Chapter 42
“Lady Evelyne!” Seraphine’s voice rang out as she threw open the great doors of Duskwood Manor. The moment she saw Evelyne standing there, her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Oh, dear heavens—you’re home! Oh goodness, I must tell everyone at once.”
Before Evelyne could say a word, Seraphine hurried down the steps and cupped her face between both hands, turning her gently from side to side as if inspecting every inch of her for injury.
The woman’s silver-laced curls were pulled tightly into her usual bun, not a single strand out of place despite her sudden rush.
At the sight of her—the familiar face that had soothed so many childhood tears—warmth bloomed painfully in Evelyne’s chest.
The sudden embrace nearly unraveled her. Emotion caught in her throat, leaving her struggling to form even the simplest reply.
“Look at you, my lady,” Seraphine said, her voice softening with pride. “You’ve grown so much…”
Her eyes widened further as she looked past Evelyne.
“Lady Aurelia! Lord Cillian! Welcome home!”
She rushed forward to embrace them both in turn before clapping her hands together in excitement.
“We’ll have tea prepared and baths drawn immediately for all of you.”
Despite all they had endured, Seraphine’s radiant smile was impossible not to return.
Seraphine’s gaze shifted to Kaldrek, and a curious brow lifted as he dipped his head politely in greeting.
“Well now,” she said, tilting her head with interest. “And who might this handsome gentleman be?” Her teasing eyes flicked toward Evelyne. “A friend of yours, perhaps?”
Evelyne laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tightness in her chest. “I missed you, Seraphine.”
“Of course you did,” Seraphine replied briskly, planting her hands firmly on her hips.
“Now come along, all of you. Inside with you.” She gestured toward the open doors of the manor.
“We have quite a bit of catching up to do—and your poor mother has been running herself absolutely ragged these past weeks.”
Everything was… exactly the same. Life inside the manor moved on as it always had.
Servants polished the floors with steady strokes, while the faint clinking of glasses and dishes drifted from the kitchens down the hall.
The familiar scent of flowers and warm spices lingered throughout the foyer, welcoming in a way that felt almost surreal.
Not a single face showed fear. Not a trace of distress.
No one here had any idea of the horrors Evelyne and the others had faced over the past months.
Part of her was relieved knowing her loved ones had remained safe and untouched by it all.
Yet another part of her felt something far more troubling—frustration.
No one in the southern lands truly understood what lurked beyond their borders.
And worse still… no one here was prepared for what might come.
Seraphine ushered them into the sitting room and encouraged them to sit while she went to fetch Lady Celeste. And the moment the door closed behind her, Evelyne’s nerves surged all at once. The truth. What she and Cillian had to reveal. What Evelyne herself would have to explain.
Cillian reached for her hand, his fingers resting gently over hers in quiet reassurance. He understood. He felt the same weight she did.
Aurelia wandered toward the pianoforte, her fingers gliding lightly across the keys as though the instrument itself had beckoned her closer.
Cillian settled into the armchair beside the pale blue couch where Evelyne and Kaldrek now sat.
It was the couch their mother had always favored in the early mornings, when she would read quietly while breakfast was served nearby.
A single note sounded. Then another.
Soon a gentle melody filled the room as Aurelia gave in to the familiar comfort of the music.
But the tune faltered suddenly and the notes cut off mid-phrase.
Evelyne lifted her head toward the staircase, where their mother was descending.
Lady Celeste moved slowly, one hand resting lightly along the polished railing.
She wore her morning silk robes, though breakfast had ended more than an hour ago.
By now she was usually dressed in one of her formal day gowns, her hair pinned neatly beneath a net.
Today was different.
Her hair fell freely over her shoulders, only loosely brushed back.
There was no hair net, and her cosmetics were minimal—so subtle they barely dulled the sharp elegance of her features.
It was not like her at all. And yet her expression remained unchanged.
The same stern composure. The same poised authority she always carried.
“My boy…” Lady Celeste’s eyes settled on Cillian as she descended the final steps. “Good heavens… you look so very much like your father.”
Cillian rose at once and stepped forward to greet her. She gathered him into her arms, clutching him tightly as though afraid he might vanish again. To Evelyne’s astonishment, her mother wept openly against his shoulder. Evelyne had never seen such a display of emotion from her.
“You are safe,” Lady Celeste whispered, almost to herself. “You are truly safe… are you not?”
“Yes, Mother,” Cillian replied. “I am quite well—thanks entirely to Evelyne.” He gestured toward her.
Lady Celeste drew a steadying breath and lightly tapped her cheeks, regaining her composure.
When her eyes turned to Evelyne, they widened as she fully took her in.
Evelyne shifted uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny but rose to her feet.
Tears burned at the edges of her eyes as the truth settled in her chest—her mother was alive.
Safe.
Still here.
“You brought him home,” Lady Celeste murmured, lifting Evelyne’s chin to meet her gaze.
“Yes,” Evelyne replied. “Just as I promised.”
“Thank you,” her mother breathed, and pulled Evelyne into a firm embrace.
There were no declarations of affection, no dramatic words of how deeply she had been missed. But Evelyne knew this was how her mother expressed love—quietly, firmly, without spectacle. And it was enough.
When Lady Celeste stepped back, her attention turned immediately to Aurelia.
“Where in the world have you been?” she asked sharply. “I have been beside myself with worry. The only word I received was a letter stating that Leopold had left you and that you intended to depart. After that—nothing. Not a visit, not a single message from you or your husband.”
“He is no longer my husband, Mother,” Aurelia breathed. “I believe I made that quite clear in my letter, though it seems you chose to overlook that particular detail.”
Lady Celeste gave a soft, dismissive laugh. “My dear, you are his wife. And you will return to your home with him in due course. I have already spoken with Leopold and he has agreed to meet with you again. This unfortunate episode has simply been… a misunderstanding.”
Normally, Aurelia might have faltered beneath their mother’s firm tone. This time, she did not. She stepped forward until she stood directly before Lady Celeste, scarcely a foot between them, then folded her hands with perfect composure and met her mother’s gaze.
“I believe your authority in the matter ended the moment my bones began to break and canines descended from my gums,” Aurelia answered in a low hiss.
“The moment I transformed into something you would call monstrous… and clawed my husband’s face open when he attempted to shoot me with the pistol he keeps above his desk.
” Aurelia’s voice rose slightly. “I believe, Mother, that your maternal instincts are quite mistaken. Because you knew what we were.” She paused. “What we are. And you said nothing.”
Cillian and Evelyne both turned toward their mother in stunned silence.
Lady Celeste pressed her lips together. “I did not know of the Duskwood bloodline.”
“But you knew of magic,” Aurelia bit back. “You knew the dangers Evelyne would face when she left to rescue your son, and still you chose not to warn her. Nor did you see fit to tell me.”
“What precisely were you intending to do, Aurelia?” Lady Celeste replied coolly. “Compose melancholy songs at the pianoforte while she was away? For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together.”
“My lady,” Mauri, the kitchen servant, announced politely from the doorway, “tea and refreshments are prepared.”
Lady Celeste turned toward her with perfect composure. “Well, what fortunate timing. It appears we could all benefit from a cup of tea.” She gestured toward the hallway. “Shall we move to the dining room?”
Evelyne glanced toward Kaldrek, who remained seated on the couch, taking in the exchange without a word.
“Evelyne,” her mother added, “do see that you and your… friend wash your hands before joining us. It would be terribly improper to sit for tea without doing so.”
Evelyne bit down on her tongue. Ordinarily she might have rolled her eyes or offered some cutting remark about the absurdities of noble etiquette. But not today. Not before she shattered her mother’s world with the truth.
Without a word, she led Kaldrek toward the washroom nearby. Thankfully, he followed in silence.
***
Kaldrek took the chair that normally belonged to Cillian, while her brother seated himself in their father’s place at the head of the dining table. The sight stirred something complicated in Evelyne’s chest. It felt both right and deeply unsettling.
The table looked as immaculate as ever, even for the simple ritual of late-morning tea.
Evelyne had to admit that while she had never cared much for gowns, politics, or the endless gossip of debutantes, she did love tea.
The warm scent drifting up from her cup nearly made her sigh in relief.
Across from her, however, Kaldrek regarded his own cup with visible suspicion.
You are meant to drink it, she sent quietly down the bond.
I am aware, he replied. But it appears to be little more than steaming brown water, and I see no reason to pretend otherwise. He lifted one brow. Though I do rather enjoy the way you stare at me.