The carriage rattled against the uneven stones, its wheels grinding through mud and gravel as though the earth itself tried to resist my passage. My parents had barely looked at me when they sent me away, and in truth, I had barely looked back. There had been no choice given, no question of what I wanted. Marriage to Anthony Thorne had been decided, signed, and sealed without so much as my voice in the matter.
The world outside the carriage window blurred into streaks of shadow and fog. Trees crowded the narrow road, their twisted arms stretching overhead as if to claw the sky. Somewhere beyond them, I imagined, rose the mansion of the man I was to call husband—a man whose face I did not know, whose voice I had never heard.
I pressed my palm to the glass, cold seeping through, and whispered to myself, "Danise Raven, bride of a ghost." The title felt strange on my tongue.
Hours passed in silence, the only company the steady clip of hooves and the breath of the horses in the mist. As night began to bleed across the horizon, I saw it at last: the Thorne estate.
It rose out of the fog like some ancient cathedral, its dark stone walls stretching upward, every spire and balcony carved with stern precision. Windows glimmered faintly with the glow of candles, yet there was no warmth in their light. The mansion was too large, too vast, as though it had been built to house not men but myths.
When the carriage halted before the grand staircase, I had to force myself to move. My legs trembled as I stepped down, my modest brown dress wrinkling from the long ride. I touched my hair—ordinary brown, stubbornly straight—before I remembered there was no one to impress. Not yet.
The great double doors opened before I reached them. A man stood waiting, tall and severe in his black butler's uniform, his silver hair slicked neatly back. He bowed low, his voice deep and smooth.
"Lady Raven. Welcome to Thorne Manor."
I swallowed, the title sounding foreign to me. "Thank you," I murmured, though my voice carried no conviction.
He extended a gloved hand. "I am Mister Halden, the master's butler. I will see to your needs during your stay."
Stay. The word clung oddly to my ears. As though this were not my home, nor ever would be.
Inside, the mansion opened into a cavernous hall lined with black marble floors and gilded columns. The ceiling arched so high I thought it might collapse beneath the weight of the heavens. Every step echoed, and I felt suddenly small, a lone figure swallowed by its grandeur.
Halden walked with precise strides, leading me past portraits of men whose gray eyes seemed to follow me. Generations of Thornes, no doubt. Their painted gazes felt more alive than comforting.
"You will find Thorne Manor most accommodating," Halden said, his tone careful, rehearsed. "The master spares no expense in ensuring his brides are… comfortable."
Brides. My heart stuttered. I opened my mouth, but he continued before I could speak.
"Your chamber has been prepared. A personal maid will attend to you shortly."
The room he led me to was vast, larger than any I had lived in before. A canopy bed draped in silk dominated the space. A mirror taller than myself leaned against one wall, reflecting my pale, uncertain face. I had never looked plainer than I did in that moment.
When Halden left me, the silence pressed close, so heavy I thought I might choke on it. I paced the room, fingers trailing across velvet curtains, polished wood, marble hearth. It was a prison disguised as paradise.
I thought myself alone—until the door creaked.
A girl entered hesitantly, her steps soft against the floor. She wore a pale blue gown, delicate as moonlight. Her hair was golden, her features fine and timid, her eyes wide like those of a startled fawn.
"Oh," she gasped when she saw me. "You're here."
I blinked. "And you are…?"
"Elara." She folded her hands nervously before her. "Elara Dusk."
Her voice was gentle, musical. She looked my age, perhaps a year younger, and so unbearably pretty that I felt drab in comparison.
"Are you—" My throat caught. "—his bride, too?"
Her gaze dropped to the floor. "Yes. I arrived last week."
The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken thoughts. Relief and dread tangled inside me—relief that I was not alone, dread at the realization that we were both trapped in the same gilded cage.
I studied her delicate features, her soft beauty, and compared them against my reflection in the mirror—brown hair, brown eyes, an unremarkable face. Of course Anthony Thorne would prefer her.
Elara smiled weakly, though it never reached her eyes. "The master is away. He has been… for some time."
I stiffened. "Away? Where?"
"No one knows." She looked at the window, where mist crawled against the glass. "No one ever says."
Her words echoed through the cavernous silence, chilling me more than the cold stone walls.
Elara lingered near the door as though afraid of stepping farther into the room, and for a moment I wondered if she had been sent here deliberately—to inspect me, to measure me against herself.
I forced a smile. "It's strange, isn't it? To marry a man we've never seen."
Her fingers twisted together. "They say he is powerful. A man who owns half the region. My parents thought it an honor."
"And yours?"
"My parents," I said, a sharp laugh escaping before I could stop it, "thought only of debt. I was… convenient. Replaceable."
Her wide eyes lifted to mine, shining with sympathy. "At least you're not alone now. I was, for a week. The mansion is so large it feels like it swallows you whole."
She wasn't wrong. The walls seemed to breathe around us, each shadow stretching like a waiting hand.
I motioned toward the hall. "Show me. You've had time to explore, haven't you?"
She hesitated, then nodded, leading me out into the endless corridor. The oil lamps flickered as we walked, their flames bowing and swaying in unseen drafts. The air smelled faintly of smoke and old wood, heavy with centuries of secrets.
"This way," Elara whispered, though the house seemed to demand whispers of its own.
We passed room after room—sitting chambers lined with velvet, a library whose doors were locked with heavy chains, a dining hall so vast it could seat a hundred souls. Portraits lined the walls, stern men and pale women gazing down with expressions that seemed carved from stone.
"Elara," I murmured, "do you ever feel as if they're watching?"
She shivered. "Yes. I avoid this hallway at night."
The butler appeared suddenly, as if conjured from the air. His presence was silent, unnerving.
"Ladies," Halden said, bowing stiffly. "It is late. Perhaps Lady Raven would care to rest?"
I opened my mouth to protest, but Elara gave me a pleading glance. She shook her head ever so slightly. The warning in her eyes was clear.
We retreated, walking quickly back to my chamber. When the door closed behind us, I demanded, "Why did you look at me like that?"
Elara's lips trembled. "Halden… he doesn't like when we wander. There are places in this house we are not meant to see."
A chill ran through me. "But why?"
Her silence was answer enough.
We sat together on the edge of the bed, the fire crackling in the hearth. The silence was softer now, filled with the faint comfort of shared unease.
I studied her face, the delicate lines of her mouth, the pale lashes that fluttered against her cheeks. She was beautiful in a way that made me ache, not with envy but with a strange, hollow longing—for her simplicity, her softness, the kind of beauty that earned sympathy rather than suspicion.
"I suppose we should be grateful," I said at last. "We live in luxury. Fine gowns, servants, meals fit for kings. Many women would envy us."
Her eyes darkened. "Would they envy the chains, too?"
The words lingered in the air like smoke, and for the first time I understood: Elara's prettiness had not spared her. If anything, it had doomed her sooner.