The woman.
She had no name, but she haunted his thoughts, the boundary between them blurring with each passing moment.
After Evelyne left, Cillian set her gift on the desk and reopened the book from Velenshire. The familiar pages drew him back in. Rituals of power, forbidden knowledge—it was both fascinating and unnerving.
He had just turned to a passage about rites of blood magic when the room shifted.
And there she was.
Her frost-white hair spilled over her shoulders, a stark contrast against the ink-black cloak she wore, though this time, the garment revealed more—deliberately so. Her collarbones glistened like polished marble, and the fabric dipped scandalously low. She lounged on his bed, watching him with a predatory smile.
“Still chasing the secrets of old magic, are we?” she teased, her voice smooth as silk, wrapping around him like a serpent.
“Leave,” he said firmly.
Her laughter was soft, almost mocking, filling the room. She leaned forward. “Why are you so eager to banish me, Cillian? I’m the one who sees you. Therealyou. The part they try so hard to bury.”
Her voice dropped to a near whisper, dripping with honeyed malice. “I saw what she gave you. A gesture born of pity, don’t you think? They all see you as a burden. And always will.”
Her words cut deep, though he fought to dismiss them. He turned back to his book, forcing his attention on the text. Undeterred, she rose and stepped behind him, leaning close until he could feel the warmth of herbreath against his ear.
“What’s this one about?” she murmured, her finger hovering over the page.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he snapped, his frustration spilling over. “Now, leave me alone.”
He thought he felt the faintest nip at his ear, a cruel little tease, but when he turned to face her, she was gone.
Again, as if triggered by her absence, a flash of silver seared his mind. The blood moon appeared, glowing red and coiling like a spiral.
Cillian closed the book with trembling hands and glanced at his reflection in the windowpane. The faint scabs at his temples stared back at him, reminders of his past breaking point. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling shakily. Something inside him was stripping away his sanity, eroding who he was. And he had to resist it.
***
Two days had passed since the incident at the market, and Evelyne’s restlessness only grew. With the ball fast approaching the next evening, the thought of facing both Alaric and Lord Bavrick without first confronting the turmoil still churning inside her felt unbearable. She had hoped to speak with Alaric after her walk with Cillian, to tell him how much good the fresh air had done her brother. And surely he had been wondering about the episode in the garden—Alaric, no doubt, wanted answers. Yet one subject remained firmly off-limits in her mind: what happened with Lord Bavrick in the alley. She doubted Alaric wished to revisit it any more than she did.
Still, the possibility of Ivan appearing at the ball unsettled her. Questions hung over her like a storm, and though Aurelia hadbeen kind, Evelyne yearned to speak with someone who had seen the truth with his own eyes.
After lunch, she decided to visit Alaric. Instead of tying her hair into its usual braid and slipping into loose-fitting trousers for a run, she selected a simple off-white spring dress paired with boots, choosing comfort with a bit of elegance. She added a hint of blush and a pale pink stain to her lips to finish the look. It was enough.
The Stonebridge estate was a short carriage ride from the manor, and as she stepped out into the afternoon light, she took in its picturesque beauty. Outside, Mrs. Vera Stonebridge was orchestrating her garden with the precision of a conductor, giving instructions to a nearby servant while occasionally stepping in to assist. She wore a tan sunhat and gloves, her hands occasionally brushing the petals of her flowers as if coaxing them to bloom.
When Vera’s eyes met Evelyne’s, she smiled warmly and approached. “Lady Evelyne, what a lovely surprise.”
“I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Stonebridge,” Evelyne replied, returning the smile. “I was hoping to speak with Alaric if he’s available.”
“He is. I’ll have Alia let him know you’re here.” Vera looped her arm through Evelyne’s, guiding her toward the house. “Come inside, my dear. There’s no sense waiting out here, though I must admit it’s a perfect day. A pity about the storm expected tomorrow. I do hope it won’t spoil the ball. The air tends to whisper what’s coming, if one knows how to listen.”
How curious,Evelyne thought. Few could ever foretell the weather, yet there had always been something peculiar about Mrs. Stonebridge. She inclined her head in polite agreement as they crossed the threshold.
Seated on an olive-green bench in the grand foyer, Evelyne found her eyes drawn to the chandelier above. Its beautiful crystals refracted thesunlight, casting fragmented rainbows across the walls. The mesmerizing display distracted her until the sound of footsteps pulled her focus. Alaric approached, but Evelyne’s attention momentarily shifted to the young girl beside him. She had delicate features framed by shiny blonde hair tightly coiled into a bun. Her navy cotton dress and apron marked her as a housemaid, and her shy demeanor was evident in the flush that crept across her cheeks when Alaric winked at her.
“Thank you, Alia,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “I can take it from here.”
The girl’s blush deepened as she hurried away. Evelyne couldn’t help but smile to herself. If Alia had worked for the Stonebridge family long, Alaric’s charm wouldn’t affect her this much.
“She’s lovely,” Evelyne remarked without thinking.
“She is,” Alaric replied, his gaze lingering where the maid had disappeared. “Though she’s young and nervous. I like to make her blush.” His lopsided grin was equally mischievous and self-assured.
