7. Under Blackwell Protection #2
Cassius Blackwell stood atop the grand staircase and stared at her with a blank face.
His presence was no less commanding than his father’s had been.
Tall and lean, sharp-cheekboned, nearly a looking glass of High Blackwell—with perfectly styled blonde hair.
His cool indifference made the absence of the warmth she’d witnessed during the Count feel even more jarring. A facade, perhaps.
He sniffed lightly and adjusted the fit of his tailored coat. “I apologize for the reception you received. Your familiar,” he took slow, intentional steps down the stairs until he stood in front of Fern, “is quite remarkable.”
Sprout chirped, and Cassius tilted his head, inspecting the mosswing with chilly curiosity. “I’ve read about the species. Rare. How did you acquire him?”
Fern shuffled backward and twisted her fingers together, trying to stop them from shaking.
Cassius raised an eyebrow a pinch. “This will be a rather unpleasant stay if you don’t learn to speak to me.”
“What… what do I call you?”
“Lord Blackwell will suffice.” He closed the gap between them. “Now, my question was genuine. How did you acquire him?”
Fern dropped her gaze to the floor. “I found him foraging one day in Shadowmere, Lord Blackwell.”
“And he simply came to you? How utterly unexpected.”
“No, Lord Blackwell. He was injured—his wing. I… nursed him back to health. He was such a little thing. I couldn’t leave him.”
“I see. Follow me.” He turned, leading Fern through double doors to the east. “Your first lesson, then. Addressing me as ‘Lord Blackwell’ in every sentence is improper. Use ‘my lord’ after the initial greeting.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply. “Come.”
The hallway devoured her. Black marble replaced the checkered floor, and the dark, towering wainscoting made the corridor feel narrower than it was. Columns punctuated the wall at intervals, each holding a flickering wardcandle that cast long, shifting shadows.
“This is the first floor, East Wing,” Cassius said, already striding ahead.
He gestured briefly to a door on the left.
“The kitchens.” Then to one opposite it.
“The common dining hall.” He didn’t slow as he continued down the corridor.
“The rest of these rooms are for the servants. They are of no concern to you.”
Fern suppressed a groan as they reached the end of the long hallway only to find it continued to the right. Sweat was beading along her forehead as she tried to keep up with Cassius, who pressed on.
“More of the same. Not for you.” He pointed to a door at the end where the wall was curved. “My mother’s solar. Never go in there unless specifically requested. Never.”
Halfway down the hallway, another set of double doors interrupted the paneling. Cassius pushed them open, and a blast of cold wind rushed in, sending a shiver through Fern.
“You’re unprepared for the weather. Should have brought a shawl. No matter.”
He walked across the threshold without a glance back. Yet, she followed.
“This is the courtyard.”
Fern stepped out after him. The space yawned open around her—bare branches scraping at a red-grey sky, stone slick with Red Autumn’s chill. The courtyard was enormous, more so after the narrow halls of the Keep.
They didn’t linger. Cassius walked the path, turned right, and led her to another door that returned them to the entrance hall.
“Where does this door lead, my lord?” Fern asked, eyeing a door that had been built into the base of the grand staircase.
“Don’t concern yourself with it. Keep moving.”
Cassius stopped at the top of the stairs. “Behind me is the grand ballroom entrance.” He pointed to the East Wing. “Floors two and three of the East Wing are entirely off limits.”
The landing split into two smaller staircases, each curving back in the opposite direction to the third floor. They took the right staircase.
He gestured to the other set of stairs as they climbed. “You are not to enter the upper floors of the East Wing.”
At the top, he turned left through a doorway. “This is the West Wing. No room is accessible to you except this one.” He stopped outside of another set of double doors. “The library. You will use it during your free time. Its contents will further your education.”
Cassius pushed open the doors and stepped inside without slowing. Fern followed—and stopped.
The library was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling shelves climbed two stories high, their ladders gliding on brass rails.
Wardcandles glowed along the upper balconies.
The air smelled of old parchment, polished wood, and millions of crowns.
Fern eyed the rows and rows of books—knowledge she had never been allowed to touch.
Cassius spared her only a glance, but the corner of his lip inched up. “You’ll use this room regularly.”
Then he was already moving back toward the hallway.
Fern stumbled after him.
Back on the main floor, Cassius led her to the West Wing, stopping in front of the first door on the left.
“This is the blue suite—your quarters.”
Cassius opened the door, revealing a sitting room larger than her family’s entire downstairs. Fern stepped inside, her travel bag clutched as tightly to her chest as Sprout was clinging to her shoulder.
All of the décor was blue and silver—from the velvet curtains to the delicate porcelain vases on the mantelpiece.
It was quite striking against the dark walls and floor.
Fire crackled in the hearth. Wardcandles were affixed throughout the room, casting warm light across furniture that looked like it had never been used.
“There’s a bedroom through there,” Cassius gestured to an archway, “and a private washroom.”
Cassius moved to a receptacle near the hearth. He pricked his thumb with his cufflink and pressed it into the divot. A few clicks followed by a soft chime answered.
Moments later, a woman entered the room.
“This is Lina. She will be your attendant for the time being. Her quarters are three doors down. No other rooms are to be entered.”
Lina stepped in with a small, hurried step, her dark hair braided down her back—but a few strands had already shaken loose. Her uniform was neatly pressed, the sleeves bunched up at the elbows as if she’d been working until the moment she was summoned.
She dipped her head to Fern. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Silverbell.”
“I’ll take my leave so you can acclimate yourself.” Cassius moved toward the door. “Lessons begin at the eighth bell.”
Cassius left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the blue suite in sudden silence.
Fern exhaled shakily.
Lina stepped forward, her posture loosening now that the heir was gone. “It’s… a lot, I know.”
Fern couldn’t speak. She only nodded.
“That’s alright.” Lina offered a small, tentative smile. “We’ll take it one thing at a time.”