“You know, if you think you’re having a rough time, wait until you hear this… Lord Bavrick has officially requested my hand in marriage.”
Cillian blinked at her, then burst into laughter. “Lord Bavrick? Ivan? The one who snores through meetings and has a laugh like a dying donkey?”
“That’s the one.” She paused. “Mother is considering it.”
Cillian’s laughter faded, replaced by a worried furrow of his brow. “And what do you think about it?”
She waved dismissively as though the matter were as trivial as spilled tea. “Does it matter what I think?” She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to charm my way into every eligible man’s heart during these unbearable social gatherings. I’m sure they’ll all be lining up to court me soon.”
Cillian’s eyes lingered on her like he was trying to read between the lines of her humor. “Evelyne, what are youreallygoing to do?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “As you see, I am no adept at flirtation or idle games. Likely I shall be left with little more than the donkey for a husband.”
Evelyne stood and wandered over to the bookshelf, letting her fingers skim the titles before pulling two at random.
“Here,” she said with a grin, dropping one into Cillian’s lap. “Let’s disappear into a story for a bit. This world’s being terribly uncooperative.”
Cillian caught the book and smiled as she dragged her chair closer and sat beside him. They read together in silence, broken only by the turning of pages. As the afternoon light faded, Evelyne felt Cillian’s hand squeeze hers. He said nothing, but he didn’t need to. In that quiet moment, she knew they would face whatever came next together.
A gentle knock sounded on the door and their mother stepped inside. Her rich gown whispered as she moved across the room, her eyes softening as they landed on Cillian. “I see you’re awake. How are you feeling, my dear?”
Cillian sat up a little straighter, his demeanor shifting as he attempted to downplay his condition. “Better, Mother. I don’t think the healers need to come back. I’m fine.”
Celeste gave him a look that brooked no argument. “Nonsense. The healers will return in the morning with additional remedies. I won’t take chances with your health, especially now.” She adjusted the covers at the foot of his bed before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Particularly at a time like this.”
Evelyne’s eyebrows lifted at the implication, and she couldn’t resist interjecting. “A time like this? You mean courting season, don’t you, Mother?”
“One must always consider appearances, Evelyne. You know that as well as I do.” Her eyes flickered over Evelyne’s attire, the remnants of her earlier run unmistakable. With a quiet sigh, she shook her head.
Evelyne bristled, her protective nature flaring. “Perhaps Cillian should be allowed to make his own choices.”
Her mother pressed her lips together tightly but said nothing to refute Evelyne’s words. Instead, she straightened and smoothed her skirts. “Your father and I have a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Stonebridge. Do try to keep yourself occupied in the meantime, Evelyne,” she said with a dismissive edge.
Though curiosity sparked at the mention of the Stonebridges, Evelyne resisted the urge to ask. She didn’t want to give her mother the satisfaction of knowing she cared. Instead, she returned her focus to Cillian, who gave her a look of quiet gratitude.
Evelyne let out a weary sigh. “I’m going to wash up and scrub away what’s left of today’s stress and frustration.” She paused before adding, “I’m here if you need me.”
“I know,” he replied.
With a faint smile, she returned her book to the shelf and went to her room,leaving him to rest.
Chapter 6
Tension hung heavy in the library of Stonebridge Manor as Alaric sat rigid, steeling himself for whatever was to come. His father, Gaviel Stonebridge, a rarely rattled man, looked uncharacteristically troubled. The usual strength in his warm-toned features had dulled, his expression clouded with whatever news had drawn them into this uneasy silence.
“It is Velenshire,” he admitted with a sigh. “What I must say is hardly cheerful.”
Beside him, Vera Stonebridge sat elegantly, her fair complexion contrasting with her husband’s. The fire’s glow highlighted her sharp cheekbones as she leaned forward, hands resting on the chair’s armrests. Alaric had inherited her piercing blue eyes, but his jet-black hair and strong build were unmistakably his father’s. Though his mother’s expression remained calm, the subtle stiffness in her fingers betrayed the apprehension beneath.
Gaviel glanced at Lord and Lady Duskwood. “As we are all aware, Velenshire has always been… different, but now, the whispers have turned to warnings.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “There is something amiss. The forests bordering Velenshire are eerily quiet, and several trade caravans have been discovered forsaken—wagons toppled, cargo scattered, but not a soul to be found.”
Lady Duskwood narrowed her eyes. “Where are the merchants?”
Gaviel’s face hardened. “We cannot yet say. There have been sightings of a black mist moving through the forest, creeping toward the road to Velenshire. It devours everything in its path. I dispatched a company to investigate. One man failed to return, and no soul can say what became of him.”
Silence gripped the room.
“Those who’ve dared enter Mokkvyrn Forest say they’ve seen shapes—human figures—slipping between the trees, only to dissolve into shadow,” Gaviel added.
