The smoke from the burning balcony curtains billowed into the high-ceilinged bedroom, carrying the sharp stench of cordite, singed velvet, and old blood.

An hour later, Eleanor was brought to the private medical suite.

She looked fragile in her blood-stained apron, her gray hair untangled, but her eyes filled with immense relief when she saw me sitting on the bed, my leg bandaged and wrapped in a warm blanket.

"Clara!" Eleanor cried, rushing forward and throwing her arms around me. "Oh my sweet girl! My precious baby!"

I hugged her tight, smelling the familiar scent of lavender and starch that had defined my entire childhood. I wept into her neck, feeling the tremors in her frail body.

"Mother," I whispered, pulling back slightly to look at her face. "Is it true?"

Eleanor froze. She looked from me to Roman, who stood by the window, his cut bandaged, his arms crossed over his chest like an imposing shadow.

"What did he tell you?" Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling.

"He didn't tell me," I said, reaching up to pull down the torn fabric of my collar, exposing the dark, winged birthmark on my shoulder. "Corvo saw it. Roman saw it. His pendant matches it."

Eleanor covered her mouth, a stifled sob escaping her lips. She sank into a chair beside the bed, burying her face in her weathered hands.

"I tried so hard," Eleanor wept. "Twenty-four years... I hid you in the dirt. I dressed you in plain clothes. I told you to keep your head down, to never stand out, to never let anyone see that mark..."

"Why, Eleanor?" I asked gently, taking her trembling hands. "Why did you lie to me about who I was?"

Eleanor looked up, her eyes filled with a lifetime of terror and devotion.

"Because the Valente bloodline was a death sentence!" she gasped. "Your father, Julian Valente, was a powerful man, but he was ruthless. When the other families turned on him, Don Corvo and Don Vance—Roman’s father—set fire to the manor while everyone slept."

Roman flinched near the window, but he didn't interrupt.

"I was the under-maid," Eleanor continued, tears streaming down her wrinkles. "I was in the nursery when the smoke started. Your mother... your real mother, Lady Sophia... she was dying from a bullet wound. She shoved you into my arms, put that pendant around your neck, and begged me to run. She said, 'Make her invisible, Eleanor. Don't let them make her a pawn.'"

Eleanor looked at Roman with a mixture of fear and defiance. "I ran into the woods. I lost the pendant in the snow near the gates—Don Vance must have picked it up later. I changed your name. I registered you as my own. I raised you on tea and stale bread, but you were safe! You were alive!"

"You gave up your whole life for me," I said, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. "You never married. You never had a home of your own. You spent twenty years hiding in a tiny shop just to keep me breathing."

"You were my daughter, Clara," Eleanor said fiercely, squeezing my hands. "Blood doesn't make a mother. Love does."

I leaned forward and held her tight. "You are my mother. You will always be my mother."

Roman stepped away from the window, his heavy boots sounding softly against the floor. He knelt beside Eleanor’s chair.

Eleanor flinched back instinctively, but Roman reached out and gently laid his hand over hers.

"Mrs. Whitmore," Roman said, his voice quiet, filled with a deep respect I had never heard from him before. "You saved the life of the woman who is now my wife. For twenty-four years, you bore a burden that should have belonged to the syndicate. You will never have to hide again."

Eleanor searched Roman’s face. "Your father was a terrible man, Don Vance. He had no honor."

"I know," Roman acknowledged without hesitation. "Which is why I am going to undo everything he built. The Vance syndicate dies with me. What replaces it... will belong to Clara."

Before Eleanor could process his words, Viktor knocked on the door and stepped inside, looking grave.

"Don Vance. The Council has called an emergency assembly at the High Citadel downtown. They know Corvo’s attack failed. Don Corvo’s second-in-command has invoked the Blood Clause."

Roman stood up, his face hardening instantly. "The Blood Clause?"

"They are demanding that you produce Clara before the Council by midnight to prove she isn't a Valente," Viktor explained. "If you refuse to bring her, or if she bears the mark, the Council will declare total war on the Vance family and strip all your shipping rights by sunrise."

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was nine o'clock. We had three hours.

"Then we go to the Council," I said, swinging my legs over the side of the examination bed.

"No," Roman said firmly, turning to me. "You stay here under maximum security. The High Citadel is a snake pit. I will handle the Council alone."

"Roman, did you hear what Viktor said?" I stood up, wincing slightly as weight hit my bandaged thigh, but holding my ground. "They want me. If you go alone, they will accuse you of treason and execute you on the spot!"

"I have survived thirty years in this city, Clara," Roman said, stepping up to me, his hands resting on my waist. "I can handle seven greedy old men."

"Not without the Valente heir standing beside you," I argued, laying my hands against his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart. "You said it yourself—in your family, you don't surrender what is yours. Well, in my family, we don't let our husbands fight our wars alone."

Roman stared at me, his breath catching in his throat. A mix of awe, fear, and fiercely burning passion flashed through his dark gray eyes.