"You know the king could hang you," the woman whispered, her voice barely above the soft crackle of the hearth nearby. Her golden hair spilled across Albert's chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone. The blanket barely clung to their naked bodies, the scent of sweat and sin thick in the air.
Albert smirked, his fingers curling lazily through her hair. "Let him try."
She lifted her head, eyes sharp. "I'm the daughter of a Duke. If word gets out that you bedded me—while still legally bound to your wife the scandal could undo you."
He scoffed, clearly amused. "Scandal is for peasants. Men like me are untouchable."
"Your wife wasn't," she said quietly, a challenge in her tone. She remembered the lady was too trusting for her good now she was gone. Probably dead.
Albert's face darkened for a moment, the grin vanishing like a blade drawn back into its sheath. "Sapphire was too proud for her own good. Thought herself better than me." He leaned in closer, voice low and venomous.
"Now she's banished, disgraced—and I'm still here. With you.
She narrowed her eyes, then scoffed. "You're bolder than I expected."
"Boldness gets results," he murmured, fingers brushing down her spine. "Speaking of..."
Her body tensed slightly. "There it is."
"I want Jethro " he said smoothly, like it was nothing more than a passing thought. "The land your father keeps in reserve. Rich soil, untapped iron veins, and it borders my estate. Perfect for expansion."
She lifted her head completely now, eyes narrowing. "Jethro is politically sensitive. The Council is watching it closely."
"All the more reason I need it," he said, tone sharpened. "If I control Jethro, I control the trade route through the southern marsh. That puts me in position to negotiate directly with the Hivities envoys." He paused, letting his hand rest possessively at her hip. "You want security, don't you? To be on the side that survives what's coming?"
She stared at him, heart pounding. "You're asking me to manipulate my father."
"I'm asking you to show him you know how to play this game." Albert leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Because if you don't... someone else will."
There was a long silence as she lay back, staring at the ceiling, calculating.
Albert smirked in the dim light. He knew the seed was planted.
And the daughter of a Duke? She was just the soil he would use to greatness.
*****
The storm raged on.
Typhon's stallion slowed before the towering manor — stone walls blackened by age and rain, its windows like eyes in the dark. Water trickled from the carved gargoyles that adorned the roof, and thunder cracked the sky in half.
Sapphire clung to Typhon's coat, drenched and trembling. He held her close, shielding her from the wind as the stallion came to a halt.
A thin man stepped forward from the shadows, oil lamp in hand, its flame barely alive against the wind. His face was long and pale, eyes hollow, unblinking.
"Milord," he said, voice rough with age… or something older.
"Eugene," Typhon replied simply.
The man's eyes flicked to Sapphire without acknowledgment. No bow, no greeting. Just a sharp glance, unreadable. He turned without another word, leading them into the manor.
The doors creaked open, heavy with silence. Inside, the hallway was dim and cold, lit only by a lone beeswax candle. Damp stone, scorched wood, and something faintly metallic lingered in the air. A line of silent maids bowed their heads as Typhon passed, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.
"Get a room ready," he ordered, not breaking stride.
Then he disappeared into the dark corridor without looking back.
Sapphire stood for a moment, water dripping from her hair, unsure what to do. Then Eugene was at her side again, gaze sharp and silent.
"This way," he said simply, already walking.
His footsteps were too quiet on the old wooden floor.
They walked in silence through the gloom. Lightning flashed, revealing torn tapestries and faded fur rugs
At last, Eugene stopped before a tall door.
"You stay here," he said, voice flat.
The room beyond was dimly lit, a fire crackling low in the hearth. The bed was neatly made. A basin of warm water steamed near the window.
She turned to speak, but Eugene was already gone, the door clicking softly shut.
Sapphire stood alone, chilled and uneasy.
There were no locks on the door
She had noticed!
Eugene entered the room without knocking, as was his custom. The wind howled through the tall, narrow windows, making the lone beeswax candle flicker violently. Shadows danced across the stone walls, but Eugene moved with practiced ease, unaffected by the darkness.
Balanced carefully on the tray in his hands was a pitcher and a single goblet. He crossed the room and set them gently on the trestle table without a word.
"Milord," he said, his voice calm, almost bored. "I brought you some refreshments. Not as warm as earlier, but it will suffice."
Typhon sat in silence, his tall frame angled toward the open medallion windows, the storm's wind tousling his hair like restless fingers. He didn't turn when Eugene spoke, but the subtle tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
The metallic scent from the goblet filled the air faint to most, but sharp and distinct to him. A scent he knew too well.
His eyes, once a quiet raven black flicked—first gold, then a deep crimson that glowed faintly in the dim room. A brief glint, It lasted only a second, but Eugene saw it. He always did.
The butler did not react. He simply stepped back, folding his hands behind his back with silent obedience.
"You're late," Typhon said finally, his voice low and smooth, like silk on steel.
"The staff took longer to retire for the night," Eugene replied calmly. "The new girl—she's curious."
Typhon scoffed lightly. "Curiosity often comes with a price."
He reached for the goblet. The liquid inside swirled, thick and dark, too dark for wine.
"Shall I see to the girl? Probably serve her for dinner "Eugene asked watching as the storm outside rattled the old manor windows. The faint flicker of candlelight danced across Typhon's profile
Typhon paused, the rim of the goblet brushing his lips. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing.
A long silence stretched before he spoke, voice low and final.
"Give my word—no one should touch her."
Eugene gave a slight nod, unfazed. "As you wish, milord."
And with that, Typhon drank, the storm howling like a sign.