Ravenshade Manor
Isolde's POV
The halls of Ravenshade swallowed sound like a tomb. Stone walls stretched high above, broken only by narrow windows that let in pale slivers of light, casting long shadows over worn tapestries and lifeless portraits.
I followed Lady Marguerite in silence, my footsteps muffled by a faded runner that stretched the length of the corridor. The scent of old smoke clung to the walls, like a hearth long since gone cold.
We passed through two corridors and a grand staircase before stopping at a tall wooden door carved with thorns and roses, both wilted.
"This is yours," she said without looking at me. "For now."
She opened the door with a sharp twist of the handle, revealing a room that smelled of lavender and dust. High windows overlooked the eastern gardens, though the hedges looked more wild than manicured. A canopy bed stood at the center, draped in dark green fabric, the kind that once might've looked rich but now just looked tired.
"You'll find hot water and supper brought to you shortly," she said. "The Duke dines alone."
A strange silence followed that. One I didn't dare break.
She lingered a second too long, as if weighing whether to say more, then added, "He prefers quiet. Don't expect affection."
Her words cut with the same sharpness as Father's slap, but colder, cleaner, like a scalpel rather than a blade.
She left before I could respond, the door closing with a muted click behind her.
I stood still for a moment, not breathing.
This was it, My new life. Not a wedding night, not even an introduction. Just an empty room in a stranger's house.
I let my fingers brush the fabric of the bed before sinking onto its edge. The mattress was firm, the silence inside deafening.
Maren's voice echoed faintly in my head: "It's only a wedding, not a funeral."
But it felt like mourning now.
The fire in the hearth had been lit, but the warmth didn't reach me. Nothing did.
I rose and moved to the window. Below, the gardens stretched in tangles of shadow and dying roses. A greenhouse sat at the far end, glass panes clouded with moss and time.
I would learn to breathe here. Somehow.
To endure.
To survive.
And maybe, one day, to escape.
A soft knock broke the quiet. A maid entered with a silver tray, soup, dark bread, and a small covered bowl.
"Milady," she murmured, setting it down. She was young. Pale. Nervous.
"Wait," I said, before she could flee like the rest.
She paused. "Yes, milady?"
"Have you seen him? The Duke?"
Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to me. "Not today. He doesn't… like to be seen, most days."
I swallowed. "Is he, does he speak?"
"Yes. When he wishes."
That didn't answer anything.
"Thank you," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.
She nodded once, then slipped out the door like a ghost.
I sat again.
And ate alone.
And waited.
Waited for the man I'd been given to.
For the face behind the name.
For the stranger whose silence spoke louder than any vow.
But the night wore on, and the Duke did not come.
Not even a knock.
Just the howl of wind through the chimney, and the faint creak of old stone settling around me.
I lay in a stranger's bed, in a stranger's house, with only the sound of my own heart to keep me company.
*******
The next morning came dressed in fog.
It clung to the windows, veiling the view beyond and muting even the birdsong. I hadn't slept much, just dozed in fits and starts, haunted by dreams of long hallways and locked doors that never opened.
When the same quiet maid returned with breakfast, porridge, bread, and weak tea, I tried again.
"Has the Duke risen?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "He walks the halls in the early hours. Before most are awake."
I leaned forward slightly. "And no one sees him?"
Her lips pressed together, regret flickering in her eyes. Then, with a quick curtsey, she fled again, leaving only silence behind.
Not quite long, a sharp knock interrupted the quiet.
"Milady? Lady Marguerite requests your presence in the south drawing room."
The maid's voice was low, respectful, yet the message was clear.
I smoothed the folds of my gown and rose, heart tightening as I followed her through winding corridors and down the grand staircase.
The south drawing room was smaller than I expected but no less cold. Pale light filtered in through high arched windows, casting faint patterns on the polished floor. A fire crackled in the hearth, though its warmth barely touched the air.
Lady Marguerite sat at the end of a narrow table, a silver teapot between us, the scent of bergamot masking the must of old books and cold stone.
"Sit," she said without looking up.
I obeyed, folding my hands in my lap.
We drank in silence, the clink of porcelain the only sound.
Finally, she spoke. "You must understand the rules of this house if you are to survive it."
Not live in it. Survive it.
She poured more tea into my cup without asking. "My nephew is a private man. He has suffered… deeply. And he values his solitude."
I watched her carefully. "I don't wish to disturb him."
She gave a humorless smile. "You already have. Your very presence is a disturbance."
I flinched despite myself. "Then why bring me here at all?"
She set the teapot down a little too hard. "Because duty is not a choice. For you, or for him."
The fire cracked in the silence that followed. I felt the questions pressing against my teeth. One slipped free.
"Why hasn't he seen me?"
Marguerite's eyes flicked away, her expression tightening. She said nothing.
I pressed on gently, "What happened to him?"
Her gaze hardened, and she stood abruptly, moving to the window without a word.
The silence stretched between us like a wall.
"He lives with pain, Lady Isolde. Pain and pride. Two things that rarely coexist well."
I swallowed hard.
"Will he ever… want to see me?"
Marguerite's shoulders stiffened. "That will be for him to decide. You will not go to him uninvited. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I whispered.
Because what else could I say? I had been given like an offering, and now I was to wait like one, set quietly on the altar, until the god decided whether or not to look.
Marguerite returned to the table, sitting straighter than before. "You will write thank-you letters to the families who sent gifts. You will attend meals when summoned. You will be presentable, pleasant, and discreet. Do not roam where you are not guided."
So I was to be seen only where they allowed it. Heard only when useful. Married, but still unseen.
"I will try to be… what he needs," I said finally.
Marguerite studied me for a long moment. Then, without emotion, she said, "He does not need anything."
I stood to leave, unsure what else to say.
Marguerite was already moving toward the door.
At the threshold, she paused, not looking back, but over her shoulder, her voice was sharp and sure:
"You will be taught the noble ways. That much you must learn."
And with that, she left me alone in the cold drawing room, the sound of her footsteps fading down the stone hall.