Lady Seraphine Ravenshade was already curled on the chaise lounge in Elowen's office like a cat who owned the place. Her violet eyes sparkled with amusement, and her golden curls cascaded like spilled sunlight over the velvet cushions.
"Now," she said, lifting her chin in theatrical importance, "I'm here on unofficial, non-threatening sisterly business. Absolutely nothing to do with stealing gossip or observing human reactions to brotherly smirks."
Elowen blinked. "You're… here to chat?"
"To interrogate—with a smile," Seraphine beamed. "So, Let's begin. What do you love?"
Elowen tilted her head. "That's broad."
"Exactly. I like broad things. Helps with interpretation." She answered, showing her perfect teeth without fangs.
Elowen gave a wary smile but relaxed slightly. "Well, I suppose I love… nature. Plants. The sea. I always loved picking herbs with Maeryn in spring."
"Oooh," Seraphine purred. "A flower-loving Wildflower. How poetic."
"I also enjoy cities," Elowen added. "I haven't seen many, though. Never been to the Scottish Empire."
Seraphine gasped. "Oh, you must go! Caerfell Keep is breathless. Cold, proud, built into mountains with icicles that can slice you in your sleep."
Elowen blinked. "That sounds... inviting."
Seraphine's smile widened with interest. "Dunbrae is all cliffs and storms. And Braeswyck! Darling, if you like gardens, go there. Sheep, tartan dances, tea that makes your skin glow for days."
"Sounds lovely," Elowen said, smiling softly. "But... I doubt I'll be visiting anywhere soon."
Seraphine grinned wider. "Not with the daredevil's eyes glued to your back, certainly not."
Elowen frowned. "What do you mean, Milady?"
"Oh, darling." Seraphine leaned forward conspiratorially. "I heard your whisper yesterday. You asked after him. Even if he pissed you off."
"I did not," Elowen said quickly, eyes narrowing. "And he did."
"You whispered it. I have vampire ears, dearest."
Elowen crossed her arms. "I do not like that sly brother of yours. Not a single bit."
"Mhm," Seraphine hummed.
"And I do not like the gossips either."
Hmm, but the voice didn't belong to Seraphine.
Elowen froze. Seraphine, unfazed, only tilted her head with a smirk.
Julian stood by the door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a silver-tipped cane. His coat fluttered behind him like a storm cloud.
"You really need to stop sneaking in like that," Elowen muttered, trying to slow her heartbeat.
Julian raised a brow. "I walk. You all just fail to hear."
"Hi, Ian!" Seraphine said sweetly, blowing him a kiss in his direction as she rose to her feet. "I was just leaving before I violate Rule Number 5."
Julian didn't respond. She giggled, wiggled her fingers at Elowen, and swept out of the room like a golden hurricane.
The door clicked shut.
Julian turned to Elowen, his eyes slowly raking over her from head to toe. Not lecherously—just... sharply. Like he was studying her every reaction for notes.
"Number five was clear, wasn't it, Miss Grantham?"
Elowen blinked, then glanced at the letter still resting on the desk. Number five… Avoid my sister.
It was just a while ago, what was the time now?
She looked at the clock.
It was what... noon...already 12:00 p.m...
"Oh—sh*t!"
Julian's brow rose in dangerous amusement.
"As much as I'd enjoy you cussing when I lay you under myself," he said coolly, "I don't quite like it on the job. Understood?"
Elowen's breath caught. Her eyes widened. Words evaporated. She couldn't even answer the Lord.
She didn't know much about intimacy, not in the way worldly women did. But she understood that. And the heat that crawled up her neck had nothing to do with the temperature.
Julian smiled. Not kindly. Not cruelly.
Just devastatingly.
He dropped a card on her desk—something black and silver with script she didn't have time to read—and turned.
She blinked again.
He was gone.
She spun around, but the corridor was empty.
"Damned employer," she muttered under her breath.
Then, belatedly, she slapped her palm over her mouth.
Later that afternoon, Elowen sat up straighter as a man entered the east hall with tailored confidence. The designer.
He wore a red velvet waistcoat and carried a garment bag the size of a cathedral door.
"The soiree attire," he said grandly, handing the bag to Elowen without so much as glancing or waiting for a response.
Elowen opened the bag.
All male designs.
"None for the Lady?" Elowen asked hesitantly.
The designer finally turned his gaze on her. "Of course not. I don't design gowns for assistants." He paused, then pulled a smaller floral-pink package from beneath his cloak. "But this…"
He handed it to Tomas with reverence.
"This is my best piece this year. Let the Lord know it was designed with no equal."
Then he was gone, trailing scent and superiority in his wake.
Elowen looked at the package, heart fluttering.
No equal?
Anyways, whatever...
Elowen was sitted in the drawing room when Tomas entered to call her.
"Miss Grantham, the Lord requests your presence by next few hours."
When did he get back? She muttered to herself. "Was he even back in the manor yet?"
As usual, Tomas smirked from the corner of his lips.
So they both cared... and they both resented their presence.
Just as she was pondering whether she was supposed to open the floral bag earlier given to Tomas—or ignore it—a soft bell rang in the manor's lower hall.
Lunch.
It was time to head to the guest dining room.
She made her way down the spiral stairwell, careful not to look too interested in her thoughts. The manor's dining hall was massive, dimly lit, with a long polished table.
She paused at the threshold.
Someone was already seated at the guest end. Shit!
"Hello again, darling," Seraphine said, dabbing her lips with a silk napkin. The Sly pureblood again...
Elowen groaned internally. "Didn't you leave to respect Rule Five?" Elowen said, now wary of the pureblood, though not cold and cruel, but sly as the daredevil himself.
"I did," Seraphine said smugly. "Now it's lunch. New rule."