Sylum huffed a quiet laugh and lifted a hand to scratch beneath Poe’s beak. “Hello, old friend,” he murmured to the bird, voice soft as velvet.
Poe let out a pleased trill.
Ravens remember. My governess had taught me that when I was a girl. She’d said that they could recall faces, cruelty, kindness, and even betrayal. If Sylum had ever harmed him—if he had so much as raised a hand in irritation or anger—Poe would not have greeted him like a lover reunited.
No. What I saw that night… what I thought I saw… lived only in the twisting labyrinth of my mind.
Sylum turned to me then.
The smile he offered was hesitant, fragile at the edges, as if he feared it might be unwelcome. His dark eyes searched my face as though bracing for another storm of tears, accusations or madness.
“I’ve missed you,” he sighed. “I just… wasn’t certain if you would see me.”
His voice cracked on the last word, causing my heart to splinter.
My throat constricted. “Of course I would have.”
He stepped forward, slowly, offering me every opportunity to retreat. When he was close enough, he reached out, warm fingers brushing mine.
“Lucy,” he murmured, voice thick with remorse, “I am so sorry for everything you’ve been through. I should have been here. I should have listened better. I should have—”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve—” The words caught painfully in my throat. “I’ve made things so terrible. I should have believed you… I should have admitted that I didn’t feel quite myself.”
He frowned, brushing a knuckle along my cheek with the gentlest touch. “You’ve been frightened. That is not a sin.”
“I said terrible things,” I breathed. “I accused you of… of things I can’t even bear to repeat.”
“You were suffering,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m only grateful you’re safe now.”
Safe.
I didn’t feel safe. Not from myself. Not from the truth twisting like a knife in my ribs.
But I leaned into his touch anyway. Because I wanted to believe him. Because some fragile, desperate part of me needed to believe him.
“Sylum…” I hesitated, afraid the question might shatter what small peace this moment held. But I had to know. It was the one thing I knew had been real.
“I’ve had much time to think these past few days and I desperately wish to ask you something… will you answer me honestly?”
His brow creased, but he nodded. “Of course.”
“It’s about Lydia.”
His body went still. So still I feared he had stopped breathing.
“Why,” I continued, “did Nelly say she was… favored? I don’t understand. I need to.”
A long heavy silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken grief.
Sylum exhaled slowly, leading me to the set of highback chairs thatsat opposite the fireplace.
He sank into the chair opposite mine, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. He stared at the floor for a moment before lifting his eyes to mine.
“She was my sister,” he admitted.
I inhaled sharply, but didn’t dare interrupt him.
“My half-sister,” he clarified. “My father… he had an affair with an actress in London. I didn’t know about Lydia until I became Duke. I found her—found them—and offered her mother whatever help she needed.”
