The dining hall of Drakin Manor glowed in the morning light. Sunbeams poured through stained glass, painting the long oak table in shifting colors—ruby, sapphire, and gold. Ariel sat at one end, stiff-backed and uncertain, her delicate hands folded tightly in her lap.
At the opposite end, Duke Maximilian Drakin sat with a quiet authority that filled the room more than the high ceilings or the gilded windows ever could. He ate little, his knife and fork moving with mechanical precision, as though food were a duty rather than pleasure. His eyes, cold as winter stone, lifted now and then, never softening when they rested on her.
Maids drifted along the walls, serving dishes, filling goblets, and stealing secret glances. Their silence pressed in like a veil. Every scrape of cutlery seemed too loud, every breath Ariel took too sharp.
Her chest tightened. They're all watching. Waiting for… what?
The head maid, Seena, stood behind the Duke. She was a woman in her sixties, her hair tied back in a neat bun, but her posture straight and commanding. She had raised the Duke since childhood, and unlike the others, she didn't lower her gaze when he looked at her.
"Leave us alone for some time," Maximilian said. His voice was quiet, yet it carried through the hall with unquestionable authority.
The maids bowed quickly and began filing out. But Seena lingered, leaning closer to whisper near his ear, though her words were sharp enough to cut the air.
"And you, punk—if you hurt the Duchess, you know who I am."
Maximilian's gaze flicked toward her, cold as a blade. For a moment, the air grew tense, until Seena lowered her head and withdrew with the others.
The heavy doors shut, leaving behind only silence.
Ariel's heart pounded faster. Alone. Why does he want to speak to me in private? We aren't even close…
She shifted in her seat, her voice catching in her throat. But before she could speak, Maximilian set down his utensils, his eyes fixed on her.
"How is the food?"
The suddenness of it startled her. "Uhh… the food is good." She hesitated, biting her lip. "You… you wanted to talk with me in private?"
"Yes." His tone was calm, but his stare was unyielding. "Now that you are my wife, I think I should tell you something."
Her fingers clenched around her napkin. "Something?"
"I assume you received higher education," he said, each word deliberate. "Now that you are Duchess of Drakin, use your knowledge here. Roxan, my secretary, will guide you."
Ariel blinked, her throat dry. This was not the conversation she had expected.
He continued, voice flat, "I know this marriage was forced on you without your consent. I also know there may be someone else you love."
The words struck her like a sudden slap. Her lips parted in shock.
"I know you hate me," he went on, "and I know you think I'm a monster. But that doesn't matter to me. You don't need to pretend to love me. You don't have to perform the duties of a wife. But you will perform the duties of a Duchess."
Ariel sat frozen, her chest rising and falling too quickly. He thinks… that I loved someone else? He believes Rifael's lies…
She wanted to speak, to defend herself, to shout that she had never loved anyone. But fear—fear of his cold eyes, of being dismissed like the others—sealed her lips.
Still, her heart pushed her forward. "Duke… our first night…"
Her voice faltered. She wanted to explain she wasn't ready, that she needed time, that her tears last night had been real.
But Maximilian cut her off, his gaze hard as steel.
"You don't need to worry about our first night. I know you hate me, just like the others. So rest assured—I don't touch used things."
The words carved into her chest, deeper than any blade. Her breath caught. Used things?
Her vision blurred. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The Duke rose, his chair scraping softly against the stone floor, and left the hall without another glance.
Ariel sat motionless for a heartbeat, then another. Slowly, tears welled in her eyes until they spilled down her cheeks. She stumbled from the table, the silence of the hall crashing against her ears, and fled down the corridor.
Her chambers swallowed her sobs. She threw herself onto her bed, clutching the sheets as if they might anchor her.
"How could he say that?" she choked out. "Used things? He doesn't even see me as human. He's a jerk… no, a monster."
Her cries echoed against the walls, unrestrained.
The door creaked open.
She froze, her tears still hot on her cheeks. Turning, she saw him—Maximilian—standing in the doorway. His presence filled the room even in silence.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it carried no warmth.
"You see," he said, stepping inside, "I told you—you think I am a monster. If you want to say it, say it to my face. I'm used to it."
Her fury surged, burning through her grief. She pushed herself up, her eyes blazing.
"Yes. You are a monster! You killed your own family. You killed three innocent children. You killed your parents who raised you. You killed them all—for this position. What else should I call you?" Her voice shook, but grew steadier with each word. "I never had any lover, neither in the past nor now. I've never been with any man. I can say this a thousand times because it is the truth. But can you say the same? Can you swear you didn't kill your family?"
Her voice rose to a shout that rattled the door. Outside, unseen servants froze, their ears pressed to the wood.
Maximilian stood still, his face unreadable. Then, after a long pause, his voice dropped, low and steady.
"Yes. I killed my entire family."
Gasps whispered outside the door. Ariel herself staggered back, her hands trembling.
Maximilian leaned closer, his eyes dark and unflinching. "And you—so pure, so innocent. Prove it. Not by saying, but by doing. Do something for my duchy, for this manor, for the people who live here. Only then will your words matter."
Without another word, he turned and left, his footsteps fading into the long corridor.
The hallways hummed with whispers before the hour had passed. "The Duchess called the Duke a monster," they murmured. "She shouted it to his face." Servants repeated the words until they tangled with rumor, growing thorns with every retelling.
Seena passed Ariel the next day with silence heavy as stone, her eyes filled with quiet reproach. Roxan, the Duke's secretary, regarded her with disappointment that stung more than anger.
Ten days passed. Maximilian never returned.
---
The secretary watched Ariel from a respectful distance as she walked the manor's gardens. Her golden hair caught the light, but her eyes were clouded, carrying shadows deeper than her years.
Roxan sighed. She doesn't understand… not yet.
That evening, he approached her, finding her seated by the library with an unopened book in her lap.
"Duchess," he began softly.
She lifted her head. "Roxan?"
He studied her for a moment before speaking. "You don't know anything, and yet you said such harsh words to him." His voice was neither scolding nor cold, but heavy with quiet sorrow.
Ariel's lips parted in shock.
"You must understand," Roxan continued, "if you want to know the real Duke, you need to explore the duchy. Speak with the people who live here. Learn their truth. I cannot tell you. If I do, he will kill me. But if you want your marriage to survive, you must find the truth yourself."
His words lingered like a warning.
"Tomorrow," he added, forcing a faint smile, "we will study the history of the Drakin family. That may help you."
Ariel's curiosity stirred. "The history of the Drakin family? Then… do you have a book? One with the stories of the family leaders?"
Roxan hesitated, his hand tightening on his ledger. "Yes, but… those records are kept in the old family library."
Her eyes lit up, eagerness pushing past her sorrow. "Where is it? Tell me, I'll go fetch it myself."
His face paled. "No. No, you mustn't. The library is in the old tower. You must never go there. I'll bring the book tomorrow. Please—don't tell the Duke I mentioned it."
Before she could protest, he excused himself, leaving her with more questions than answers.
---
That night, Ariel walked slowly back to her chamber, her thoughts tangled in knots. Roxan's warning echoed in her ears.
The old tower… why did he react like that? What are they hiding from me?
Her steps faltered as she noticed a figure ahead in the dim corridor.
A man sat in a wheelchair, half-hidden by shadow. His posture was frail, yet there was an undeniable authority in the way he held himself.
Ariel's eyes widened. "Prince Growel?" she whispered.
The prince turned slightly, his gaze catching hers. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, as though he carried secrets heavier than the stones of Drakin Manor itself.
Her breath caught. She lowered her gaze quickly, but her mind churned with questions.
First Roxan warns me never to go to the old tower, and now I see the prince—here, of all places. What are they all hiding?
Her eyes flickered toward the silhouette of the tower, visible through the tall windows. Its shadow stretched across the grounds like a grasping hand.
That tower… it must hold the answers. The truth about the Duke, about his family, about why everyone here follows him so blindly.
She clenched her fists tightly, her pulse racing. If I want to understand him—if I want to survive here—I have to uncover what lies inside.
But if I go there… will I find the truth? Or will I lose myself completely?
Her eyes returned to Prince Growel, whose face was unreadable, as if carved from stone. A shiver ran down her spine.
The tower loomed in her mind like a curse she could not escape.