The carriage wheels groaned against the jagged stones of the mountain road, each turn and jolt sending shivers through my spine. Outside, the forest seemed endless, trees standing tall as though guarding the secrets of the land I had been brought to. Mist curled low across the ground, clinging to the roots and trunks like a jealous lover unwilling to let go.
I drew the thin shawl tighter around my shoulders, though the fabric did little to protect me from the chill that pressed in from every angle. The night sky had begun its descent into shadow hours ago, and yet the driver pressed forward, silent except for the occasional sound of reins snapping through the air. His silence was not comforting—it was weighted, deliberate.
"Is it much farther?" My voice sounded small, nearly swallowed by the whisper of the wind.
The driver did not turn, but I saw the set of his shoulders, stiff and strained. "The estate lies just beyond the ridge, miss. Not long now." His tone held no warmth, no reassurance.
The estate. My new home.
Ravenwell Manor.
I had heard the name whispered among villagers during my final days in town—always with a tremor in their voices, as though even uttering it aloud carried a price. Some spoke of the place as though it were a prison, others as though it were a curse. But to me, it was necessity.
I was alone in the world now, left with neither fortune nor family after Father's passing. His debts had been deeper than he ever allowed me to know, and when the last of our possessions were sold off, I had been left with nothing but the goodwill of an old friend of his. Lord Adrian Ravenwell.
A man I had never met.
The arrangement was simple—or so I told myself. He would provide me shelter in his manor, far away from the city, until I could secure a position as a governess or companion. Charity, yes, but a lifeline nonetheless. And yet, even in my desperation, something about it felt… wrong.
The carriage jolted sharply as we rounded a bend, and I gasped, clutching the seat. My eyes were drawn forward—and there, through the fog, I saw it.
Ravenwell Manor rose from the cliffside like some dark sentinel carved from the very stone it stood upon. Its towers reached upward as if to scrape the heavens, its many windows glinting with faint light like watchful eyes in the night. The architecture was harsh, almost brutal, its sharp angles and heavy stonework daring the world to challenge it.
A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
As we approached, the iron gates loomed into view. They were tall, impossibly so, twisted into the shape of thorns and roses, their blackened metal gleaming faintly under the weak glow of the moon. Two stone gargoyles perched upon the posts, their wings outstretched as though ready to pounce upon intruders.
The driver dismounted to open them. The screech of metal as the gates swung wide pierced the silence, echoing across the valley. For a moment, I felt as though something unseen had awakened at that sound.
The manor swallowed us whole.
When the carriage finally rattled to a halt in the grand courtyard, I forced myself to breathe, to compose myself. The massive wooden doors at the entrance opened before I could even step down. A figure stood there, illuminated by the light of a flickering lantern.
He was tall, his silhouette sharp against the glow. Broad shoulders filled the frame of his dark coat, and even from a distance I felt the weight of his gaze upon me.
Lord Adrian Ravenwell.
My heart stuttered once in my chest.
The driver helped me down, his movements brisk, almost hurried. He muttered something about needing to return before the storm broke, but I barely heard him, my focus caught upon the man at the doors.
As I stepped forward, Lord Ravenwell moved into the light, and I drew in a sharp breath.
He was striking, in a way that unsettled as much as it captivated. High cheekbones carved his face into stark lines, his jaw strong, his lips full yet pressed into a grim line. His hair was dark, nearly black, brushing his collar in slight waves, and his eyes—God help me—his eyes were a storm. Grey as steel, and just as cold, yet burning with an intensity that seemed to strip me bare in a single glance.
"Miss Harrow," he said, his voice deep, smooth, but carrying the weight of command. "You've arrived at last."
"Yes, my lord." I curtsied, my voice trembling despite my best effort.
He studied me for a moment longer, then gestured toward the entrance. "Come in. The night grows colder, and this place is no friend to lingering shadows."
The phrasing was odd, but I obeyed, clutching my shawl as I crossed the threshold.
The interior of Ravenwell Manor was no less imposing than its exterior. The grand hall stretched upward, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. A massive chandelier of wrought iron and crystal hung above, though only a few of its many candles were lit, casting the space into half-light. Oil paintings lined the walls—somber faces of ancestors long dead, their eyes following my every movement. The scent of burning wood and aged stone filled the air, tinged with something faintly metallic, something I could not place.
"This will be your home now," Lord Ravenwell said, striding ahead of me. His boots struck against the marble floor with a sound that echoed through the hall. "You'll find the east wing prepared for you. My housekeeper, Mrs. Whitlock, will see that you are settled."
I nodded, though unease pressed heavy against my ribs. Home. Was that what this place could ever be?
Before I could answer, another figure appeared from the shadows of a side passage. An older woman, stern and severe, dressed in black with a silver chain around her neck. Her face was lined, her eyes sharp, as though nothing escaped her notice.
"Mrs. Whitlock," Lord Ravenwell said. "See to Miss Harrow's comfort. She is to be treated with respect."
The woman inclined her head, though her gaze lingered on me, searching, measuring. "Yes, my lord."
With that, Lord Ravenwell turned and disappeared deeper into the manor, leaving me with the housekeeper's piercing stare.
"This way," she said curtly, her voice clipped. She turned without waiting for a response.
I followed, my footsteps echoing softly against the cold floors. Corridors stretched endlessly, lit only by sparse candelabras that did little to chase away the shadows. The walls here were lined with tapestries—scenes of forests, battles, and a great bird with wings outstretched, its eyes like fire.
"Lord Ravenwell is a man of few words," Mrs. Whitlock said suddenly, her tone unreadable. "You will find him… peculiar in many ways. But he is a fair master, if respected."
I hesitated. "Fair?"
Her gaze flicked to me briefly before she turned another corner. "So long as one remembers their place."
I said nothing.
At last, we reached a chamber in the east wing. Mrs. Whitlock pushed open the door to reveal a bedroom—far grander than I expected. Heavy drapes framed tall windows, a four-poster bed dominated the center, its canopy trimmed with velvet. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting a soft glow that softened the otherwise somber decor.
"You will remain here unless instructed otherwise," she said. "Meals are taken in the dining hall, but only when summoned. Until then, you will take your meals here."
My brows drew together. "Only when summoned?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "It is not my place to explain the master's habits. Rest now. Tomorrow, you will understand more."
And with that, she left me alone.
For a long moment, I stood there, my fingers pressed against the doorframe, listening to her retreating footsteps until the silence swallowed them.
Alone.
I moved toward the window, pulling back the heavy curtain. The manor overlooked the valley below, a sea of mist rolling through the forest like restless spirits. The moon hung low, pale and watchful, casting silver light across the grounds. From this vantage, the iron gates were just barely visible—and beyond them, the road I had come from.
Something twisted in my chest. A feeling I could not name. Not quite dread, not quite fascination. Perhaps both.
A sound startled me—a low creak, like wood under strain. I spun, my heart leaping, but the room was empty. Only the fire flickered in the hearth, the shadows bending and swaying with its glow.
Yet the sense of being watched lingered.
I drew the curtains shut, retreating toward the bed. My hands trembled as I unlaced my dress, folded it carefully, and slipped beneath the heavy blankets.
But sleep did not come easily.
Not when the manor itself seemed to breathe. Not when every whisper of wind through the corridors felt like a voice just beyond hearing. Not when the echo of Lord Ravenwell's eyes still burned within me.
Grey as steel. Cold as winter.
And yet… I had never seen anything more beautiful.