CHAPTER SEVEN
“Sleep child,” My grandmother soothed as she smoothed back my tangled hair from my face. Her smile was warm, fine lines dancing around her eyes.
”Will you tell me a story, Mamaw?”
”What story would you like to hear, my little pet?”
I tugged the blankets up to my chin, excitement bubbling in my small frame. “The one about Ravenspire!”
She tilted her graying head, her smile fading slightly. Something in her pale blue eyes shimmered like unshed tears, but she nodded before looking away.
”The Duke of Ravenspire,” she began softly, her stare seeming to drift to a far away place.
“Betrayed a heart. Forevermore trapped in art. Bind him tight, where he shall stay, until a heart guides his way. Dashing though he be, only love shall set him free. Call him forth with careful thought, his time shall never be bought. Cursed to dream in eternal sleep, until a heart he shall keep. ”
I yawned, feeling my eyes grow tired. “Mamaw?” I said, quietly. “Did the duke ever escape his curse?”
She cupped my cheek, her hand soft and warm. “Oh no child, not yet.”
Frowning, I nuzzled into her palm. “That’s very sad. I hope he is freed.”
Her lips turned up in a grin, a gleam sparkling in her eyes. “One day he will be, pet. One day…”
I stirred awake, groggy and disoriented, the lingering exhaustion from last night’s encounter still weighing heavy on my limbs.
The dream… or memory… pressed in around me.
The story that my grandmother had told me as a child renewed fresh in my mind.
My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim candlelight of my bedchamber—only to find him sitting beside my bed, watching me.
Lucien. The cursed Duke.
One arm draped casually over the back of the chair next to my bed, the other resting on his knee. He looked entirely too comfortable, as if he belonged there. His dark eyes flicked over my face, assessing, a slow smirk curving his lips.
I groaned, turning onto my side and burying my face into the pillow. “A gentleman should never enter a lady’ s bedchamber uninvited,” I grumbled.
He hummed, amused. “Hmm. Who said I was a gentleman?”
I sighed dramatically, rolling onto my side to glare at him. “Yes, I should have known. Gentlemen don’t lurk in bedchambers like some brooding specter.”
His smirk deepened. “Ah, but I am a specter, am I not?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dipping low. “Tell me, little necromancer, are you afraid I’ll do something ungentlemanly?”
The way he said it—little necromancer—sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
I sat up, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck. “No,” I said simply. “I doubt you’d have the nerve… or the ability.”
I looked him up and down at the thought, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I shoved away my wicked curiosity.
His dark brows lifted. “Wouldn’t I?”
We stared at each other, the tension stretching taut between us. I cleared my throat, shaking off the feeling creeping over me.
“Why are you in my room, Lucien?”
He shrugged, as if it should be obvious. “I was waiting for you to wake up.”
“Why?”
His smirk faltered slightly, his expression shifting into something unreadable. “Because after what happened last night, I wanted to be sure you would wake up. ”
I blinked.
Something in my chest tightened, unexpected and unwelcome. For a moment, the teasing edge between us dulled. I watched him carefully, noting the way his fingers curled slightly where they rested on his knee.
He had been worried.
I tilted my head. “Why do you care?”.
His jaw flexed, his grin returning. “Someone has to release me from this place,” he said smoothly, standing.
I scoffed. “Of course. And how exactly did you come here if I didn’t summon you?”
His eyes sparkled in the firelight, his dimple revealing itself as he grinned. “You did summon me.”
“I was asleep,” I argued.
“Yes you were.”
The implication settled over me and a fresh blush heated my cheeks. Had I said his name in my sleep? The dream.
Seven hells… I looked away from him.
He crossed the room to stand near the freshly stroked fire.
Had he done that?
“Dreaming about me already?” He asked and though his back was to me, I could hear that devious smile in his words.
I was just about to defend myself against his presumptions, tell him about the memory of his story from my dream, but before I could speak, he turned back to me, twirling an invisible piece of dust between his fingers.
“I think I may have found something for you.”
I sat up, pulling the blanket up to cover my bare flesh beneath my thin nightgown and yawned. “It better be something good.”
His gaze drifted to where my hands clutched the blanket and for a brief moment, his eyes lingered there before he looked into the fire.
“While you were lazing about, I went to the study and found this.”
He turned back, stuffing his hand into his pocket, revealing a neatly folded piece of parchment.
I frowned as he crossed the room then held it out to me.
I sat up fully, taking the letter from him.
The parchment was worn, the ink faded in places, but still mostly legible.
My fingers traced the edges as I carefully unfolded it.
“My dearest Lucien”, it began.
My stomach twisted, but I ignored it, forcing myself to read on. The words spoke of longing, of devotion, of something forbidden. Whoever had written this letter had loved Lucien… loved him enough to risk something for him. There were hints of secrecy, of desperation .
“I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Every moment apart is agony. You must know that I would do anything to be yours, truly yours, without the world between us. Say the word, and I am yours forever.”
The final lines were smudged, faded with time or perhaps ruined by careless fingers. But no signature remained.
No name.
I swallowed, my grip tightening slightly. A lover. This letter was from someone who had loved Lucien enough to put it into words, someone who had belonged to him in a way that sent an ugly, biting feeling curling in my stomach.
I shouldn’t care. And yet…
I cleared my throat. “There’s no name.”
Lucien leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched me closely. “I noticed.”
I forced my voice to remain neutral. “Do you remember anything?”
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “No.” He gestured to the letter. “But it could be a clue. You did say that I betrayed a heart… perhaps this is the woman.”
A strange, unreadable look crossed his face. If it bothered him that he couldn’t remember who they were, he didn’t show it. I forced myself to hand the letter back to him, ignoring the way my fingers hesitated at the last moment. “Maybe there’s more in the study.”
His gaze flicked up to mine, sharp, assessing. For a moment, I thought he might smirk, might tease me for the way my voice had softened, but he didn’t.
Instead, he took the letter, folded it neatly, and tucked it back into his pocket.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, watching me too closely.
I turned away, pretending to smooth the blanket over my lap, pretending I didn’t feel something bitter curl beneath my ribs.
I cleared my throat again deliberately, pushing away the ridiculous twinge of jealousy and focusing on the matter at hand. “Well, if you would leave, I could get dressed.”
Lucien’s lips curved into that slow, wicked grin that always made my stomach tighten. He didn’t move. “I could turn around,” he offered, entirely too pleased with himself.
I gave him a flat look. “Out.”
He tilted his head, considering. “You do realize I can see through the wall, don’t you?”
“No you can’t,” I muttered, crossing my arms and shooting him a glare.
His grin deepened. “I can see under that blanket too.”
I sighed, exasperated. “Lucien.”
He chuckled under his breath, then finally pushed away from the bedpost. As he strolled toward the door, he paused beside me, lowering his voice just enough to make my pulse jump. “Don’t take too long. I’ve been quite bored waiting on you.”
I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, keeping my expression carefully neutral as I pointedly looked away.
His laughter was soft, almost fond, as he stepped out into the hall. The moment the door clicked shut, I let out a breath, pressing my hands against my flushed cheeks.
Damn him.
I washed and dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of my gown in my haste. The sooner I got to the study, the sooner I could focus on what actually mattered. The letter. Not the lingering heat of Lucien’s gaze or the way his voice curled around words like sin.
Once I was presentable, I grabbed my candle and hurried down the dim corridors. The castle was unnervingly quiet at this hour, the usual distant creaks and whispers absent.
I found Lucien exactly where he said he’d be—lounging in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, one leg draped casually over the other. He turned his head as I entered, his warm eyes flicking over me with slow appreciation that made my skin burn.
“I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” he drawled.
I scoffed, setting my candle down on the desk. “I wasn’t that long.”
He arched his brow. “Long enough.”
I ignored that and instead reached for the letter he’d left unfolded on the desk. I was careful when I lifted it.
I exhaled sharply. “Whoever wrote this was in love with you.” I glanced up at him. “Or at least they wanted you to think so.”
Lucien leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “And what makes you say that?”
I tapped a line on the page. “‘I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Every moment apart is agony.” I looked at him again. “Sounds rather dramatic, doesn’t it?”
His lips twitched. “Maybe I inspire dramatics.”
I rolled my eyes. “Or maybe this person was desperate.”
Lucien’s amusement faded, his gaze darkening as he stared at the letter. “Whoever they were, they must have mattered to me once.” He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “And I don’t remember them at all.”