Emrys was standing just behind me, leaning on a tree. The smug bastard had surely been watching the whole time.
“Did you enjoy watching me nearly get murdered?” I snapped, wrapping my arms around myself. My limbs trembled with cold and pure terror. And I was wearing only a petticoat, clinging to my wet skin, I realized, blushing.
Emrys tilted his head, studying me. Not with concern—no, something deeper. Curiosity. Calculation.
“Murdered?” he echoed, stepping closer. “I just saw you walk away freely from the Lady in the Lake. No one else has.” His gaze flickered over me, pausing at my throat. “Seems like she won’t trouble anyone ever again.” Without saying anything, I brushed past him, heading to the manor, but his arm landed on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks, warm and heavy. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Miss Daphne,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over my pulse. His touch was warm. His gaze was not.
“I need to get inside. I’m freezing,“ I said and headed to the manor.
Daphne
Wine and shadows
Ientered the manor and ran to my room. The maze of passageways and ever-shifting halls was merciful this time. The staircase winding up the sunny vestibule took me straight to my room.
I sat near the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, a bowl of candied violets in my lap. The warmth soothed me. My thoughts went back to that tormented soul and her unborn baby. I hoped she could finally find some peace.
And Emrys—cold and arrogant, applauding what he saw. Was he the murderer of the boy in the piano room, or was it the master of this manor–the one who had vanished? How I wished the Unbidden could answer this question! Well, whatever the truth was, it wouldn’t change my plan.
A sound startled me. Soft steps echoed from the corridor, lingering at my door. Someone slid a folded piece of paper through the gap beneath. Silent as a shadow, I snuck to the door and picked it up, my pulse hammering in my temples. A few words, scribbled in elegant, old-fashioned handwriting. I blinked to stop the dance of the words, and slowly, the syllables settled into place.
Miss Daphne,
Will you honor me with your presence for dinner? Liang is an excellent cook. I’m sure you’d be able to find the dining hall.
E.
I held the page for some time, thinking. Dinner with a probable murderer?
With someone once worshipped as a god? Well, that’s the best way to gain his favor, right?
I stared at the letter until the letters blurred. The parchment was smooth beneath my fingertips—real parchment, not paper, and the handwriting had a weight to it. As if it had been penned with a quill dipped in something older than ink.
What kind of man invites a guest to dinner right after applauding their near-death?
A former god, probably. Or a monster in a well-cut shirt.
I tossed the note onto the side table and pulled the blanket tighter around myself. For a moment, I sat there in silence, staring at the flames behind the grate. This was foolish. Dangerous. Possibly the worst idea I’d had in a lifetime full of bad ones.
And yet—
My eyes drifted to the wardrobe across the room. I rose, dragging the blanket with me, and opened it.
Inside, the dresses were not mine.
There were about a dozen, all in muted jewel tones and aged silks. Some bore hand-done stitching, and most looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades.
“Of course,” I whispered, running my fingers across a midnight-blue gown. “Why wouldn’t a haunted manor come with haunted evening wear?”
I held a dress up to my form, inspecting it in the mirror. It shimmered faintly, catching the light like moonlit ink. Elegant, modest, but sharp around the edges. Like armor pretending to be silk.
Too much? Not enough?
This wasn’t just about getting on his good side—it was a performance. But what part was I playing? Spy? Pawn? Guest? Bait?
A chill crawled over my skin, followed by some odd heat. This place was playing tricks on my mind.
I reached for a wine-red one. It had delicate beadwork at the throat and long, trailing sleeves that whispered of old courts and older secrets. I held it up and met my gaze in the mirror.
