Elara's absence struck me like a blow. One moment she had been trembling at my side, her pale silver gown shimmering beneath the candlelight. The next—gone, as though she had dissolved into the shadows.
My eyes swept the hall, frantic, searching for her golden hair among the crowd. But the guests remained in their places, rapt by Anthony's words. Laughter and applause punctuated his speech, yet no one seemed to notice the missing bride.
No one except me.
I pressed forward, weaving through nobles whose perfumes and jewels blurred into a suffocating haze. "Elara?" I whispered, though my voice was swallowed by the music that rose again. "Elara!"
A servant brushed past carrying a tray of wine. I caught her sleeve, desperate. "The other bride—where is she?"
The girl's eyes widened. For a heartbeat she froze, lips parting, but then she jerked her arm away and hurried off, her tray rattling with trembling hands.
Fear prickled across my skin. It was as though the house itself had conspired to erase Elara's presence, to pretend she had never stood beside me at all.
I turned toward the dais where Anthony still stood, his gray eyes fixed on the room like a hawk surveying prey. My heart slammed against my ribs. Should I call out to him? Demand to know where she had gone?
But even the thought silenced me. He had not looked at me once. If he had dismissed me so easily, what chance did I have of forcing his attention now?
I slipped from the hall once more, into the corridors that twisted through the mansion like veins of stone. The air here was colder, the silence broken only by the click of my shoes against marble.
"Elara," I whispered into the emptiness. "Where are you?"
The house seemed to answer with a groan, the timbers above shifting as if in laughter.
I moved quickly, my hands brushing along the walls to steady myself. I passed locked doors, each carved with strange symbols, each whispering secrets I dared not know. The oil lamps flickered as though disturbed by an unseen breath.
At the turn of the corridor, two maids stood whispering. They fell silent the instant they saw me, their eyes darting like startled birds.
"You," I said, forcing my voice firm. "The other bride. Where did she go?"
Their lips pressed tight. One of them crossed herself. The other clutched the beads of a rosary at her throat.
"Answer me!" I snapped, though my fear cracked the edge of my voice.
The first maid whispered at last, "Do not meddle, my lady. It is not for us to question. The master has chosen."
"Chosen?" My stomach knotted. "Chosen her?"
Neither spoke again. They bowed low, skirts brushing the floor, and hurried away as if afraid my very presence cursed them.
My legs carried me farther, though I no longer knew where. The mansion unfolded endlessly—halls mirrored halls, staircases doubled back on themselves, windows looked out upon gardens that seemed to stretch into infinity. I felt trapped in a maze built of stone and silence.
Then I saw it.
A pale scrap of silver silk caught on a door latch, fluttering faintly in the draft. My breath caught. Elara's gown.
I rushed forward, tugging the fabric free. The door before me was half-closed, heavy oak with iron hinges. Beyond it, a narrow passage descended by torchlight into the depths of the mansion.
The air that seeped from within was warmer, carrying a faint scent of smoke and roses—sweet and suffocating.
"Elara?" My voice trembled.
No answer.
I should have turned back. I should have fled to the safety of my chamber, barred the door, and prayed I had only imagined the whispers. But something stronger than fear propelled me downward.
The staircase curved sharply, each step groaning beneath my weight. Shadows stretched long against the stone walls, flickering with each torch I passed. At the bottom, the passage widened into a gallery lined with doors. Each bore the crest of the Thorne family—serpents coiled around a single sword.
One door stood slightly ajar. From within came the faintest hum of voices.
I crept closer, my pulse pounding in my ears. Through the crack I saw movement—servants bustling, laying out silks on a great bed carved of black wood. Candles burned in every corner, their flames bending low, as though bowing to the unseen presence that would soon enter.
"Elara…" My whisper caught in my throat.
And then I saw her.
Elara stood at the far side of the chamber, her hands clutching the folds of her gown, her face pale as moonlight. Two maids circled her like vultures, fastening pearls into her hair, brushing powder across her trembling cheeks.
Her eyes lifted, and for an instant they found mine through the gap in the door. Wide, terrified, pleading.
Before I could move, before I could speak, the door was pulled shut from the inside with a heavy thud.
I staggered back, heart hammering, breath sharp in my throat.
Somewhere above, a bell tolled midnight. The sound rolled through the stone halls like thunder, sealing the night's fate.
The master had returned.
And Elara was being prepared for him.