The morning sun filtered through the linen curtains, casting faint golden streaks across Nerine's face. She stirred reluctantly, her limbs heavy from a restless sleep. Her boots had been kicked off sometime in the night, though she couldn't recall doing it.
A knock came at her door.
She sat up slowly, voice hoarse. "Come in."
Madam Helen stepped in, carrying a tray with warm tea and buttered bread. "You didn't eat last night. Thought I'd try again."
Nerine offered a faint smile. "Thank you."
Helen set the tray on the small table and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. Silence stretched between them—thick, expectant, the kind that presses in when unspoken truths hang in the air.
"I saw him," Nerine said suddenly.
Helen blinked. "Who?"
"My father… Sir Marudas. He came to Velmire."
Helen exhaled slowly and nodded. "I know."
Nerine's eyes widened. "You knew?"
Helen nodded again. "He came by the shop yesterday. Said he was looking for you. Said it like he was checking up on an old estate—detached, polished, charming, like he was doing us a favor."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to pressure you," Helen said gently, taking Nerine's hand. "I could tell you weren't ready. But I knew this day would come."
Nerine lowered her gaze. "He wants me to go with him. Says he wants to take responsibility."
Helen frowned. "After all these years?"
Nerine nodded, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I think it's because of the council. Something's changed. He doesn't want to be a father… not really. There's something else behind it. But I didn't say no."
Helen watched her closely. "What aren't you telling me?"
Nerine hesitated. Her throat tightened as she recalled the cold breath against her ear and the words that had followed: "If you want Madam Helen to stay safe..."
She swallowed hard. "Nothing. I just… I thought maybe it's time I stopped running."
Helen didn't believe her, not for a second. But she didn't push.
"You're always welcome here, Nerine," she said softly. "But if you decide to go, I won't stop you. I just hope you're doing it for the right reasons."
Nerine forced another smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "I'll be alright."
Helen reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're strong, Nerine. But even the strong need someone. Don't carry the weight alone."
"I won't," Nerine said.
But it was a lie.
*****
Blackthorn Mansion
Kael stood by the tall arched window of his study, hands clasped behind his back. The thick fog still clung to the moors, veiling the Blackthorn estate in cold silence. The fire behind him crackled steadily, its warmth failing to touch the tension in the room.
A knock echoed on the door.
"Enter."
Kostas stepped inside, his boots silent on the marble floor, a sealed folder in hand. "The report on Sir Marudas's daughter, my lord."
Kael turned, his expression unreadable. "Let's hear it."
Kostas flipped open the file. "Lady Sofia Marudas. Nineteen. Only child of Sir Marudas and Lady Kate. Raised among court nobility. Educated in etiquette, diplomacy, classical arts."
Kael arched a brow. "And?"
Kostas's tone shifted, cautious now. "On the surface, she's ideal. Well-groomed, intelligent, well-positioned. But…"
Kael turned fully. "But?"
"She's arrogant. Rude to servants. Quick to insult. Unapologetically spoiled."
Kael scoffed. "Sounds like half the court."
"There's more," Kostas added. "At a banquet, she poured wine on another noblewoman's dress and mocked her for crying....said, 'She shouldn't wear red if she couldn't handle the heat.'"
Kael's jaw clenched.
"She refers to her father as 'quaint' and considers most traditions beneath her. Her power lies in name alone—no real accomplishments. Her attitude borders on childishness."
Kael turned back to the window. "So they want to shackle me to a spoiled court flower for the sake of politics."
"It appears so," Kostas said carefully.
Kael strode to his desk and picked up the creased letter from Lord Theron, its wax seal long broken.
"You are to wed a human maiden.
The daughter of Sir Marudas.
Consider it an order—not a request."
Kael's lip curled. "An order. Disguised as duty."
"If it's for diplomacy, the match aligns," Kostas offered. "But if you want someone with real strength..."
"I don't want anything," Kael interrupted, his voice cold. "I have no interest in wearing a leash dressed as lace."
He tossed the letter back onto the desk beside the seal of the royal crest.
"Continue observing. I want to know everything.....weaknesses, habits, allies. If Sofia Marudas is to be forced upon me, I'll know exactly what I'm being forced to endure."
Kostas nodded. "Shall I report this to Lord Theron?"
Kael's eyes darkened. "No. Let them think I'm complying. For now."
Kostas bowed. "As you wish, my lord."
The door closed behind him with a heavy click.
Kael remained still.
He didn't want a bride.
He wanted control.
And he wouldn't be anyone's pawn—noble or not.
If they were going to play politics with his name…
He'd make damn sure they regretted it.
That Night – Velmire
Nerine sat by the small window in her room, her fingers turning the ruby pendant over and over. It glowed faintly under the moonlight.....like a drop of blood against her skin.
Her decision was made.
But her chest felt tight, her heart pounding painfully beneath her ribs.
She wouldn't tell Helen the truth.
Wouldn't tell her that Sir Marudas had leaned in, voice low and cruel, and chosen threats over tenderness.
She didn't know what he wanted—or why he wanted her now. But she had learned how to survive.
Keep quiet. Smile. Obey. For now.
It wasn't like she didn't have her own reason to go.
There was still revenge—and this might be her only way in.
She tucked the necklace back beneath her collar and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts swirled like storm clouds behind her eyes.
Tomorrow, she would leave Velmire.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Her life wasn't ending.
It was only just beginning.