Chapter 3 THREE
Sleep was a fleeting visitor that night. I spent the dark hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every look from the library. The weight of Lord Kaelen’s attention felt like a physical chain. When the wake-up bell chimed, my body moved with a heavy dread that had nothing to do with fatigue.
The walk to the library felt longer than before, each step taking me closer to a predator who was now openly curious about his new prey. I pushed the heavy door open, the familiar scent of old paper and ozone doing little to calm my nerves.
Master Fenwick was already at his desk, his head bent over a sprawling map. He didn’t look up as I approached.
“You’re to report to the solar today,” he said, his voice crisp. “Lord Kaelen has requested you specifically. Something about needing a steady hand for dusting his personal collection.”
My blood ran cold. The solar. His private study. This was not a test; it was a summons.
“The solar, sir? But I… my work here…”
He finally glanced up, his eyes sharp behind his spectacles. “When the Lord requests you, you go. Do not keep him waiting. It’s the third door on the left at the end of the west corridor. The one with the two guards.”
There was no refusing. I nodded, my throat too tight for words, and turned to leave.
“Girl,” Fenwick called out. I paused. “Be more careful than you were yesterday.”
The warning was clear. I walked out of the library and into the hushed, opulent hallway that led to the lord’s private quarters. Two stone-faced guards flanked a door of dark, polished wood. They looked me over, their expressions blank, before one of them knocked and pushed the door open for me.
“Enter,” a voice called from within.
I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me with a soft, definitive click. The solar was unlike any room I had seen in the Citadel. It was smaller, more lived-in. A large desk, strewn with papers and maps, stood before a window that looked out over the misty mountains. Bookshelves lined the walls, but these were messy, filled with a chaotic mix of scrolls, artifacts, and personal effects. And standing by the window, silhouetted against the grey morning light, was Lord Kaelen.
“You’re prompt,” he observed, turning to face me. “Good.”
“You requested me, my Lord?” I kept my gaze lowered, focusing on the intricate pattern of the rug beneath my feet.
“I did. Master Fenwick believes you are competent, if a bit clumsy. I prefer to form my own opinions.” He gestured to the shelves behind his desk. “These have been neglected. You may begin there.”
I moved to the shelves, pulling out my brush and cloth. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.
“Where are you from, Liana?” he asked suddenly.
The question was a trapdoor opening beneath my feet. I had a story prepared, a tale of a farming village on the southern border, but speaking it here, under his direct gaze, felt flimsy.
“A small village in the south, my Lord. Near Oakhaven.” I kept my voice even, focusing on dusting the spine of a book on military strategy.
“Oakhaven. I know it. The people there have a distinct accent. I don’t hear it in your voice.”
My brush stilled for a fraction of a second before I continued. “My mother was from the north. I suppose I picked up her way of speaking.”
“I see.” He moved to his desk, sitting down and picking up a quill. “And what brought a girl from Oakhaven to the heart of the Crimson Citadel?”
“Work, my Lord. There is more opportunity here than in the fields.”
“Opportunity,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “Most who seek opportunity here do so in the kitchens, or the stables. Not in the library. Or my solar.”
I dared a glance at him. He was watching me, his head tilted slightly. “I find quiet work suits me, my Lord.”
“Do you?” He put the quill down. “You did not seem particularly quiet yesterday in the hall. You seemed… decisive.”
“I only spoke the truth.”
“The truth,” he said, a subtle edge entering his voice. “A dangerous commodity. Tell me, your truth about Stefan, the valet… did you actually see him with that spoon?”
The air left my lungs. He knew. Or he suspected. I turned to face him fully, forcing myself to meet his gaze. To lie now would be suicide.
“No, my Lord,” I whispered. “I did not.”
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking. “Why the lie, then?”
“Because the girl was innocent. And Stefan… he is known to be cruel to the staff. I thought if there was doubt, you would show mercy. I gambled that you value justice more than a piece of silver.”
He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You gambled with your life.”
“It was a calculated risk, my Lord.”
A slow smile, devoid of warmth, touched his lips. “You are full of surprises, philosopher maid. First you quote statecraft, and now you admit to deception with a clear-eyed logic that would make my generals proud.” He stood and walked around the desk, stopping far too close to me. “It makes me wonder what other secrets you are hiding.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I could feel the cold energy radiating from him. This was it. He was going to have the guards drag me away.
“I have no secrets, my Lord,” I managed to say, my voice barely audible.
“Everyone has secrets,” he murmured, his eyes drifting from my face down to my hands, which were clenched tightly around my dusting cloth. “For instance, your hands.”
I looked down. My hands were clean, but calloused. A maid’s hands.
“They are steady,” he noted. “Too steady for someone who is supposedly terrified of her Lord. There’s no tremor. No shake.” His gaze returned to mine, piercing and intent. “It makes me think you are not terrified at all. You are… assessing.”
I had no answer. Every lie I prepared withered under his scrutiny. He was stripping my disguise away layer by layer, not with violence, but with quiet, relentless observation.
He reached out, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought he would touch my chin again. Instead, he plucked a single, stray eyelash from my shoulder where it had fallen.
“You may return to the library, Liana,” he said softly, his tone final. “We will continue this… conversation… another time.”
It was a dismissal. I curtsied, my movements stiff, and fled from the solar without a backward glance. The moment I was in the hallway, I leaned against the cold stone wall, my legs trembling, dragging the cool air into my lungs.
He saw too much. He was a hunter, and he had caught the scent of something different about me. My carefully constructed world was cracking, and I was standing right in the center of the fissure. The game had changed. It was no longer about me observing him. He was now actively hunting me, and I had never felt more exposed.