Yeara looked at her mother, surprised to see how shaken she was. She turned back to the letter, even though it looked different, because why would someone send a letter in a black envelope?
It was… unusual.
Lady Persophone stood immediately, turning to leave. She had barely eaten her meal. The butler bowed and followed her, and they both left.
Cedric, who had been eating the whole time and had no idea what had been happening, quietly raised his head after he heard the large door close. Curiosity flickered in his eyes as he turned to Yeara.
"Sister Yeara, is something the matter?" he asked worriedly, his head turning toward the large closed door, then back to his sister.
It was rare for his mama to leave during mealtime.
Yeara managed a small smile. She took the napkin and quietly dabbed her lips before speaking.
"Not at all. Perhaps Mother has something important to do. Remember, she is the Duchess after all," she said.
Cedric nodded. Yeara took her fork, calmly picking up a piece of broccoli and placing it on his plate, giving him a reassuring nod. Still, she was curious—why had her mother just stood and left? It was not like her to be interrupted while eating, or even to leave the dining room at all.
"Papa is not here, that is why. So now she is in charge," she said to him…and to herself as if that would convince her too.
She continued her meal, maintaining her gentle expression. Given how sharp Cedric was, any slip would lead him to ask even smarter questions she might not be able to answer.
"Sister, after now, would you like to play sword fight?" Cedric asked, turning to her once more.
She smiled softly and nodded.
"Of course I would play with my little brother, but do not cry when I win," she reminded him.
Cedric cut the broccoli and moved it to his lips.
"Well, eating broccoli already tells you how strong I am," he said, making Yeara chuckle. Catching herself, she cleared her throat.
Just as she thought, this little brother of hers was using her own words against her. She always told him eating vegetables would make him stronger.
"Let's focus on our food. Remember, talking while eating is bad etiquette," she reminded him.
He nodded in agreement.
They ate in silence. Even so, Yeara's curiosity deepened. She did not know why a part of her felt like she knew something about that letter when she clearly didn't.
It was like she had seen something like that… when she was little.
She shook her head.
'I must be imagining things. Don't be ridiculous, Yea,' she said to herself inwardly, trying to stop the overthinking.
Just as they finished their meal, Cedric stood and began running toward the door. Yeara's lips parted in surprise as she dashed after him.
"Cedric, you do not run after you are done eating!" she shouted.
'And here I am, not leading by example,' she thought as she found herself running too—but she was doing it to catch him.
Cedric giggled.
"Catch me if you can," he playfully said as he ran through the hallways, his small frame dashing quickly. His eyes scanned the hallway, noticing her footsteps growing closer.
His gaze rested on the large door—the only one in the long hallway before the second corridor that led to the rooms. He pushed the door open and entered.
Yeara, whose eyes caught him going inside, gasped softly as her footsteps slowed.
That… door.
Her face turned serious as she quickly ran after him.
"Cedric, you said we should play sword fight, not hide-and-seek!" she called, pushing the door open.
She fixed her gaze straight ahead, failing to notice her surroundings. She knew she would be punished if her mama found out they entered here—she had already caused a lot of trouble today.
And what was going on with Cedric? His excitement and playfulness were more than usual today.
Her eyes finally caught him—he was hidden in the corner behind a tall brick pillar in the large hall.
"Gotcha!" she ran toward him quickly.
This room was restricted for a reason.
They were inside the Duke's room, a room only the Duke and Duchess were allowed to enter, to listen to violins and piano or spend time together. In front of them was a musician's gallery. Yeara knew she would be in big trouble…great trouble if her mama finds out.
Her heart raced.
She would need to scold Cedric to prevent him from doing this again, but first, she had to catch him.
Just as she moved to grab him, he dodged, catching her off guard, and ran out. Her mouth opened in disbelief, taken aback by how he had escaped her grasp.
She began to fume.
"Oh heavens! I will tell Mama, and I will make sure she punishes you, Cedric!" she yelled as she turned to chase him again. But her shoe caught on the back of her gown, and she fell backwards, landing straight on her butt. Pain sliced through her not to mention the anger she was now feeling.
She hissed as she lay on the cold floor, her chest rising and falling as her eyes briefly caught on the breathtaking painting above.
The pain shot through her again, and she hissed once more, rolling slightly on the floor, her hands squeezing her butt tightly as if that could ease the pain. Finally, she shouted again, her voice slightly cracked from all the yelling she had done today alone.
This was all his fault.
"Cedric! Oh, oh—you are so getting punished!"
She stood, straightening her gown slowly, bending to remove her shoes and holding them tightly in her hands as she muttered in annoyance to herself.
"How embarrassing, Yeara. You cannot even catch a six-year-old."
She took a step to leave, but then her body froze in place. Blood rushed through her veins as the atmosphere turned chilling.
W–Was someone in the room…?
Then, laughter.
A slow laughter…so calm, yet controlled—circulated in the hall from behind her.
She had been so focused on catching Cedric that she had not looked back, nor properly around the room.
Her heart skipped. Her lips parted in shock as heat rushed to her face, burning with embarrassment and shock.
Her body turned slowly, and her world seemed to slow down with it.
Sitting on the sofa was a figure. His legs were crossed, his back leaned neatly against the cushion as if the room belonged to him.
One hand rested on the sofa seat, the other propped against his chin. His eyes, empty yet drop-dead gorgeous stared at her unmovingly, unblinking, his face giving nothing away.
Red hair fell to his shoulders. His face was stern, yet his handsomeness seeped through like an unwanted, obsessive poison—the kind you have no choice but to taste.
Yeara had seen many handsome men, but this man surpassed them all. Chills ran down her spine, yet something about him screamed danger and power.
Numbness swept through her body, her shoulders shaking despite her effort to stay still. She could not believe this man had seen…
She immediately turned and ran out of the hall, shoes in hand. Her mind went blank. She did not know why, but those eyes, the way they seemed to pierce right through her soul—imprinted sharply in her head before disappearing. It felt like a mere illusion.
She ran upstairs and shut the door to her room, her heart racing uncontrollably. This had not happened before, except in the past, on that night of her escape. But that had been fear.
This was not fear.
It was something she could not explain.
Maybe embarrassment…but that did not fit the feeling.
"Stop beating," she said, tapping her chest lightly. She paced back and forth in her room, remembering all the unladylike things she had done.
But why did she care?
"It's okay, Yeara. He is just a visitor," she tried to convince herself. But her heart skipped once more.
She drew in a sharp breath and walked to the bathroom, turning on the tap to wash her face, hoping it would calm the heat in her cheeks. She grabbed a towel and carefully dried her face before returning to her room.
Was she acting like this because he was the definition of the godlike men in her books, and she had never seen someone like him before? Or was it just embarrassment from him seeing her fall?
But that air she felt…
Shivers ran down her spine.
She walked to her window, thinking maybe the outside view of the manor would calm her down.
But just as she reached it, her eyes flew wide.
That carriage.
Her eyes darted, and her heart slammed against her chest when she saw the carriage driver.
The exact same man she had taken money from earlier today.
Standing there—talking to her mama.
Heavens.
She was in deep, deep trouble.