Last night, Maxwell and Anthony had left as promised, though not before Mary loaded their carriage with gifts and food, and Eloise waving at them like she couldn't wait for them to disappear.
In the crisp morning air, she and Mary strolled through the orchard at the center of the manor.
It was a room of sorts, with morning light spilling in through broken glass walls, casting a soft glow over the orangery and flowers. Though parts of it were ruined, it still looked beautiful.
"I must admit, it's a fine manor," Eloise said, patting Mary's hand. "But it still gives me the creeps."
"I'm sure, aside from all that, it's still a fine place to live. And McKenna has been nothing but kind to me."
Mary stopped walking and gently held Eloise's hand. "I'm truly grateful for your concern, but I promise I'm fine. This is still better than marrying the old peer."
"I know," Eloise said, squinting at her. "But if it doesn't make you happy, it's not enough."
She leaned in slightly. "Does he love you? Or do you love him?"
Mary let out a nervous laugh. "Eloise, you know how things happened between us. Love isn't exactly..."
"Exactly," Eloise cut in. "I know love didn't grow between you two. Which is why you have to think about the ball. You deserve happiness, Mary."
Mary laughed nervously, unsure how to respond. Thankfully, a letter arrived just then for Eloise.
"Oh, it must be from Mother," Eloise sighed, reaching to break the wax seal, only for Mary to suddenly clutch her sleeve.
She turned, startled. Mary was leaning weakly against her, breathing hard.
"Mary?" Eloise grabbed her hand, her voice rising with worry. "What's wrong?"
But Mary couldn't speak. Her body gave out, and she collapsed into Eloise's arms.
What neither of them knew was that something dark, hidden in the shadows, had begun to awaken.
******
Moments later, Mary lay in bed, her cheeks flushed her red hair tied up in a neat bun. Eloise sat beside her, gently squeezing her hand.
"Mama has called for me," Eloise said softly. Her eyes flicked to the physician's note beside the bed — just a mild migraine, they said. Still, the unease in her chest wouldn't go away.
She held the letter tightly. "I shouldn't leave you now, not when you're unwell."
Reaching over, she placed a damp towel on Mary's forehead and forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You've always been kind, Mary. You never looked down on me, not once, even with our difference in status." Her voice trembled, and her throat tightened, but she blinked back the tears.
"You give so much, and still... goodness never seems to find you."
She closed her eyes, remembering the day she was just a child – the day everything changed. Her mother had become a servant in their household, and she had wandered, curious, until she saw the red-haired girl with the bright eyes. The girl had asked her to play, and from that moment, they'd been inseparable.
Eloise had seen how often Mary's parents locked her in her room whenever she disobeyed. She'd tried to fight for her, but she was just a girl with no say.
The only person Mary had was Aunt Em. But after her tragic passing, it had only been Eloise and her mama, and never her own parents. The one meant to love and protect her had instead sold her off like she was nothing.
"I'll come visit to be sure you're well cared for. But until then, you must stay strong, Mary."
She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Mary's forehead. But Mary didn't react, not even a glance, and that worried Eloise.
With a sigh, Eloise tightened her grip on the letter and rose from the chair.
"I'll be back, Mary," she said softly before walking out.
Outside the door, uniformed maids stood waiting with bowls and towels.
"Mr. McKenna said she must be tended to at all times, and never left alone for even a second," said a brown-haired maid, bowing slightly when Eloise gave her a questioning look.
At those words, Eloise scoffed. Without another glance at them, she stamped her foot on the floor and marched toward the parlor.
There, she saw him, seated with one leg crossed over the other, a wine glass raised lazily to his lips. But before he could take a sip, Eloise strode across the room and snatched the cup from his hand.
"You sit here drinking while your wife is sick?" Eloise slammed the glass down on the table and crossed her arms. "I knew you didn't care for Mary, but I didn't think it was this bad."
He said nothing, eyes fixed on the fire.
That only fueled her anger. Her face flushed pink, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
"If you had no plans to be a proper husband, then you should've sulked in your mansion instead of marrying her."
She shot him a cold glare, still wondering if she should take Mary away. Something still didn't feel right.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was calm. "How is she?"
"If you're that curious, why don't you go check on her yourself?" she snapped.
She had expected him to come running the moment Mary fainted. But here he was–sitting, drinking, like fainting was something he grew up watching.
"She doesn't have anyone here. If you can't be kind, at least be decent," Eloise said quietly.
She clutched the letter tightly and walked toward the door, but before stepping out, she turned back.
"I won't be back for a while. When she wakes up, tell her my mama called for me. But until then, don't leave her alone—not for a second. If you do, I won't hesitate to take her with me when I return."
She walked out without another word.
McKenna's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he stared after her.
He didn't understand why he kept getting pulled toward this human girl–his wife.
She made him feel restless. And that annoyed him more than anything.
He stood and walked reluctantly down the corridor leading to her room. The sun was sinking behind the horizon, and a light drizzle hung in the air. With each step, the cold deepened. Soon, rain began to patter against the stone ground.
As he reached the door, the wind howled, slamming against the walls and blowing out the lanterns.
Then, without him touching it, the door creaked open on its own.
McKenna stepped in, and it felt like he'd crossed into the afterlife.
A rush of dark energy filled his lungs. Power surged through his veins, and with every step, shadows curled around his boots like smoke.
He halted.
The air was thick with omen, and his eyes fell on the red-haired figure lying motionless on the bed.
Smoke circled her body–no longer quiet, but violent, like something inside her was breaking free.
He frowned and moved closer. She hadn't stirred, not even with the cold seeping into the room.
Crouching beside her, he studied her pale face and the restless shadows around her. Then, almost without thinking, he reached out and touched her forehead.
A sudden surge of heat shot through his palm and he jerked back, brows furrowed in confusion.
McKenna sighed. If even the judge couldn't figure out what she was, how could he, someone losing his immortality?
Still, in that moment, he felt it.
His power. It was there, faint but alive–and it was tied to her.
Suddenly, he turned. Something strong was calling to him.
Behind her trunk, something gleamed. A flash of steel hidden in shadow.
His eyes narrowed. He stepped closer. With every footstep, the pull grew stronger.
His hand reached out.
And then...