Nevan
I left the dining hall before I did something I’d regret.
My boots struck the stone floor with a rhythm that matched the pounding in my skull as I climbed the staircase and moved down the corridor toward my chambers.
The portraits on the walls watched me pass, a generation of Wilders staring down with the same pale eyes that lived behind my mask.
I pushed through the door and went straight to the window, bracing both hands against the frame. The garden below was bathed in morning light, green and gold and peaceful, but it was a lie.
Everything about Wellspring was a lie wrapped in beauty.
The door opened quietly behind me, and Clyde’s voice reached me.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"I’m fine," I said listlessly.
"You don’t look fine, Nevan."
"I said I’m fine, Clyde," I replied, trying not to sigh. I was getting irritated by his probing.
He paused and then added carefully. "She’s getting under your skin, Nevan, and now more than ever, shouldn’t be the time to allow your emotions to get a hold of you."
I turned sharply. "Excuse me?"
"Rosamund." Clyde closed the door behind him and leaned against it, folding his arms. "I’ve served you since we were boys, Nevan. I’ve seen you face down lords, generals and the King himself without breaking a sweat. But a nineteen-year-old girl from a boarding house just made you slam your hand on the table and storm out of your own dining hall." He raised an eyebrow. "So, I’ll ask again. Are you alright?"
"Fine," I sighed. "Maybe not completely, and that’s because she’s infuriating." The word came out more forcefully than I intended. "She’s stubborn, reckless, and she has absolutely no regard for —"
"For your authority?" Clyde supplied.
"No." I shook my head. "For her safety. I worry that something will go wrong, Clyde. There’s this premonition I feel, and you know what happens when things like this happen."
Clyde nodded, studying me silently. He had that look that made me feel like a boy caught lying.
"What really happened last night, Nevan?"
My hand stiffened against the window frame. The question landed in my chest like a stone dropped into water, sending ripples outward through every carefully constructed answer I’d prepared.
"Nothing."
"Nothing," Clyde repeated flatly. "The girl woke up with bruises on her wrists. Finger-shaped bruises. She accused you of entering her room and undressing her. And your answer to what happened is nothing?"
"I don’t want to talk about it."
"That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’re getting."
"Nevan —"
"I said enough!" I snarled, the words vibrating through the room and in my chest. Clyde went still, his expression shifting from concern to a blankness of a man who had just been reminded, against his will, of what I was.
"I apologize, Your Grace," He lowered his gaze and his head. "I didn’t mean to offend you with my questions. I was only concerned."
I pressed my palms against my face and exhaled slowly. "No, I’m sorry, Clyde, that was uncalled for."
He said nothing for a moment. Then he unfolded his arms and straightened.
"You don’t need to apologize to me, Your Grace. But you do need to be honest with yourself about what’s happening."
I dropped my hands and looked at him. "Has there been any word from Morwen?" I asked, smoothly changing the topic.
"No. I sent the message as you requested yesterday, but there’s been no reply."
"Then send another."
"Nevan —"
"Send it, Clyde." I turned back to the window. The restlessness was building again, the same crawling sensation that had been gnawing at me since dawn. It lived beneath my skin like something trying to get out, a low, constant hum that made my teeth ache and my vision blur at the edges.
It had been there when I woke. It had been there through breakfast, and it was getting worse.
"Something isn’t right," I said quietly. "I’ve been restless since morning. My hands won’t stop trembling, and there’s a pressure in my chest that won’t ease." I looked at my fingers, watching a faint tremor run through them. "This hasn’t happened during the day before. The episodes have always been at night. Always during the half moon or close to it. Never in broad daylight."
Clyde’s expression darkened. "The curse is accelerating."
"I think so," I nodded. "Though we cannot be sure until Morwen confirms it."
"Then sending for her isn’t enough. We need —"
A knock at the door interrupted him. Before either of us could respond, it opened, and Jennifer came into view.
She stood in the doorway. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her jaw was tightly clenched as she strutted into the room, ignoring Clyde’s soft greeting.
"We need to talk," she said.
This conversation had been building since she’d left the breakfast table.
Clyde glanced at me. I gave him a slight nod, and he moved toward the door.
"I’ll send the second message now," he said, pausing beside Jennifer. "Your Grace, if the symptoms persist, please let me know."
Then he closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of us.
Jennifer didn’t sit. She stood in the centre of the room, arms folded, glaring at me.
"Just a private secretary."
I exhaled. "Jennifer —"
"That’s what you told her, isn’t it?" She laughed dryly. "You sat there while she humiliated me in front of your entire household, and you did nothing. And when you finally opened your mouth, it was to tell her to stop, not to defend me, or correct her. To silence her for saying what everyone in the room was already thinking."
"What did you expect me to do?" I asked evenly. "Stand up and announce to my fiancée and every servant in the hall that you and I —"
"Yes!" She said vehemently. "Is it so much for you to acknowledge me? Even once? After everything I’ve done for you. Is it too much to ask for you to say, just once, that I matter?"