The Duke's study was colder than the frost creeping along the windowpanes.
Elenora sat upright in one of the high-backed leather chairs, her posture perfect, her hands resting in her lap. Across from her, the Duke of Warwick,her father,flipped through a ledger as if the numbers it contained mattered more than the conversation to come.
They often did.
Finally, he spoke.
"Lord Montclaire has written again. This time with his own hand."
Elenora didn't blink. "He is persistent."
"He is wealthy," the Duke corrected. "And politically sharp. His influence in the South will be useful once the election tides shift."
"So I am a pawn on a map."
"You are my daughter," he said, as though that were the same thing.
* * *
She left the study with the taste of iron in her mouth. The engagement wasn't yet formal, but everyone would see it coming. Montclaire, with his watchful smiles and opinions coated in honey. Elenora could already imagine their future,dinners filled with strategy, beds cold with silence, children raised on expectations.
Back in her chambers, she found her aunt Celeste lounging on the chaise with a glass of cordial in hand.
"You're late," Celeste said lazily, not looking up from the embroidery she wasn't truly working on. "Let me guess. Father is selling you off again."
"Offering," Elenora replied, removing her gloves one finger at a time.
"Oh, how generous of him. Perhaps he'll throw in a silver spoon and a vineyard next time."
"You mock, but it's happening."
Celeste did look up at that. "To Montclaire?"
Elenora nodded. "He made it official. A written offer."
Celeste wrinkled her nose. "Charming as a corpse. And nearly as warm."
"And yet perfectly suitable," Elenora murmured. "He checks all the boxes."
Her aunt's voice softened. "You don't have to agree, Nora."
"I don't have the luxury of saying no."
Celeste leaned forward. "You have more power than you think."
"I have... a name," Elenora said bitterly. "And a duty. That's all."
"No," Celeste replied. "You have time. And that is dangerous currency."
* * *
Later that evening, under the guise of needing fresh air, Elenora made her way to the back gardens. The hedges were tall, framing the gravel paths in near darkness, while lanterns flickered along the stone walls like watchful eyes.
She didn't expect to find anyone there.
Certainly not him.
"Lady Elenora," said Darius Cain from the shadows, arms crossed, coat half-buttoned, the air about him less polished than usual.
She stopped short. "Do you make it a habit to trespass?"
He shrugged. "I was invited to the estate. I simply wandered."
"You wander like a fox in a henhouse."
"I'm more interested in the hawk that lives here."
Elenora narrowed her eyes. "Speak plainly."
"I hear your father is finalizing an engagement."
"Then you hear too much."
"I only hear what the city wants me to know."
She studied him. His voice held no venom. Only observation. That made it worse.
"You think I'm just... folding into place."
"I think you hate the cage but won't stop polishing the bars."
She laughed, harsh and short. "What would you have me do? Run off with a man of no name? Throw away generations of expectation because it suits your rebellion?"
"No," he said. "I'd have you stop pretending you don't mind."
* * *
There was a silence between them.
Not comfortable. Not tense. Just... heavy.
She sat on the stone bench, adjusting her skirts with care.
"You always seem to know exactly what to say to make me feel small," she said.
He sat across from her. "I think you've been made small for so long, you think it's your natural size."
That stung. She looked away.
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment.
Her eyes snapped back. "What?"
"I said I'm sorry. I didn't come here to provoke you."
"You provoke by breathing."
He smiled faintly. "And yet you don't walk away."
* * *
She should've.
Every part of her told her to.
But her hands were clenched in her lap, and her throat burned, and her heart,
Her heart wanted someone to see her.
"I don't want to marry him," she whispered.
The confession escaped before she could stop it.
Darius didn't gloat. Didn't move. Just listened.
"I can't breathe when he speaks. I can't even picture myself beside him in ten years,five months. I try to imagine our names together on invitations, and my chest tightens."
"Then don't," he said simply.
"It's not that simple."
"Then make it simple."
"You don't understand,"
"I understand cages," he interrupted. "Mine just had rougher bars."
She looked at him.
He looked back.
* * *
"I envy you," she said softly. "Your freedom. Your lack of fear."
"I have plenty of fear," he replied. "I just don't dress it in pearls."
That made her smile. Tired. Sad.
"Why do you come to me?" she asked. "Is it to feel superior? To play noble slayer?"
"No," he said. "It's because you're the only noble I've ever met who looks like she wants to scream."
She laughed, quiet and broken.
He stood, brushing off his coat. "Goodnight, Lady Elenora."
"Wait," she said. "Do you think I'll say yes to him?"
Darius met her gaze. "Yes."
She blinked.
"But not because you want to," he added. "Because you don't yet know how not to."
Then he was gone.
And this time, she stayed seated long after his footsteps faded.