Chapter 9
Exploring the Unknown
Knock, knock.
“…”
Creak.
Nearly every chamber in the primary keep stood locked tight.
The handful that weren’t offered scant traces of life. Now and then, I crossed paths with servants tidying up.
“…Your Grace.”
Those I met, polishing drapes or brushing floors, offered greetings laced with reticence and unease.
The typical response to a marquess’s daughter.
How many doors had I tried already?
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
“…!”
At last, as I neared the corridor’s remote end, a voice replied to my rapping.
Creak.
Pushing inside, I discovered a cluster of figures bent over paperwork at tables. A fellow by the entry lifted his gaze, weary eyes flickering with intrigue.
“…Who might you be?”
He stared as though I were some rare beast out of place amid the stronghold’s stones.
What do I say? Grand Duchess? Or simply my name?
I faltered, pondering my reply. Before I could settle it, their eyes rounded in abrupt understanding.
“The Grand Duchess… Your Grace?”
His declaration drew every head in the space toward me, jolted, then scrambling upright.
“We greet Your Grace.”
“What sort of chamber is this?”
“This is the bureau for trainee overseers.”
“Oh.”
I beamed at the rigid administrators.
“You must be the castle’s true toilers!”
I knew little of their roles, but the label fit—anything branded “trainee” or “probationary” screamed grueling labor.
The overseers traded wary looks, as if prodding each other to speak.
At length, an elder among them advanced, offering a formal bow.
“We’re privileged by your presence.”
“With talents like yours toiling for the keep, the honor’s mine.”
My reply left them at a loss, faces growing tauter still.
Their discomfort was palpable; I resolved not to prolong it.
“Be sure to rest. Nothing trumps well-being.”
“We shall remember.”
I waved, retreating with an awkward flourish.
“Fare well—I enjoyed meeting you.”
“Safe paths, Your Grace.”
Easing the door shut, I caught murmurs seeping through.
“Why was Her Grace here?”
“Checking up on us?”
“Did you stow the files?”
“Even the Grand Duke’s never ventured in.”
“She’s… nothing like the rumors.”
“Truth be told, I’ve never laid eyes on such beauty.”
Warmth flooded my cheeks. I crept onward in silence to the next door.
Elsewhere in the Castle
“What’s this about the trainee overseers encountering the Grand Duchess?”
Emerging from the council chamber, Loic’s brow furrowed sharply.
“It wasn’t only them. Scribes, grooms, laundry hands—even the scullery lot. Seems Her Grace has been sighted everywhere today, prowling the castle from dawn.”
“Scouting, maybe?”
“Doubt it…”
Perel murmured low, “Looks like she’s hunting you, Your Grace.”
Loic’s mouth twisted in a sour grin.
The Grand Duchess had pestered Whitely relentlessly for an audience since arriving.
He’d started with blunt refusals via the butler, but her tenacity wore thin even Whitely’s polished deflections.
To distract her, Loic had unlocked stretches of the castle and grounds. He hadn’t foreseen such bold wandering.
At least direct clashes remained unlikely. He confined himself to sealed wings, few privy to them.
Only risk is crossing paths mid-errand between sessions.
Comforted, Loic headed for the grand stair—but halted abruptly.
A prickle of wrongness.
Leaning over the balustrade, he spied a petite golden crown below.
“Why are you—”
Loic clamped Perel’s mouth and yanked him flush against the landing’s wall.
“…”
The figure paused, then withdrew, footfalls receding along the passage.
Clear at last, Loic let go.
“Why’d you—?”
Perel, lip bruised red, gaped in bafflement and pique.
Loic drew a kerchief, scrubbing his palm with faint revulsion, wordless.
“Her Grace?”
Perel’s hushed query held a weary edge.
“Just see her already…”
Loic glowered.
Dodging the Grand Duchess spared her, not him.
No meeting meant she’d depart deeming him a brute of a spouse. A face-to-face, though, would reveal the true torment of his world.
His kindest gift: her exit unharmed.
An encounter would shatter her existence.
Loic pinned Perel with a fierce stare, then strode downstairs, certain he’d eluded her once more.
Yet that night, traversing the heart hall, he ducked into the help’s stairs to evade her anew.
Skulking in his own fortress. Absurd.
In the Garden
“Ah, so chilly.”
I sniffled over my teacup.
Three hours I’d lingered, sipping amid the front garden’s bite.
Snow from barren limbs tumbled like petals on the breeze.
“Perhaps indoors, Your Grace?”
The knight Norton ventured the suggestion timidly.
Lately, one escort shadowed my every outing: him. Pale and gentle-seeming, yet meticulous to a fault.
Today, he’d loomed vigilantly till I ordered him seated.
“No. Today, I must cross the Duke.”
Norton’s lips thinned at my resolve.
“Sitting long enough, he’ll pass. Sir Norton, a nudge from you spares all this.”
“Well…”
My prodding wore down his resolve; he rose abruptly.
“I’ll fetch fresh tea.”
As he summoned a servant, I scanned the encircling manor.
A vast stone cupola crowned its heart, twin spires soaring symmetrically beside. Beneath sprawled ranks of lofty panes along the eaves.
Marble-clad facades radiated solemn grandeur.
Where’s the Duke quartered?
The lord wouldn’t shun a garden vista. Likely a front terrace suite.
And he’s tucked mine as distant as possible.
Mine graced the second floor’s eastern wing—bright, cozy by day.
His? Western extremity, perhaps. Odd for a duke in a far-flung chamber, but third-floor drapes gaped at one terminal.
Logic pointed there… wait.
A silhouette filled the frame: pale shirt, dark locks, a hulking form dominating the glass. Distance couldn’t dull those chiseled lines.
The Duke?
As if sensing me, our gazes locked.
Eye contact?
Swoosh.
Curtains snapped shut like thunder.
Oh-ho.
I grinned at the veiled third-floor pane.
Gotcha.
I’d end this exhausting chase.
Loic fisted the drape, palm pressed to his thundering chest.
Near fatal jolt.
Had she clocked him?
Two hours prior, en route to his study, he’d glimpsed her through columns: alone in the iced garden.
What possessed her in such frost?
Her golden mop bobbed inquisitively, chick-like. He’d gawked, entranced.
Petite… radiant.
Smaller, frailer than envisioned.
Sun on snow lit her tresses agleam; gusts threatened to whisk her off.
Like a magpie to glitter, he’d lingered, then wrenched away.
Work done, he’d detoured the garden, denying her pull.
Back in his quarters, though, his eyes strayed to the pane. Was she lingering?
Should’ve glanced sooner.
Her crown cropped up unpredictably these days, spiking his pulse each time.
The image clung, haunting near-slumber.
It’d nag till verified gone.
Fine. Peek and done.
He peered—and there she sat.
Crimson scorched his cheeks.
What kept her in this gale?
No attendants? She’ll sicken—who answers for that?
Fuming inwardly, their stares collided.
No matter. Too remote to identify. She’s clueless of my face.
Loic raked his features, irked.
