Gaviel sighed and leaned forward. “As I was saying, the situation in Velenshire continues to deteriorate. There have been more disappearances near the trade outposts, most along the Mokkahli River, which is now making trade nearly impossible. The fear is spreading, and it’s beginning to affect business even here in the south.”
Alaric’s brow furrowed. “What exactly is going on?”
“The locals speak of shadows clouding their vision, while some claim to see mist-like figures darting through the woods. Most won’t even go near the forest anymore.” He shook his head. “I can’t say for certain what it is, Alaric. But you know the history, and the oaths we’ve taken.”
Of course he knew. How could he forget their last conversation?
“Coal, iron, gemstones… Velenshire’s entire economy hinges on them,” Gaviel went on. “And if this keeps up, our trade agreements will fall apart.”
Alaric nodded, his brow knitting as he considered the gravity of the situation. “What steps are being taken to investigate?”
“Guards have been sent to patrol the area but found nothing unusual. I suspect they’re too afraid to dig any deeper. We need someone the people trust. Someone who can ease their fears, get them back to work, and bring me real answers.”
“You want me to go,” Alaric guessed, his voice flat.
Gaviel’s sharp gaze softened slightly. “You have a knack for getting people to trust you, Alaric. This is more than just a trade issue; it’s about maintaining our regional influence. The people of Velenshire respect our family and they need to see that we’re taking their concerns seriously.”
Alaric gave a curt nod, though his thoughts churned.
“Is there a problem?” his father asked.
“No,” Alaric said quickly. He squared his shoulders. “I’ll go.”
“Good. I’ll let you know when the time has come, but for now, focus on Lady Duskwood.”
Guilt twisted in Alaric’s gut. Right—tea with Evelyne. He had a part to play, and distractions weren’t an option.
Chapter 10
The garden’s greenery enclosed Evelyne in its usual embrace, hedges neatly trimmed and flowers adding bursts of color. But today, the space brought her no comfort. She sat at the stone table, absently running her fingers along her teacup’s rim. The tea had gone cold, though she had barely noticed.
Her thoughts drifted back to Cillian. To his pale complexion and the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Her parents had kept his collapse from her, because they hadn’t wanted to “spoil” her mood before the Stonebridge dinner. Their excuse had been ridiculous, and the lie still stung, but it was seeing him at breakfast that had left her truly unsettled.
The light in him had dimmed, and though it was clear he was pulling away, no one else seemed willing to admit it or offer an explanation. She wanted answers from her parents, from the healers, from Cillian himself. Instead, she sat in silence, tapping her teacup with anxious fingers. Resting her elbows on the table, she pressed her hands to her temples and let out a long breath. She had woken hopeful for a quiet morning with Alaric. Now, she just wanted it behind her.
The crunch of gravel drew her attention, making her sit up straighter and turn toward the garden’s entrance. A moment later, Alaric stepped through the ivy-covered archway, his tall frame cutting a striking silhouette against the greenery. He appeared miles away in thought, but upon meeting her gaze, he composed himself and offered a polite smile.
“Good morning, Lady Evelyne.”
“Good morning, Mr. Stonebridge,” she replied, gesturing to the chair across from her. She noticed a slight hesitation when he reached for it, and caught the brief tap of his fingers against the table before he stopped himself. “You seem distracted,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Is everything all right?”
For a brief moment, Alaric looked surprised, but then he laughed softly, brushing a hand through his dark hair. “You caught me. My mind has been a bit… preoccupied this morning. But I promise I’m here now.” He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I see. Well, I suppose we’re both a bit distracted today,” she admitted, her voice quieter than intended.
Alaric leaned in, his expression gentler with concern. “What’s on your mind?”
She opened her mouth to answer but stopped as a sharp cry cut through the garden. Evelyne’s head snapped toward the sound, her pulse quickening. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it. But then it came again, clearer this time, and dread coiled in her gut as she guessed who it might be.
“Cillian,” she whispered, rising from her seat.
Alaric stood immediately, his hand resting lightly on her arm as if to steady her. “What’s happening?”
“It’s my brother,” Evelyne said, already moving toward the sound.
Her heart pounded as she hurried through the garden paths, Alaric close behind. When they turned the corner, the sight before made her still.
Cillian was on his knees, his hands tightly clasped around his head as if trying to shield himself from an unbearable noise that only he couldperceive. His body shook uncontrollably, each gasp blurring the line between a sob and a breath.
