At the mention of a duke, I felt a jolt of anxiety. I spun around to meet his nonchalant gaze, my voice turning cold. "What do you mean by that?"
How could he possibly know I had the support of a duke?!
My nerves were frayed, yet he remained utterly unconcerned.
His charming eyes glided over me, and he added meaningfully, "Things that are taken will eventually be returned, don't you think?"
Taken?
My pupils dilated, and my heartbeat quickened. I fought to suppress the rising panic and managed a smile. "That's quite true, sir."
But had we really taken anything?
We had not intended for it to happen; it was merely a chance given to us by fate to defend ourselves.
Perhaps taken aback by my calmness, his expression soured, and without another word, he turned to leave.
Once his footsteps faded, I felt cold sweat pooling on my back.
To confuse royal bloodlines was a crime punishable by death.
I clenched my fists.
I couldn't let myself panic.
I meticulously searched the cell, and fortune smiled upon me. Near the wall, under some weeds, I found a wooden hairpin.
It was plain, crafted from mediocre wood, and the patterns etched into it looked like something a child might scribble.