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"Why do you still work here, sire?" Della asked gently, her eyes watching the man who stood before her, his shirt damp with sweat and his hands coated in soil.
He raised his head slightly, revealing tired eyes that still shimmered with a flicker of hope. "This village doesn't offer much. Not everyone is lucky. The magistrate, for all his faults, gives us jobs. The pay is just enough for a meal... Some of us take extra work in nearby towns."
Della's expression softened, but her frown lingered. "Was it always like this?"
The man glanced at the magistrate, who shifted irritably beside them. Then, as if gathering strength, the worker said, "No, my lady. The village was better off before. Things changed when the old magistrate died and the new one took over."
The magistrate flared. "What insolence! Are you implying I brought ruin to this village?"
"You may return to your work," Lord Lucas said coolly, his eyes never leaving the trembling man. The worker bowed gratefully and disappeared into the fields.
"Towson, is it?" Lucas asked, his tone suddenly sharper.
The magistrate scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "If the tour is over—"
Before he could finish, Lord Lucas moved. One swift kick sent the magistrate sprawling into the dirt. Gasps erupted from the nearby workers.
The magistrate lay there, struggling to rise, his fine robes stained and his cheeks burning with shame. "How dare you—!"
A sudden halt of carriage wheels silenced him. The coach door opened, and Oliver stepped down, making his way briskly toward Lord Lucas.
"My lord," Oliver said with a small bow.
The magistrate froze. His eyes widened in horror as he looked from Oliver to Lucas, realization dawning. "L-Lord of West Hill?" he stammered.
Lucas rolled his eyes. "When was this imbecile appointed?"
"Only a few months ago," Oliver replied flatly.
"Then remove him," Lucas said with finality.
The magistrate panicked, rushing forward. "Forgive me, milord! I—I was only—"
Oliver blocked him. "You've done enough. Step back."
Without another word, Lord Lucas turned, taking Della by the arm as they returned to the carriage. Behind them, the magistrate stood trembling, knowing his downfall had only just begun. If Lord Lucas didn't see him punished, the witches certainly would.
Inside the carriage, silence lingered for a moment. Then Lucas spoke without looking at her.
"Speak."
Della blinked. "Do you think he's involved with the witches?"
Lucas raised a brow, surprised by the question. He had expected her to ask about punishment or politics — not this.
"He might be," he answered. "Power like that can rot a man's mind. And he reeks of desperation."
Della nodded slowly. Her thoughts shifted to the girl in the magistrate's home. "His daughter... she needs help."
Lucas exhaled and leaned back against the seat. "You worry more about others than yourself, Delilah."
She turned to glare at him, but he was smirking again, eyes half-lidded.
"I'll look into her case," he added, tone softening.
Della murmured a quiet, "Thank you." And for the first time that day, her shoulders eased.
—
By the time they returned to the mansion, the sky had begun to darken. As the carriage pulled up, Mr. Hubert was already at the doors, his expression troubled.
"My lord," he whispered urgently, stepping forward. "We have... visitors."
Lucas stiffened immediately. "Who?"
"Your aunt and sister."
A long breath escaped his lips. His expression turned grave.
"Della," he said with quiet authority. "Leave."
She blinked up at him. "Is something wrong?"
"Go," he said again...more firmly this time.
Though reluctant, she obeyed. She had never seen him look quite so tense before.
Inside the great hall, voices echoed through the air.
"Brother!" came the high-pitched voice of a young woman.
Eliana rushed forward, her arms outstretched. Her youthful beauty was striking — a mirror of her mother's, with soft brown hair and sharp, red eyes that glinted beneath candlelight.
Lucas didn't smile. He merely stared at her.
"You could at least pretend to be happy to see us," came another voice — older, smoother, lined with amusement and danger.
Lady Virella.
Dressed in a fine cloak of shadow-blue velvet, her auburn hair coiled neatly atop her head, the vampiress approached with a gracious tilt of her chin.
"Mi lord," she said smoothly, her eyes narrowing with intent.
Lucas did not bow. "Why are you here, Aunt?"
"To visit my favorite nephew," she smiled. "Ana missed you dearly."
Eliana pouted beside her. "You've ignored my letters, brother. You forgot me."
Lucas finally moved, walking toward the long table in the dining hall. He sat with the weight of someone who had no patience left.
Lord Lucas leaned back in his seat, gaze fixed on the two women who sat across from him...his aunt, Lady Virella, all fine silks and smiles, and Eliana, his younger cousin, with her crimson eyes flickering with poorly masked resentment. The air between them was fragile—decorum wrapped tightly around unspoken truths.
"Your marriage is around the corner, Eliana," Lucas finally said, voice quiet yet firm, as though he were merely stating the weather.
Eliana shifted in her seat. Her expression faltered. "About that, mi lord..." she began, lowering her lashes as if to soften the blow.
Lady Virella stepped in, her smile brittle. "Yes, about that. We were going to write to you, but Ana insisted we speak in person." She chuckled dryly. "A letter would hardly do justice to the mess we're in."
Lucas said nothing, waiting.
Eliana sighed and leaned forward, her fingers twisting around the embroidered edge of her sleeves. "The engagement has been called off."
Lucas raised a brow, but his expression remained impassive.
"The boy's family is claiming I was... difficult," she muttered, lips pressing together. "They said I was disrespectful, unyielding. That I lacked gentility fit for a wife."
Lady Virella scoffed. "Rubbish. What they meant was that she didn't bow to their demands. They wanted a quiet vampiress, one they could mold. Eliana is no such thing."
Lucas's eyes flicked to his sister. "So you threatened them?"
Eliana looked away. "They were unworthy."
"And what would you have me do with this information?"
Lady Virella straightened. "Mi lord, the Court is beginning to whisper. You know how they are—vultures waiting to find fault. Eliana's second broken engagement is now a matter of scrutiny."
Lucas's gaze darkened. He hated Court politics more than he let on.
"I won't force her to marry a dog for appearances," he said, tone as cold as steel. "If that's what you came to ask of me, you've wasted your journey."
"That's not what I came to ask." Lady Virella folded her hands neatly. "But it does beg the question...what now for Eliana? She is not a child anymore. And you—" she paused, studying him closely, "you remain unmarried still."
Lucas's expression didn't shift.
Eliana's voice was quieter now. "Perhaps... if no other match is suitable, I could remain close to home. Perhaps I've been searching too far, when—"
"Eliana," Lucas said her name softly, a warning hidden beneath velvet. "Do not speak words you don't understand the weight of."
A silence fell. Heavy. Complicated.
Lady Virella cleared her throat. "We mean no offense, mi lord. Only—rumors are starting. The Council is watching you more closely. You've shut them out too long. Your private affairs remain... well, private. Some begin to suspect you're hiding something."
"Let them suspect," he murmured, sipping from his goblet.
Virella frowned. "You forget yourself. If they come knocking, if they demand your cooperation—"
"I'll deal with them as I always have," Lucas said calmly, his voice cool and final.
Eliana's eyes lingered on him, searching for something softer in his features. But she found none.
"You've changed," she whispered.
Lucas met her gaze without blinking. "No. You were simply too young to see who I truly was."
Another silence.
Then Lady Virella rose, brushing off her skirts. "We shall not linger tonight, mi lord. But we will remain in the estate for a few days—Ana needs rest. And perhaps in that time, you might reconsider how to present yourself before the Council."
Lucas stood as well. "You may stay in the east wing. Hubert will see to your arrangements."
Lady Virella dipped her head. Eliana lingered behind, lips parted as if she wanted to say something more. But in the end, she turned away.
When they were gone, Lucas remained still by the windows, his hands behind his back. His reflection stared back in the glass.
He was tired of pretenses.
But he could not yet afford the truth.