Nerine had woken with a clear head, her body lighter now, the fatigue of the past days nothing but a faint memory. She felt well—more than well. The fever was gone, the chill had lifted, and a restless energy hummed in her veins.
Clara had come to tend to her hair after breakfast, nimble fingers working through the silken strands, brushing and arranging them into a loose style.
It was mid-comb when Clara stilled.
"...My lady," she said slowly, voice edged with surprise. "There's… something unusual here."
Nerine, half-lulled by the gentle motions, blinked herself back to focus.
"What is it?"
Clara hesitated, then carefully parted the locks. "There's white in your hair."
Nerine's heart skipped. "White?"
"Yes… here, near the roots. And underneath...." Clara pulled up another section "....the underlayer is almost completely white."
The brush in Clara's hand seemed suddenly loud against the silence. Nerine's thoughts scattered like startled birds. She forced her lips into a faint, stiff smile.
"It… happens sometimes," she said, voice deliberately casual. "It's nothing."
Clara frowned, tilting her head. "Nothing? My lady, that doesn't seem—"
"Clara." Nerine's tone was calm but final. "Leave it be for now. I… need to attend to something."
She rose swiftly, her skirts whispering over the carpet. Inside, however, her pulse thundered. This was bad. Very bad.
She found Mr. Hale, the ever-composed butler, in the corridor near the great staircase.
"Mr. Hale," she said with urgency, "I need to speak with Lord Kael. Now."
The butler inclined his head. "Of course, my lady. He is in his chambers. I will announce you when he is ready."
But patience was not a virtue Nerine possessed today. She nodded as though to agree, then watched as Mr. Hale turned to oversee some matter with the footmen. Without hesitation, she slipped past him, her steps silent but swift, and reached the double doors of Kael's room.
Her knuckles brushed the wood once—only once—before she pushed the door open.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
The curtains were drawn tightly shut, not a single blade of sunlight piercing through. The air was cool, heavy.
"My lord?" she called softly. "Lord Kael?"
No answer.
She took a tentative step inside, her slippers soundless on the thick rug. But this darkness was deeper than night—unnatural even to her eyes, which were better than most.
She moved forward, hands out slightly to feel her way—then collided with something hard. Something warm.
And yet… cold.
She froze, breath catching. The surface was unyielding, but not wood, not stone—something alive. Before she could take a step back, her leg smacked into what felt like a low stool. She teetered, the floor tilting under her.
Strong arms caught her before she fell, one at her back, one curling under her arm. She was bent backward slightly, her breath coming fast.
The heat of his body was close. Too close.
Then came his voice—low, deep, brushing over her ear like velvet and smoke.
"What are you doing, wandering in here in the dark,Lady Sofia?"
Her heart leapt to her throat. She hadn't even heard him move.
Kael straightened her slowly, his touch lingering just enough to make her aware of every point of contact. When she was standing properly again, he stepped back, and she heard the faint boom .
A second later, a soft glow bloomed to life.
The single candle on the desk lit the lines of his face, casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones. His damp hair clung to his forehead, a bead of water trailing down to the strong column of his throat. Her gaze dropped—traitorously—to the chest she had bumped into earlier, broad and taut, his shirt absent entirely.
It was a sight that could make any woman forget her own name.
He caught her looking. Of course he did.
"Finished?" he asked lightly, one corner of his mouth lifting.
Heat flared in her cheeks. She spun on her heel, facing away from him.
"You should get dressed. I need to speak to you—" her voice betrayed a tremor "—when you're… in a more decent state."
Behind her, she could almost hear the smirk in his silence.
She stepped outside, leaning against the wall to exhale the air she hadn't realized she was holding. Get it together, she told herself. You're here to confess something that might cost you your life, not to admire the man who might kill you.
Moments later, the door opened. Kael emerged in black trousers and a black shirt, the top buttons undone. The fabric fit him like sin, his presence dark and magnetic, every inch the lord people feared to cross.
He led her without a word to his study, the faint scent of something cool and sharp—mint—lingering in the air as he walked ahead.
Inside, he settled into the large chair behind his desk, pulling a cigarette from a silver case. The tip glowed briefly as he lit it, the curl of smoke rising lazily.
"Sit," he said.
"I'll stand," she replied, folding her hands tightly before her.
His eyes glinted, but he didn't argue. Instead, he exhaled, the minty scent drifting toward her. Unlike the acrid smoke she'd smelled before from others, this was… almost clean, intoxicating in its own way.
"Then speak," Kael said, his tone deceptively mild.
Nerine hesitated. Then, in a voice not quite steady, she asked, "What… what is the punishment for deceit?"
One dark brow lifted. "Why?"
"Just—answer me."
He leaned back, studying her, and then gave the words to her like a blade sliding across skin.
"Sometimes… beheading. Other times… the tongue is cut out."
Her knees weakened, the room seeming to tilt for a heartbeat.
"You look pale," Kael murmured. "Are you unwell?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly, even though her voice was thin. You can't tell him now, she thought. Not like this. You still have things to do. You still have a mother's death to avenge, a father to confront, Madam Helen to protect… you can't die now.
But another thought clawed at her: she had to be free of this before the palace ball, before she stood before the entire court as the lord's bride under false pretenses.
She steadied herself and met his gaze. "What if…" She took a breath. "What if the person was under a threat? If telling the truth would mean losing their life—or the lives of their loved ones—and the deceit harmed no one? What then?"
Kael's eyes sharpened, a predator sensing movement. He had watched her from the moment she'd stepped into his study, noting the shifts in her expression, the flashes of resolve. This question… was her loophole.
"It's pardonable by law," he said after a pause.
Relief fluttered in her chest—only to freeze when he added, voice dropping to a silken menace, "But I do not pardon such."
His words slid into her bones, cold and heavy.
She swallowed, but the fire inside her would not go out. "Then… I will tell you now."
His gaze never left her.
"You were deceived by Sir Marudas," she said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I am not your bride. They switched us. You should go to Marudas Mansion for your real bride before—before you're embarrassed in front of everyone at the ball. I am… just an illegitimate daughter. Unworthy of this position. I've been pretending, only to protect those I care for. I am under threat, my life is not safe, and I cannot—will not—lose it in this game. I am ready to leave your house immediately—"
She broke off, breathless.
Kael's expression didn't change—until it did. His mouth curved, slow and dangerous, into something that might have been a smile if it didn't carry the weight of a blade behind it. Then came the sound—a low, rich laugh.
It was… beautiful. Alluring, even. But to Nerine, it was the sound of death drawing closer.
He stood, every inch of him commanding the space, and crossed the distance to her. Bending down until they were eye-to-eye, he spoke in a whisper that brushed against her skin.
"Why say this today, Nerine?"