After the initial greetings, the Grand Duke and Evander were led to their rooms to rest, giving the estate a few hours to finish preparing for the feast.
As the sun began to dip low in the sky, I pulled on a much simpler dress than the one that I wore earlier, soft wool in a muted cream color, with only a small silver brooch at the collar. No pearls, no silver threads, just something that let me breathe. With a deep breath, I headed toward the dining hall.
I barely reached the door when it swung open slightly, and I nearly collided with Neoven. Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us spoke just stared, the weight of everything hanging between us.
"Greetings, brother," I said, and the words escaped my mouth so naturally it took me by surprise.
A flicker of something soft crossed his face gone in an instant, replaced by his usual stiff posture.
"Norielle," he replied, nodding once. "You're late. Father's already inside."
From the slightly open door, the smell of the feast in full swing washed over us, heavy, savory waves of juicy venison basted in fat and wild herbs, the sharp, tangy fizz of fermented cider being poured into cups, and the warm, yeasty perfume of newly baked bread still soft and steaming from the oven. It was a smell of plenty, but it couldn't quite chase away the cold knot in my stomach.
Such a grand feast... and yet, aren't we drowning in debt?
Neoven entered first, his boots clicking softly against the polished wood floor. I heard him greet the count, then I followed. My simpler dress rustling as I stepped into the warm, candle-lit hall.
"Good evening, Father," I said, curtsying briefly before moving to take the seat beside Neoven.
But a hand lifted, stopping me mid step. "Your seat is across from Neoven, Norielle," Father said.
His lifted hand, pointing to a chair on the opposite side of the long table right next to Evander's, which sat at the right hand of the empty head seat reserved for the Grand Duke.
I wanted to asked if he's joking but I didn't have enough guts to do so. Without a word, I turned and walked toward it, my simple wool dress rustling against the silent floor as every pair of eyes in the room seemed to follow my steps.
Moments later, the door swung open again, and Leopold stumbled in his crooked cloak, his hair slightly messy.
Did he sneak out again? Wait... what am I even saying?
"You are almost late, Leopold," the Count's voice was low, laced with a disappointment that cut deeper than any shout. "Is that proper etiquette? Do you plan to embarrass us to our esteemed guests?"
Leopold's shoulders slumped. He bowed his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"I apologize, Father," he said, barely a whisper.
The Count gave a sharp nod, and Leopold scurried to his seat squeezing in beside Neoven, who sat right next to the Count himself on the left side of the empty head chair.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as Neoven shifted slightly, making just enough room, his face still set in that rigid line, like carved stone. Neoven always acted like a wall around Leopold. Protecting him even when he pretended not to care. The words settled in my brain with an unnerving clarity, and that's when the ache hit sharp and sudden, right behind my eyes, like a nail being driven straight through bone.
My mind has been acting weird lately... or is it just Norielle's memories, flooding in like a broken dam? I pressed a hand to my temple, fingers trembling just enough that I curled them into a fist, hoping no one noticed the shake. The candlelight blurred at the edges of my vision.
The hall fell into a hush the moment the heavy oak doors swung open fully, their hinges groaning softly in deference. Callahan, the Grand Duke of Valios, stepped across the threshold, and even the crackle of the hearth seemed to dim in his presence.
"Your Grace," the Count said, pushing back his chair and bowing deeply.
The rest of us followed suit, heads bowed until the Grand Duke's voice cut through the silence and low and clear, carrying an undercurrent of authority that settled in my bones like cold stone.
"Rise."
As I lifted my gaze, our eyes met for a split second. No warmth, no curiosity, just a glance as sharp and impenetrable as ice. Then he turned his attention to the Count.
"You have my gratitude for your hospitality, Lord Nazar." He said.
He glided to the head seat, his boots making not a single sound on the polished wood a trick of years of training, I suspected, or the mark of a man who learned to move without being seen.
Evander followed behind him, silent as a shadow. Our eyes met, and a faint sigh slipped past his lips as his gaze landed on my chair. That's when I realized just how close we were so near that our elbows would brush if we both reached for the table at the same time. My shoulders tensed so tight I thought they would snap.
Cold sweat trickled down my back and forehead, chilling me even in the warm hall. I watched the Grand Duke talk with the Count, saw Neoven gesture to Evander, but I couldn't hear a damn thing. A high-pitched ring hummed in my ears, my mind a whirlwind of fragmented memories and raw panic, spinning so fast I could barely tell up from down.
"Norielle." Neoven was staring at me, brows furrowed in confusion. "Did you hear his Grace?"
I looked around. Everyone was watching me with concern and confusion on their faces.
I forced a smile. "I'm sorry, your Grace," I said to the Grand Duke. "I was lost in thought, thinking about the business I plan to expand."
The Grand Duke's ice-cold gaze narrowed, "Business? You mean that Crust & Heart in the capital, I assume." he asked curiously.
I lifted my chin, an easy smile on my lips, "That's right, your Grace." I replied.
A low murmur rippled through the hall. The Grand Duke leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes sweeping over me not with disdain, but with interest that made my tense shoulders loosen just a fraction.
"Well, such an amazing lady we have here. Beauty and brains both," he said, his voice carrying just enough to fill the silence. "My wife is quite fond of your desserts. You should consider opening a shop in the North."
Right. I heard from butler Marcus that the Grand Duke and Evander had been staying at their manor here in the capital for weeks, tied up in business with the Emperor which was why this dinner was happening now, while the Duchess remained in their vast northern territory, too far to travel.
Across the table, Neoven shifted. Our eyes met, and for a split second, I caught a flash of quiet pride in his gaze before it was masked by his usual tight jaw. He sat stone-still again. Then Leopold had gone back to eating, but his eyes kept darting between me and the Grand Duke, wide with curiosity. He was trying to play it cool, but it was obvious he was hanging on every word.
Across the table, the count cleared his throat, "Your Grace, that is actually an excellent idea." he said, his voice filled with delight.
Well, it certainly is. Considering the North has a terrible lack of proper pastries... ?
Beside me, though, Evander was a world apart. He sat so still he might have been carved from marble more ghost than human, proud and detached. Not a single glance in our direction, not a flicker of care for anything happening at the table. He was just there, and eat.
Such an arrogant jerk, what Norielle felt about him on the book was actually valid. His freaking irritating, I'm having mental breakdown while he's eating peacefully.
After that, so much happened that I could barely keep up. I didn't eat much, the food felt like stone in my throat. The Grand Duke and Count talked at length about business and the economy, and every so often, Neoven and I were pulled into the conversation. Even Leopold and Evander were forced to join in by the Grand Duke's quiet command.
At one point, they mentioned the engagement party happening next month. I learned our engagement had already been legalized by the Emperor, but the celebration had been delayed. Evander had been sent on an expedition with the crown prince and only returned two weeks ago.
When the feast finally wound down, Evander was the first to stand, moving with his usual silent detachment. He gave a brief, formal bow to the Grand Duke and the Count before speaking in a low, measured voice.
"Your Grace, Count Graham, if you'll excuse me." He said.
The Grand Duke nodded in acknowledgment, and Evander glided toward the door, his footsteps making no sound on the polished wood.
A minute later, Neoven stood next, straightening his posture with practiced formality. He bowed deeply to both the Grand Duke and the Count, then spoke without glancing at anyone else.
"Your Grace, Father, I shall take my leave as well."
He turned and walked toward the door, his back as rigid as ever, not sparing a single look for Leopold or me. I watched him go. Then Leopold and I rose at the same time, our eyes met for just a split second, and I saw nothing but wariness in his, while I felt my jaw tighten instinctively.
The only time this brat ever looks at me properly is when he needs my help... ..?
"Your Grace, Father, excuse us," I said softly, and Leopold echoed my words with a quiet mumble.
We didn't follow Neoven right away. Instead, I waited a beat, then walked toward the door on my own, Leopold trailing a few steps behind, not together, just heading the same way.
The door was already opened, Neoven, then me, then Leopold. In the cool hallway, we paused just long enough to bow once more toward the open door a final, obligatory gesture before a servant pulled it shut softly behind us.
Inside, the Grand Duke and Count's voices already sounded distant, continuing their conversation long after we'd disappeared from view.
***
It's almost midnight, but I'm still tucked in my chair, a romance novel spread open in my lap. The only light comes from the oil lamp on the table beside me. I couldn't sleep no matter how hard I tried, so I pulled out this book Zilda recommended... and now I'm completely hooked, turning pages without even realizing how much time has slipped by.
She told me it wildly popular among the young ladies in town they pass it around between tea parties, tucking it into their reticules and pretending it's just a book of poetry when their mothers are looking. Now I see why.
I finish the story and it wasn't worth the hype, it sucks.
I closed the book, I let out a sigh. The Lady and her Knight, that was the title of the book. Then I saw Flos Mortis, it was the name of the author. Published by Mortem. I open the front page, and the words hit me like a punch.
I have read this before.
Flames roared through the two-storey tavern, painting the night in searing red as helpless cries tangled with agonized groans. In the end the renowned Mortem Guild was betrayed by their most valued customer, Norielle Graham.
I remember. Night of Morning Glory was famous that it had a lot of edits in any online. Norielle was hated more because of what she did to Mortem, when they were the ones who stuck by her when family and friends had given up.
Mortem wasn't just any guild... I have to go there. I have to meet them.
I jumped up so fast the chair scraped loud against the floor. Bare feet cold on wood, I stumbled to the bed and dropped to my knees. My fingers found the splintered box under the mattress and pulled it out. Lifting the lid, I saw old, faded clothes and beneath them, a worn cloak, its wool thin and frayed, smelling of dust and rain.
I pulled them on in a rush, then crossed to my vanity. In the second drawer, tucked under a stack of handkerchiefs, was a soft pouch heavy with silver and a few glinting gold coins.
If I want to survive, I need Mortem's help. Unlike the real Norielle, I will cherish those who are loyal.
With clear resolve, I slipped silently out of my room. The full moon streamed through the large glass windows, casting enough light that I didn't need a lamp, a small mercy. The maids were asleep, but knights patrolled the main hall, so I planned to slip to the kitchen and escape through the staff exit.
But when I reached the kitchen door, I froze. A thin slice of light spilled from the gap, and inside, a maid was still moving about.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I peered through the crack. She stood at the hearth, stirring something in a pot cooking, in the middle of the night.
Is she making food? Right now?
My heart seized in my chest when she turned around but not toward me, just scanning the empty kitchen, her eyes darting to the doors as if checking she was alone.
She's acting weird, so suspicious.
I gulped, then leaned in slowly, gently, toward the door to get a clearer look.
And my heart dropped. I felt a presence beside me and in that instant, I froze, my breath catching in my throat.
"What are you doing?"