The curtains hung heavy, shadows clinging to every corner.
"This room is like a tomb," she muttered.
Without permission, Isadora crossed to the window and yanked the curtains open. Morning light flooded in, chasing the gloom.
Lucien winced. "What… are you doing?"
"Letting in the sun," she said. "You don't have to live like this."
"I'm blind," he snapped.
"I know." She turned to face him. "But you're still alive. And you don't have to let the darkness win."
He didn't speak, but his shoulders sagged. Isadora sat on the edge of the bed, noticing the bruises along his side. "You're hurting yourself more, keeping shut away."
Lucien's expression tightened. "You don't know anything about my life."
"No. But I know what it's like to watch someone you care about lose themselves in it." She hesitated, thinking of her father. Of the quiet way his world shrank when his sight went, how the shadows claimed him in the end. But she said nothing of that aloud.
"Why are you even here?" Lucien asked.
"Because someone has to be."
He let out a long breath and didn't argue.
"I'll bring fresh tea," she offered, standing.
Lucien gave a slight nod. "Thank you… Lady Isadora."
She turned at the door. "You deserve better than this, Lucien. More than what people expect you to be."
Then she left him there, in a room no longer drowning in shadows.
In the hall, Evelyn waited, worry written across her face. "Is he all right?"
Isadora nodded. "He will be."
Evelyn exhaled. "Thank the stars."
They walked down the hallway together, and the storm outside was now just a memory.
For the first time, it felt like D'Aragon Hall was beginning to wake up.
The curtains hung heavy, shadows clinging to every corner.
"This room is like a tomb," she muttered.
Without permission, Isadora crossed to the window and yanked the curtains open. Morning light flooded in, chasing the gloom.
Lucien winced. "What… are you doing?"
"Letting in the sun," she said. "You don't have to live like this."
"I'm blind," he snapped.
"I know." She turned to face him. "But you're still alive. And you don't have to let the darkness win."
He didn't speak, but his shoulders sagged. Isadora sat on the edge of the bed, noticing the bruises along his side. "You're hurting yourself more, keeping shut away."
Lucien's expression tightened. "You don't know anything about my life."
"No. But I know what it's like to watch someone you care about lose themselves in it." She hesitated, thinking of her father. Of the quiet way his world shrank when his sight went, how the shadows claimed him in the end. But she said nothing of that aloud.
"Why are you even here?" Lucien asked.
"Because someone has to be."
He let out a long breath and didn't argue.
"I'll bring fresh tea," she offered, standing.
Lucien gave a slight nod. "Thank you… Lady Isadora."
She turned at the door. "You deserve better than this, Lucien. More than what people expect you to be."
Then she left him there, in a room no longer drowning in shadows.
In the hall, Evelyn waited, worry written across her face. "Is he all right?"
Isadora nodded. "He will be."
Evelyn exhaled. "Thank the stars."
They walked down the hallway together, the storm outside now just a memory.
For the first time, it felt like D'Aragon Hall was beginning to wake up.
They ate in silence for a while, the clink of cutlery the only sound in the room. Lucien wasn't much for conversation, but the fact that he was at the table felt like enough for now.
After a while, Isadora set her cup down and cleared her throat. "I… I should head home," she said softly, glancing between Lucien and Evelyn. "My mother will be worried. I need to let her know where I've been."
Evelyn gave her a warm, understanding smile. "Of course. I should've thought of that."
Isadora turned to Lucien. "I'd like to come by in the afternoons if that's all right with you. I'll stay a little while and leave in the evening. Just to… check in."
Lucien lifted his head, his crimson eyes hidden behind the haze of his blindness, but his voice was clear. "You don't need to trouble yourself."
"I want to," she replied simply.
A pause, and then a faint trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If you're willing, then… I'd be glad for the company."
Isadora nodded, rising from her seat. "I'll be back tomorrow, then."
Evelyn stood to walk her out, and as they reached the door, Isadora glanced back. Lucien was still seated, his hand resting near the teacup she'd poured him.
By the time Isadora reached home, the sun had climbed high, casting sharp light over the cobblestones. The moment she stepped through the door, her mother, Celeste, appeared in the hallway, a tight expression on her face.
"Where have you been all night?" Celeste demanded though worry softened her voice more than anger.
"I stayed at D'Aragon Hall. The rain was too heavy to travel, so Lady Evelyn let me stay over," Isadora explained, setting down her shawl.
Celeste sighed and motioned her toward the sitting room. "While you were gone, a message came from the palace. His Majesty has invited us both for a private meeting tomorrow."
Isadora's brow furrowed. "About what?"
"I suspect it has to do with that ridiculous promise… and Prince Alaric," Celeste muttered. "I knew this would come up sooner or later."
Isadora crossed her arms. "Well, they can forget it. I don't want anything to do with Prince Alaric. I'll tell the king myself if I have to."
Celeste's lips pressed into a thin line. "You don't speak to the king like that."
"I don't care. I'm not marrying someone I don't like. I won't let them decide my life."
There was a pause before Celeste spoke again. "And where exactly have you been running off to every afternoon?"
"I've been visiting D'Aragon Hall," Isadora admitted. "Lucien's… not well. He's been alone and blind, and Evelyn's worried. I'm going to help him."
Celeste's expression darkened. "Isadora, I warned you not to get mixed up in these people's affairs. Their problems aren't yours. You need to focus on what matters — on your rehabilitation here so we can return home."
Isadora's voice dropped. "This matters to me."
"It shouldn't."
Neither spoke for a moment. Then Isadora quietly excused herself and went to her room, closing the door behind her. The familiar scent of fresh linens and the faint hint of lavender from the garden drifted in through the window.
She sat by her dressing table and gazed at the reflection in the glass. The girl staring back looked like her — but felt like a stranger. The past few weeks had changed her more than she cared to admit.
Her thoughts drifted to New York. The crowded streets, bright lights, and the sound of late-night car horns. The life she'd left behind.