The next morning, I woke to sunlight spilling through tall, arched windows — soft, golden, and entirely disorienting.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was.
Then the details fell into place — the black-and-silver drapes, the faint scent of cedar and cold iron, the sigil of the Dravenhart crest carved into the bedposts.
Right. Still here. Still his guest.
Except now... something was different.
When I opened the door, two maids nearly stumbled over each other to greet me. They curtsied so deeply their hairpins jingled.
"Good morning, Lady Evandelle," one said brightly. "Your breakfast is already prepared in the sunroom."
"The Lord instructed we attend to your comfort," the other added, a bit too quickly.
The Lord instructed.
Kael.
I blinked, unsure whether to be suspicious or vaguely flattered. "That's very considerate," I said slowly.
"Please, my lady," the first maid said, cheeks pink. "It's an honor."
They guided me through the corridors, past servants bowing, guards nodding, and a chef personally asking if the tea was brewed to my liking.
It was almost absurd.
By the time I reached the sunroom, I half-expected a choir to start singing my praises.
The table was overflowing — pastries, fruits, steaming porridge, even imported honey from the capital.
The kind of spread usually reserved for royalty.
I sat down carefully, half-expecting someone to stop me for sitting in the wrong chair.
Ray stood at his usual post by the door — silent, motionless, but sharp as ever.
He hadn't said a word since last night. He didn't need to. He had that stillness that filled a room more than any presence could.
I gestured toward the untouched plate across from me. "You could sit, you know."
No answer.
"Or at least look less like a statue."
His gaze flicked toward me, expression unreadable. "I'm fine."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's two words. Impressive."
He didn't react, but I swore the corner of his mouth twitched — the closest thing to humor I'd seen on him yet.
"You've been trained," I said after a moment. "Not as a servant."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You observe too much."
"That's three." I took a sip of tea. "And yes, I do."
A pause stretched between us. The sun caught on the faint scars tracing the side of his hand — fine, deliberate marks, not the kind earned from clumsiness.
Sword scars.
"I've seen that kind of grip before," I said softly, watching him. "You move like someone who's fought before. Who's killed before."
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he said quietly, "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to."
That silenced me for a moment.
But curiosity was a curse I'd never managed to cure.
"I'm not afraid of answers," I said finally.
"You should be."
That was the end of it.
He went back to his post. I went back to pretending to enjoy breakfast. But my mind wouldn't settle.
Everyone in this place was smiling too much, bowing too deeply.
Kael was nowhere to be seen. Not a single glimpse of him since last night.
And the only person who seemed remotely honest was the one who spoke the least.
Ray.
The silent man who fought like a soldier, moved like a shadow, and watched like he'd done it for lifetimes.
I set my cup down, staring at the window where the mist rolled over Dravenhart's hills like smoke.
Something had shifted in this place. And I couldn't decide if it was protection... or control.
---
Days passed.
And with each one, the manor grew too perfect.
The maids' smiles never faltered. The meals never came late. The gardens bloomed in unnatural precision — every rose the same shade of red, every path swept clean before my feet could touch it.
Even the air felt rehearsed.
If peace was supposed to be a comfort, this one was beginning to feel like a cage.
I found myself pacing my chambers more often, the silence pressing heavy on my chest.
No Kael. Not even a shadow of him.
I'd heard whispers — passing murmurs from guards and kitchen staff.
That the Lord of Dravenhart seldom left his wing. That he was ill.
That his power made men flinch when they met his gaze.
They never said what his power was exactly. Only that it was born of darkness.
Something about shadows that could whisper, move, devour.
And yet, somehow, that sounded more human than the fake perfection around me.
I should've been grateful. Instead, I was uneasy.
Ray noticed, of course. He always did, even if he never said it.
He stood near the window now, arms crossed, gaze sharp as the morning light that spilled across the floor. The scar at his temple caught the glow like a blade's edge.
"They're... kind," I said, half to myself. "Too kind."
He didn't respond. Only gave a quiet grunt — acknowledgment, not agreement.
"I haven't seen Lord Kael since the day of the ceremony," I went on. "And yet, his people act as though he's watching everything."
Ray turned his head slightly. "Maybe he is."
I frowned. "That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Typical. Three words — and somehow, they carried more weight than most conversations.
I sighed, turning to the window. Outside, the fog curled low over the courtyard, thick and pale. The world beyond Dravenhart's walls looked almost... forgotten.
Something's wrong here.
It had been whispering at me since we arrived — a quiet dread stitched beneath the perfect courtesies and silken smiles. Like a song with one wrong note that no one else could hear.
By the fifth day, the silence was maddening.
I found myself standing before the mirror, fingers tapping against the polished wood, my reflection restless and tired. "He's hiding," I murmured. "But from what?"
Ray, sitting near the door, spoke without looking up. "You shouldn't go looking."
"And you think I'll listen?"
His jaw flexed — a flicker of frustration, maybe even concern. "If he's staying away, there's a reason."
"I'd rather know it than sit here and rot."
He didn't stop me when I left, though his eyes followed — dark, unreadable, the kind that said he'd follow anyway.
The halls of Dravenhart at night were colder than they should've been. Candles flickered low, and portraits of long-dead lords watched me as I passed.
Somewhere deeper in the manor, I could almost feel a pulse — faint, steady, pulling me toward it like a heartbeat beneath stone.
Kael.
The name stirred in my chest like a challenge.
I reached inward, not fully calling upon my power but brushing against it — enough to sharpen my senses. A shimmer touched the air, a soft hum that guided my steps down the western corridor.
The walls here were older, untouched by polish or care. Dust lingered on the edges of the sconces; the air smelled faintly of ash.
Then — a sound.
Low. Ragged. A breath.
I stopped just before the last door. My hand hovered near the handle.
Someone was in there.
And as I stood there, heartbeat quickening, the silence around me shifted — no longer perfect, no longer calm.
It felt alive.
Watching.