes lit up at that, his barrel-coloured eyes keen and full of understanding. A place where only nobles could access, and the search could narrow it down thanks to the ban of entry over woman.

A club house. And there was only one clubhouse that granted access to only the Rowlian Aristocrats.

The House of Hastles, the only still fully operation all-men's club, founded over 200 years ago and still a power-centre in terms of financial deals and affairs.

"Ever since its foundation. The House of Hastles has been managed and open to entry only by your opposite sex, Silver. Every servant is male, every member scritiniz3d counted and well placed in society, even the cleaners and cooks are men." Grey said, eyeing Rosalynde's reaction as her pacing finally came to an end right beside her desk.

"We need to get in there," Rosalynde said, a heavy sigh escaping her chest as she pushed away the newest doubts which had started climbing the chasm of her inner mind wall, chaining those monsters of sooth down into the abyss where they belonged.

A shackling silence entered the Smiling Dame's office, with Rosalynde quickly rounding her desk, moving all her papers and pens to the side before hopping on the wooden desk.

The elegant, ironed navy-blue edges of her uniform twirling as if someone had spined her around, making them flitter like a gust of wind of a harbour city watching the great sails of a vessel with three trees sailing towards unknown lands. Filled with adventures with their backpacks full of supplies to not starve, with iron lanterns that could not go without long fragile candles to be used in the dark, with blankets to use as beds against the dirty roads, and shields against the winter seasons.

"We need indeed. But we have a teeny tiny issue to care of first," he said, pointing his long index finger towards Rosalynde herself.

"Didn't they tell you it's discourteous to point your finger blandly at someone Grey?" she asked dry, arid as a river in the dry season.

"Didn't your employer ever tell you to be kind to people you need to keep on your side?" He asked, clicking his tongue to annoy her even further.

His intention worked just fine. With Rosalynde's eyes narrowing and a Cheshire smile making its appearance on her strikingly marvellous, pale, young face.

Taking a golden stained glass from the set Katherine had gifted her for her last birthday which she usually filled with honey whiskey, she twirled it around, throwing it in the air before faked-throwed it at him, making Grey instincts kick in as he quickly ducked on the floor to avoid.

"Look at you, at my feet already? Well this was easier than expected," she stated sardonically, laughing at her hearts content before setting the glass back on the smooth surface.

"You viper," he threated, standing back up before caging her between his body and her desk, positioning his hands on both sides her as he pressed himself closer.

A defiant gaze daring her to fight back his actions. A gaze filled with warmth as if playing an innocent game of cards with an old childhood friend. A gaze reserved for few – and Rosalynde herself unknowingly too, had become all too well aware of that.

She'd denied it up until now, she wasn't one to swoon for a man, even if that man was indeed, Hector Grey.

Tilting her head innocently aside, she looked at him straight in the eyes, nearly getting lost in those eyes the same colour of her barrel guns.

Rosalynde didn't know if it was the forced proximity, if it the events of the last days finally making themselves felt against her soul, or maybe the fact that she hasn't had a man warming her bed in a long time since the start of their partnership.

What she did know thought, was the dangerous effect that was slowly succeeding into corrupting her, threatening to make her lean in, closer to his body, getting lost in whatever game he was tempting to throw her into. A game, yes, this was all a game for both of them to enjoy until the great finale would have appeared to finally end things,

Grey was able to get even closer than before. His chin leaning on her shoulder while making his lips climb her neck till it was dangerously close to her ear, his hot breath fanning her side as her eyes defined her will, travelling to where he she knew he was.

She nearly flinched when their gazes met again.

"What did you call me?" She asked all in one breath, her words barely audible as the crushing sound of her beating heart seemed to deafen all noise around her.

"I called you a viper, Silver," he said, earning himself a silent chuckle from Rosalynde, who leaning against his lips decided to tease him a little, to give back a share of what he was trying to do with her.

"Have I poisoned you?" She asked, grinning like a madwoman before what as soon going to become her greatest masterpiece.

"You know you did."

Rosalynde made her hand slide around his arm, like a snake getting ready to enjoy the prey, but first making sure to entrap it – leaving no chance of escape. She closed her eyes at the scene of a snake sinking its fangs against the frail skin of their prey, a traitorous sound escaped Grey's lips as she blew on his earlobe, finally getting a reaction from him.

"Should this viper apologise?" She asked, even if they both know she would have never done anything sort of a kind. Especially in situations such as this one.

"Only if you promise to do it again," he replied, shuddering as he finally stepped away, pulling the end of his loose shirt back to how they were before adding subtly. "We better go now, I don't have a lot of time to pick out something that will actually fit you as I do not know your measurements."

At this words Rosalynde's smile started dimming, eyes narrowing as she jumped off her desk, straightening the edges of her uniform before asking what he was talking about.

An uncomfortable sense of not agreement filled her chest as she pushed those restless feelings away.

Distractions to the soul, the finest poison to the mind, a rotting sensation started burning under her skin.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, but he was already at the door, pushing it open before partially turning around to look at her, greeting her with one of his charming smiles before he

"Oh, but I have to turn you into a fine and respectable gentlewoman if we both want to enter inside the House of Hastles," she felt the colour drain from her pale cheeks, as if it were any possible for her complexion to get whiter that she already was.

And with that he was out of the door, with the sound of her heels tailing him throughout the halls like the shadows of the candles running towards the tenuous fire of the hanging lamps.