A bell tolled once in the distance—low, drawn-out, like the hush before a storm. The manor stirred awake with tension in its very walls. Footsteps fell in practiced rhythm as servants lined the grand entrance hall, heads bowed, breath tight. Even the chandeliers seemed to glitter sharper, like they, too, were holding their breath.
Freya stood beside her father atop the grand staircase. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, wrapped in the lace of her lilac sleeves. Her platinum hair shimmered under the filtered light like frost kissed by dawn, but her face was calm, unreadable—a mirror with no reflection.
The Duke, Damian Erveldote, was silent as ever, his presence sharp and cold, carved from old mountain stone. Behind them, Aaron stood straight and grim, his eyes narrowed beneath a veil of doubt and something darker. He hadn't said a word to her since this morning, just the sharp instructions: "Look dignified. Say nothing unnecessary."
Then—they arrived.
The iron gates creaked open like ancient lungs drawing breath, and two carriages swept into the courtyard. The first, clad in imperial black and violet, bore the golden sun cleaved by a sword—the seal of the Emperor. The second, sleeker and trimmed in silver and dusk, carried the twisted emblem of flame and crescent: the mark of Noctgrave's Grand Duke.
The doors opened. First came His Majesty, Eldritch Bifrons Rivellion, Emperor of Eradale. Cloaked in storm-gray and shadow-violet, he walked with the silence of thunder held back by sheer will. His golden crown glinted beneath the pale sky. Eyes the color of iron locked onto the awaiting nobles with no softness, only the quiet weight of power.
Then—him.
Skyler Bifrons Rivellion.
He stepped out without pause, his boots barely making a sound on the polished stone. Seventeen, but already commanding. His hair, a pale halo of light blond, danced with the breeze. His coat was a dark ocean trimmed with stars, and his posture? Impeccable. Regal. Dangerous.
Freya felt it—a cold knot in her stomach. Not fear. Not yet. But something close.
Skyler's gaze rose as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His eyes—those piercing iris-colored eyes—lifted to hers.
And then… stopped.
Locked.
Held.
But there was no spark of recognition, no soft surprise. Only a flicker—barely there. A breath of something sharp and cold. Relief. He was relieved. Because this girl—this Freya—was silent. Still. Uninterested.
Not clinging. Not chasing. Not smiling at him like before.
She didn't lower her eyes. She didn't blush. She didn't reach for him or even flinch.
And that… startled him more than he'd ever admit.
The Emperor ascended two steps and gave a short nod.
"Duke Erveldote," he said. "We thank you for your hospitality. Our stay will be brief—one week. Business must be attended."
The Duke bowed. "Erveldote is at your service, Your Majesty."
He turned, just slightly. "Grand Duke," he said.
Skyler gave a sharp nod. "Duke."
His voice was cold, but not impolite. Distant. Professional.
Then came the moment.
"Freya," the Duke said without looking at her, "greet our guests."
Freya stepped forward. Calm. Measured. Her voice was like a silver thread, firm despite the tremor behind her ribs. "Your Majesty, I welcome you to our home."
She turned to Skyler.
"Grand Duke," she said, without a blink, "I hope your journey wasn't unpleasant."
Skyler tilted his head, regarding her the way one studies an unfinished letter.
"I've heard much about you," he murmured.
The way he said it—it was impossible to tell if it was a warning or a memory.
Freya simply nodded. "I'm sure you have."
Aaron stiffened behind her.
The Emperor's gaze flicked over her, then toward the hall. "We won't delay further. Shall we proceed inside?"
The Duke gestured gracefully. "Of course. Please."
As the procession turned toward the heart of the estate, the Duke paused briefly.
"Aaron. Freya," he said, still facing forward, "why don't you show His Highness around the estate? Familiarize him with our halls."
Freya blinked. A tour?
Skyler didn't react. Aaron made a noise like a suppressed sigh.
Freya leaned toward her brother with a whisper sharp enough to cut silk.
"How am I supposed to give a tour when I don't even know the place myself?"
Freya leaned closer to Aaron and muttered under her breath, "How am I supposed to give a tour when I don't even know this place?"
Aaron gave her a side-glance, clearly annoyed. "Just walk and point. No one's asking you to recite the architecture."
And so, the tour began.
Freya walked beside her brother, trailing just a step behind as they moved through the expansive halls of the Erveldote estate. Skyler followed like a shadow—silent, cold, unreadable. His boots echoed softly behind them, but his gaze never lingered long on anything. Not the velvet-lined walls, not the chandeliers, not even the blooming gardens behind glass-paneled corridors.
Freya's words were clipped, automatic.
"This is the east wing… that's the solar room… those stairs lead to the observatory…"
She spoke as if reading off a script written by someone else.
But after a while, the colors around her started to blur. The hall twisted, just slightly. Her steps slowed, and she swayed.
"Aaron," she whispered, grabbing his sleeve, "I'm… I'm feeling dizzy. Can I go lie down?"
He looked at her, concerned but composed. "Yeah. Go rest. I'll finish this."
Freya gave him a grateful nod and turned down the corridor toward her chambers.
Skyler's gaze followed her as she left—just briefly. A flicker of curiosity passed through his iris-colored eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
Evening draped itself over the estate like a velvet curtain. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the grand dining room buzzed with quiet conversation and the clinking of silverware.
Freya sat at the long table, flanked by her father and brother, across from the Emperor and the Grand Duke. The air felt thick, and her thoughts drifted as the dishes were served one after another—too many flavors, none of them registering.
She stirred her soup absentmindedly.
It wasn't until her maid leaned close and whispered, "You look bored, my lady," that she blinked herself back to the moment.
"I am," she murmured.
"Then why don't you go to the library after dinner? The new shipment of books arrived last week."
That caught her interest. She pushed back her chair after excusing herself quietly and slipped out of the room.
Her feet carried her to the west wing, down the long corridor where the scent of old pages and polished wood grew stronger with every step. The library doors stood tall and ornate, golden vines carved into mahogany.
She entered.
The space welcomed her like an old friend—soft candlelight, tall shelves, books breathing in quiet rows. She walked through the aisles with the grace of a girl who belonged to silence.
Her fingers skimmed a spine. Then another.
She stopped. A title caught her eye—The Ballad of Forgotten Crowns.
She plucked it gently from the shelf and moved to the window seat, curling up against the cushions. The book fell open with a whisper, and she began to read, lips moving ever so slightly.
She didn't see the figure who had followed her.
Skyler stood near the door, half-shrouded in the shadows between shelves. He hadn't meant to follow her—but something about the way she moved, the way she looked at books like they might hold answers he'd never find in people, pulled him forward.
And now here he was.
Watching her. Unseen.
She turned a page, eyes glowing in the candlelight. And for a moment, she looked like someone entirely new.
Someone worth understanding.
A quiet sigh slipped past her lips as she turned another page. The library's hush was deep—so deep, in fact, that it made the faintest creak of wood behind her feel like a shout.
Freya paused. The hairs on her neck stood up.
She slowly looked over her shoulder, heart skipping once, twice.
And there he was.
Leaning against a shelf with all the grace of a fallen star, Grand Duke Skyler Bifrons Rivellion. His arms were loosely crossed, his eyes not quite on her—but definitely aware of her.
Her voice cracked the silence like a drop of ink in water.
"What are you doing here, Your Highness?"
Skyler raised a brow, pushing off the shelf with lazy ease. "I wanted to read something. I was… bored."
She blinked, unsure how to respond. He walked a little closer, his steps soft on the carpeted floor.
"Can you recommend me something?" he asked, eyes skimming the shelves.
Freya frowned, caught off guard. "Me? But… I don't know any of the books here."
His gaze flicked to her, amused. "It's your house. Don't you read?"
"It's not like I don't," she muttered, tugging the book in her lap a little closer. "It's just… I don't know how to recommend books to others. Haha."
She laughed, awkward and breathy, like a bird startled mid-flight. Her cheeks warmed, just a bit.
Skyler's expression didn't change much—but something subtle shifted in the air between them. A ripple of something unspoken.
He stepped past her, running his fingers along a row of spines without looking at them. "Then recommend me something you'd read," he said simply. "Even if it's terrible."
Freya looked down at the book in her lap, then back at him.
"Fine," she said softly. "But don't blame me if you fall asleep."
Freya glanced down at the book in her hands. The spine was worn, edges curled like autumn leaves, its title faded in silver: "The Garden Beyond the Fog."
"This one," she said at last, holding it out to him. "It's… kind of quiet. A little sad, I guess."
Skyler stepped closer, taking the book with a slow, graceful movement. Their fingers didn't touch, but the space between them felt suddenly thinner. He opened the first page and read a line aloud:
"She walked through the mist like a ghost chasing her own echo, wondering if the silence would ever remember her."
He looked at her, head slightly tilted. "You read sad books?"
Freya gave a soft laugh. "Maybe they feel more honest."
Skyler hummed low in his throat, eyes still on the page. "Do you always recommend the first book you pick up?"
"I—" she paused, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't usually recommend books. I mean, I read. Just… not great at telling people what they might like."
He raised a pale brow. "Isn't this your house?"
She smiled faintly, a hint of irony in her voice. "Doesn't mean I've read every shelf."
Skyler turned another page. "Still. Not what I expected."
"What did you expect?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He didn't answer. Just closed the book slowly, like sealing a thought. Then his gaze found hers again—sharp, unreadable, and something else hiding just beneath it.
"Thank you," he said finally, his voice quieter than before. "I'll read it."
Freya blinked, a little thrown by the sincerity in his tone. "You're… welcome."
They stood in silence for a beat longer, surrounded by the rustling hush of parchment and old magic, as if the books themselves were listening.
Then he stepped back. "Good night, Lady Freya."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving her alone with a book in her hands and a heart that wouldn't stop racing for reasons she couldn't name.
The next morning arrived with a hush.
Golden sunlight streamed in through gauzy curtains, painting soft patterns across Freya's sheets. She blinked her eyes open slowly, mind cloudy but not quite restless. There were echoes of the library still in her ears—the rustle of pages and the way silence had wrapped around her like a second skin.
She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her chest felt oddly tight, like something was wrong but she couldn't name it.
Before she could dwell on it, her maid gently knocked and entered with a silver tray.
"Good morning, my lady," she said softly, setting it down. "Breakfast is being served in the garden today. His Majesty thought the sunshine would be refreshing."
Freya tilted her head. "The garden?"
"Yes," the maid smiled gently. "The Duke is already there with His Majesty and the Grand Duke. Your brother left early for his sword practice."
Freya nodded slowly. The maid helped her into a pale blue morning gown with delicate silver embroidery. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw the same orchid eyes. Same platinum hair. But everything inside her still felt… unfamiliar.
When she reached the garden, sunlight spilled across trimmed hedges and roses in bloom. A marble table sat under a flowering pergola. Birds sang. The scene was too serene, too perfect.
Her father, Duke Damian Erveldote, sat across from Emperor Eldritch. And beside the Emperor was Skyler.
Freya's steps slowed. Her breath hitched.
He didn't look at her. Not once.
She took the seat farthest from him, near her father.
"Did you sleep well, Lady Freya?" the Emperor asked kindly.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you," she said, voice calm, collected.
Skyler remained silent.
After a few moments of small talk, the Emperor glanced at her. "Perhaps you'd like to show His Highness around the estate after breakfast?"
Freya hesitated, unsure what to say, but then—
"There's no need," Skyler said quietly. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience her."
Freya let out a silent breath. She bowed her head slightly in agreement, not daring to look at him. Not wanting to. Not even a little.
Her heartbeat still raced.
After breakfast, she returned to her room, the garden scent clinging to her skin. As she walked past the hallway near the library, she kept her eyes low, her footsteps quiet.
Whatever his presence stirred in her—it wasn't curiosity. It was fear.
She wouldn't think about him. She refused to.
The past, whatever it held, could stay buried.
She had enough to deal with in the now.