Chapter X
X
EDEN
I’m shaking by the time Frances brings us the starter.
It’s hand-chopped venison tartare with pickled juniper berries and quail egg yolk.
The meal looks absolutely delicious. But when I slice a piece and put it in my mouth, it’s tasteless. Not the chef’s fault, of course, nor Frances’; everything is perfect.
No, my hands are shaking because I finally told Silas no.
I stood my ground against him.
The fact that it was about our wedding? Irrelevant.
Dread still coils in my stomach at the thought of marrying to him, even after I’ve pushed aside all the doubts swirling in my mind.
Even still, I won’t let my mother plan my wedding.
I don’t want to spend weeks in some snow-blanketed villa while Viscountess Evelyn Lockhart decides the kind of flowers I’ll carry, the food that will be served, the decorations, what my wedding cake will look like.
I need to be there.
Taking another bite of my meal, my eyes land on the huge diamond ring on my finger. It’s the first time, ever, in our relationship that I didn’t just nod along. I stood my ground. I advocated for myself—I didn’t allow him to push me around.
Lucian would be proud of me.
The thought overwhelms me before I can push it away, so I have a sip of wine to calm my nerves. While I eat, the shaking in my hands gets worse. The high of standing up to Silas is wearing off, leaving me with something I didn’t think I’d feel so soon.
Fear.
We finish the second course in silence.
Frances takes our plates, refills our wine glasses. Silas is still quiet.
When she returns with the soup course—a wild mushroom broth that she pours tableside over roasted chestnuts and a thyme-infused cream—it’s been more than fifteen minutes without a word from him.
I glance at him sitting across from me.
The flickering candlelight makes him look like a beautiful statue. Perfectly tousled dark hair, a two piece suit that fits him like a second skin and a jawline as sharp as glass. He takes a taste of the soup with slow, deliberate precision, each motion controlled and elegant.
He’s staring into the bowl of soup like it contains some untold secrets.
“Silas?”
He looks up—calm on the outside, fire melting his blue eyes.
My throat goes dry. He’s upset.
But he promised not to hurt me again.
“Yes, love?”
Dread curls in my stomach.
We’re allowed to disagree. Calm down, Eden.
“I just…” I punctuate my sentence with a spoonful of soup. It tastes so good, but I can barely focus on it. The storm in my head is sapping all my energy. “I want to say thank you for listening to me.”
I’m trying to placate him.
The way he looks? I don’t like it.
“I always listen.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
We fall back into silence, just the gentle clink of cutlery against bone china. The air between us grows heavier by the moment, like the walls of this perfect little restaurant are closing in on us. The roof is held up by a thin thread, waiting to snap and collapse on us at any moment.
I try to focus on the warmth of the soup, the way it coats my tongue. This chef is beyond talented—it crosses my mind to inquire if he’d be willing to cater our wedding.
“The wedding is important to me,” I say, breaking the silence.
He doesn’t look at me. “Of course it is, love.”
“I don’t want it to be something other people control. I’ve been controlled all my life and I finally want a choice to make a choice for myself and—”
My lips snap shut as soon as I realize the trajectory I’m on.
Silas’ eyebrows lower, a cold smile on his lips. “You feel trapped, so this is your way of regaining some control? Is that what you were trying to say?”
I’m walking a tightrope.
One wrong move and I’ll tumble to my death.
“No,” I whisper back. “I just know that if things were different…” We wouldn’t be getting married. “There wouldn’t be such a rush for us to get married.”
He nods. “I understand completely, love.”
Does he really?
Sure, he might know of my parents’ ultimatum but will he ever understand what it’s like to be a woman in a religious and aristocratic society like ours? Despite my mother’s pompous attitude, she knows that if my father dropped dead tomorrow she’d only be important until my brothers came of age.
Then, she’d be at their mercy.
Maybe that’s why she treats them so well—she wants to ensure that when they eventually succeed our father, they’ll love her enough to keep her lifestyle the same. What use do I have? None. I’m just a bargaining chip.
Silas would never understand what it’s like.
Lucian would.
I’m even starting to think like him.
We lapse into silence again. I’m too wound up to decode my thoughts, or Silas’ behaviour. The candle flickers low, throwing shadows across the bouquet of wildflowers—the same ones Silas gave to me the night he carved that pentagram into my chest—and the tablecloth.
Just outside the window, street lamps flicker on.
The town is quiet, peaceful—nothing like the chaos erupting at Augustine.
Chaos I’ve been thinking of much more often than I’d like to admit. It’s been in the back of my mind ever since Lucian broke that window during Literature class.
“I’m looking forward to winter break,” I say to him. “Augustine is chaotic right now.”
I’ve lost track of the courses as Frances approaches with another. It’s Loch-caught trout poached in elderflower and butter, served with charred leeks and an ash-dusted foam.
“Chaos?” Silas gives me a bored expression. I see the wheels turning in his head.
I nod. “All the rumors, the Archbishop getting arrested for paedophilia? It feels like the school is falling apart.”
Silas smiles. “Oh, you mean like Lucian breaking the window during class just to tell you hello? Or was that a rumor too?”
I freeze, a forkful of trout halfway on its way to my mouth. Suddenly, I wish I never brought this up. The goal was to make sure this outing was as uneventful as possible.
Yet, in true Eden Lockhart fashion, I’ve managed to mess things up.
I always mess things up.
“I don’t know why you’re so concerned about the chaos, Eden.” His voice is flat, even. But the way his throat bobs, I know he’s forcing himself to be composed. “The ring on your finger is all the protection you need. Lucian is nothing.”
“He isn’t.” It stings to say, but I know I have to agree. “I’m just a bit scared.”
Silas leans forward.
That’s when I know I shouldn’t have said that. I see the first crack in his composure. Why would I even bring up Lucian? It’s enough that he hates me because of what I did.
But if Silas knew…
“Why are you scared of him?”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“Usually,” Silas continues, “you trust me to take care of these things. I saved you from the Communion Curse, didn’t I? Are you saying that you doubt my ability to keep you safe?”
“No, I don’t—”
“Then tell me what has you so scared.”
My heart pounds.
How did the conversation spiral this far out of my control? One moment I was celebrating standing up to Silas, and now I’ve talked myself into a corner. I feel like I’m playing Russian Roulette—but there’s a bullet in every chamber.
“I just don’t know what he’s capable of. When he broke the window it scared me.”
Silas takes a sip of wine. “That’s the thing, Eden.
It scared you, but you didn’t seem surprised.
In fact, you didn’t even tell me about it.
” He licks some of the ash-dusted foam from his fork, like after my first time when he licked the blood from my bleeding mouth.
“I didn’t plan on speaking to you about it, because I figured he was just going crazy because I have the one thing he seems to desire so much.
” Silas’ eyes ghost over my ring. “But now I’m intrigued.
You’re scared. Scared enough to bring it up during what was supposed to be a romantic dinner. ”
There’s no air in the room.
I’m drowning.
“As a matter of fact, Eden. Where did you go after I proposed to you?”
That’s when I see it—the fire in his eyes, the anger, the destructiveness. My whole body turns into a frantic pulse. Silas knows when I’m lying but I can’t tell him the truth.
His jaw tightens.
The crack in his composure turns into a gaping hole.
“I know a lot of things, love. And I trust you.” He stabs his trout. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t help my fiancée when she’s scared? So tell me what Lucian did to you.”
There’s no warmth in his voice.
“The glass from the window shattered across my desk, but didn’t hurt me.” That’s the truth, but my voice still trembles. I know how this story is going to end.
Guilt claws at my throat. Anxiety bubbles in my chest and skitters across my skin like faint jolts of electricity. But more than that, dread coils in my stomach.
“Did he touch you?”
My breath catches. “I just said that the glass shattered across my—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I take a sip of my wine. It doesn’t help.
My mind starts spiralling—and that’s when Frances appears. She takes our plates, and in the tense silence it takes for her to head to the kitchen and return with the main course, I think I’ve gathered my thoughts.
She places the food down in front of us. Ironically, this was the course I was looking forward to the most: braised highland beef cheek in a red wine reduction, with root vegetable purée and black garlic jus.
But I have no appetite.
I thank Frances warmly. Silas’ icy eyes are on me, watching my every move. I take up the knife and fork to slice into the tender beef, but my hands are shaking so much the knife falls out of my grip. It clatters on the gold-rimmed charger, loud as gunshots.
Deep breaths, Eden.
“Eden, love.” His voice is colder than his eyes. “Did. He. Touch. You.”
Tears bead in the corner of my eyes.
“Not the way you’re thinking—we didn’t have sex.”
We didn’t.
He just used his mouth.
That doesn’t count.
I don’t even sound convincing in my own mind.
Silas stands suddenly.