The room was unlike anything Elowen had ever known. Walls of deep emerald silk, stitched with silver thread in floral patterns, met polished wooden panels that smelled of cedar and cold firewood. A chandelier of crystal vines hung above her like enchanted frost, refracting light from an unseen source. The bed was vast, its velvet covers a rich plum color, trimmed in gold. At the headboard, carved into the dark oak, was a symbol she'd seen before- The Ravenshade family crest, an obsidian raven with a moonstone eye.
Everything screamed elegance and wealth. Yet, the air was chiller here, and the silence echoed too much.
Tomas appeared at the door, clearing his throat. "Miss Grantham. It is time for lunch. His Lordship has requested that you dine in the guest dining room."
Elowen, who had spent the past hours pacing and overthinking, stood quickly and followed him. The route they took this time was unfamiliar, threading through a quieter wing of the manor. Here, the walls were adorned with portraits- ancient faces locked in time. There were unmistakable traces of vampirism in them: sharp features, icy eyes, regal postures.
One portrait stopped her steps. It was the present Lord Ravenshade at perhaps five years old, dressed finely, but utterly serious, staring into the world with disdain already carved into his young face. Next to him was Seraphin, identical yet opposite- beaming, eyes glittering like laughter had just escaped them.
"Cold even as a child," she muttered. "Rudeness must have multiplied over the years."
Tomas glanced at her but said nothing.
In the drawing room, the table was dressed in a white linen cloth with silver embroidery. Dishes were arranged like an art exhibition: to the left, a spread of roasted poultry, seasoned vegetables, bread still warm from the oven, to the right, a glistering array of seafood-crabs with orange claws, prawns curled in lemon glaze, fish delicately filleted with eyes still intact.
"Yours are the dishes on the right, Miss, "Tomas said politely before excusing himself.
Elowen's blood froze. Her breath caught. Her heartbeat increased but she tried to calm herself.
Seafood!
She hadn't eaten seafood since childhood. The smell alone made her stomach turn violently. Not because of preference-but because of what she was. It brought nausea and searing pain to her throat. Her mermaid lineage, though buried deep, rejected anything that once swam the ocean.
She sat at the farthest cushion away from the seafood, wrapping her arms around herself, pretending to be fine. She didn't eat. Couldn't.
Minutes passed before Tomas returned. He noticed all the dishes on the table were untouched.
"Miss Grantham, Master Julian requests your presence."
Of course, he did.
Julian leaned lazily in his armchair, a glass of dark wine in hand, the book sea creature and the blood of legends resting on his lap. His eyes skimmed the same sentence again-
'The cursed merfolk cannot consume their kin, neither in shell nor scale…'
"Blackstone… seafood… let's see what else you have up your sleeves, wildflower," he murmured with a smirk.
A knock.
Elowen entered, clearly trying to keep her composure.
"My designer is to arrive shortly. You will select my wardrobe design for the coming week," he said, sipping his wine.
"Sire, may I at least know your preferences?"
Julian glanced at her sharply. "It seems someone didn't read rules about questioning. Use your brain, Wildflower."
"That isn't my name, Sire."
"I'll call you what I want."
He stood and strode past her without another word. She stared after him, her eyes narrowing.
"Piece of-" she began, but bit her tongue halfway.
He was already gone.
Elowen exhaled and began walking around the room, examining his wardrobe. All his coats were variations of deep, brooding hues-midnight black, storm grey, oxblood, and navy.
No warmth. Each coat tailored to perfection, with high collars, velvet or silk lapels, silver cufflinks carved into crescent moons or wolves. The man dressed like a walking thundercloud.
A knock.
"Miss Grantham," Tomas said. "The designer is here."
Oh gods.
She followed Tomas down the stairs, every step adding weight to her chest. Her thoughts spiraled-What if she picked the wrong fabric?
The wrong cut?
At the bottom, a tall man in a lavender waistcoat stood proudly, inspecting the room with casual arrogance. His eyes snapped to her clothes, hesitating at her worn shoes-but then they lingered on her face.
"Ah," he said, with the voice of someone used to being praised. "So, you are the new assistant. Julian has unique taste in staff these days." He said in his French accent, he scanned her as if with disdain - from head to toe stopping at her shoe, shaking his head slightly.
Elowen blinked. "You must be the designer. I'm…"
"Nevermind… I am Mr Simon Dubois, le createur le plus classe et le plus elelgant, designer to the royal house of Eldhollow and, le distinguee maison de Ravenshade."
"Yes Monsieur, I will be picking his de…" Elowen was about to explain.
"No need," he waved. "The Lord already picked his designs. He merely said I'd be handing them to you."
She stood frozen. What?! After all that stress, he had already selected his clothes?
The designer handed her a package. "These are the selected pieces."
Before she could respond, he handed another box to Tomas, wrapped in a pink floral bag appearing feminine. "This one is for the Lord's eyes only."
Tomas gave a curt nod and walked off.
Elowen returned to Julian's chambers, placed the clothes gently where they belonged-organized by shade, then fabric texture, then cut. The level of control he had was borderline obsessive.
Finished, she sank into the edge of his bed, eyes heavy. She hadn't eaten, hadn't rested since she arrived.
Just for a moment, she closed her eyes.
The room stayed silent.
Julian entered minutes later, noting the carefully arranged wardrobe.
And then he saw her-curled on the corner of his bed, fast asleep, her dark curls brushing the edge of his pillow.
He said nothing.
He simply smirked.