Chapter 62 Chapter 62
Violet
I followed the trail of sunlight down the staircase Cassie had told me led toward the courtyard, my hand brushing along the cool stone railing for balance. Halfway down, I spotted movement below and slowed instinctively.
Cassie stood near the bottom of the steps, back turned to me, as though she were waiting for someone.
And for a moment, I didn’t recognize her at all.
Gone were the ripped black jeans she loved wearing, the oversized bomber jacket with mismatched buttons and little enamel pins attached to the collar, the scuffed sneakers that squeaked whenever she got too excited and ran ahead.
Gone was the sharp ponytail she usually twisted up in a hurry when she was in a mood to argue with someone or drag me into one of her impulsive decisions.
Instead she looked like she had stepped out of an old painting.
Her dress was a deep burgundy shade, layered and frilled, the fabric heavy and rich, cascading down in structured waves around her body. Balloon sleeves puffed at the shoulders before tapering near her wrists, and intricate lace trimming traced the neckline and cuffs. Her waist had been cinched with an ornate ribbon, and a beaded brooch rested just below her collarbone, glinting softly in the light.
Even her hair was different.
Instead of her practical ponytail, it had been styled into rounded curls that framed her face and were pinned delicately at the back.
I slowed my steps further, stunned, my eyes drifting over every unfamiliar detail. She shifted her weight impatiently and muttered something under her breath, lifting the hem of the dress like it was made of chains instead of silk.
Then she turned and spotted me.
Her eyes widened immediately. They swept over my simple yellow dress, my loose hair, my bare shoulders, my sandals.
And her mouth fell open in utter disbelief.
“You—” she blurted, jabbing a finger in my direction as though accusing me of a crime. “You’re wearing that?”
I blinked and looked down at myself, then back at her, trying not to laugh but feeling the smile tug at my lips anyway.
“This?” I asked lightly. “It’s just a dress.”
“Just a dress?” Cassie’s voice pitched higher, her expression contorting between outrage and exasperation. “Violet, do you know what they put me in? I look like a freaking duchess from a three-hundred-year-old portrait. I can’t even breathe without hearing the fabric squeak.”
She tugged at one of the frilled sleeves miserably, and the gesture was so unlike her usual swaggering confidence that I couldn’t help it and a quiet laugh escaped me before I could swallow it back.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, biting down on my lower lip in an attempt to soften the grin spreading across my face. “I mean, you don’t look bad. You look very elegant.”
“Elegant?” she groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I look like someone’s great-grandmother’s ghost.”
Her nose scrunched as she tilted her head toward my free-flowing skirt.
“How did you pull that off? How did you say no to them? The maids practically pinned me to a chair.”
I hesitated, remembering the way the maids had watched me when I’d voiced even the smallest preference. The way they’d smiled as if I’d asked them to run around naked.
“I just told them what I wanted,” I admitted softly. “And they accepted. Though I should add, they didn’t seem too happy about it, I guess.”
Cassie scoffed and lowered her voice, glancing toward the nearby hallway as though wary of invisible ears.
“Lady Aurelia doesn’t like it when her decisions are second-guessed,” she muttered. “You should be careful. The staff here acts like everything she says is scripture.”
A faint shiver crept up my spine before I could stop it.
The head maid’s words returned to me.
Lady Aurelia will be pleased to know you are well cared for.
“Did… did she choose that for you too?” I asked quietly, nodding toward Cassie’s dress.
Cassie made a face.
“Apparently,” she said. “She likes everyone to look… appropriate. Traditional. Or whatever word makes this feel less like costume cosplay.”
I thought she was close to Lady Aurelia, judging by how she wiggled to get a plus one to a family dinner at the last minute. But I kept that observation to myself.
Her tone was flippant, but something flickered across her face when she said it. Just for a moment there was a shift so subtle that, if I hadn’t known her for so long, I might have missed it completely.
A weariness. Or perhaps resentment.
Then it vanished.
She looped her arm through mine suddenly, almost too brightly.
“Anyway,” she declared, straightening her back and guiding me toward the courtyard archway, “manor tour time. You have no idea how huge this place is. I’ve been here a hundred times and still get lost in the west wing.”
We stepped out into the open courtyard, and the sunlight washed over us. The grounds spread far beyond the stone terrace and I took in the breathtaking sight of layered gardens, neat hedges, hanging lanterns, winding footpaths that curved toward distant fountain structures.
Ivy crept across the high walls in graceful threads, and delicate carvings marked the stone pillars lining the perimeter.
Cassie began chattering animatedly as we walked while she pointed out architectural features, old balconies, and little alcoves where she claimed she used to hide from formal dinners.
She mentioned how certain areas of the manor were centuries old, how parts of the east corridor had been rebuilt after a fire, how specific gardens were grown to mimic historical designs the founding families favored.
Her tone bounced between fond nostalgia and playful annoyance, as though she respected the place but refused to let it impress her too much.
I tried to follow everything she said but my gaze kept drifting upward, searching the windows above us, the shadows behind curtains, the balconies overlooking the courtyard.
Searching for him.
My chest tightened, and I found myself scanning every figure in the distance as though I might glimpse him leaning over a railing or striding across the grounds. But there was no tall silhouette, no familiar broad shoulders, no cool, unreadable gaze following me.
Cassie nudged me gently with her elbow.
“Where are you lost?” she asked, her tone lighter than the question itself. “You’ve gone quiet.”
I blinked and forced my attention back to her, wiping my palm against my dress as though that might smooth the turbulence inside me.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m just still trying to make sense of yesterday. Everything felt rushed. I wasn’t even told about the change in plans until morning. Yet again!”
Her expression faltered for a split second like a shadow moving across water.
“I know,” she said softly. “It was… last minute.”
Her grip on my arm tightened, “I didn’t want to drag you into chaos,” she added, sounding sincere, and a tad apologetic. “But things at Ironcrest tend to spiral fast, and I didn’t want you traveling alone after the attack incidents. This felt safer.”