The carriage slowed gradually as it moved away from the quieter streets of the wealthy district, and although Ivelle had spent most of the journey pretending that she was not constantly imagining terrible possibilities about the man sitting across from her, the moment she felt the wheels begin to slow, her attention immediately shifted toward the window.
Her heart tightened.
They had arrived.
Or, at least, she hoped they had arrived somewhere that did not contain another underground chamber filled with iron cages.
That particular thought immediately made her straighten in her seat.
Perhaps she should stop thinking like that.
No.
Actually, considering everything that had happened since morning, perhaps thinking like that was perfectly reasonable.
Ivelle cautiously leaned toward the window and looked outside.
At first, all she could see was stone.
A great deal of stone.
Her eyes widened slightly as the carriage approached an enormous fence surrounding what appeared to be an entire estate, and for several seconds she found herself staring upward at the walls rather than ahead at the entrance. The fence was not like the ordinary iron gates she had seen around wealthy homes in the capital. This one was built from dark, heavy bricks, rising so high that Ivelle had to tilt her head slightly to see where the upper portion ended.
Her brows slowly drew together.
Why was it so high?
The question entered her mind immediately.
She understood the need for security. Zelos Mortum was clearly an important man, and judging from the way people inside Blackthorn Row had behaved around him, he was probably the kind of person who had enemies, responsibilities, secrets, or all three.
Still, those walls seemed excessive.
Ivelle’s gaze followed the enormous stretch of stone as the carriage approached the gate.
It looked less like a fence surrounding a residence and more like something designed to ensure that no one could easily enter.
Or leave.
Her thoughts immediately stopped.
She slowly leaned back from the window.
No.
Absolutely not.
She was not going to start thinking like that again.
Zelos had taken her away from Blackthorn Row. He had brought her to a physician. He had even carried her into the carriage when her leg could no longer properly support her weight.
That was not something a man intending to imprison her would normally do.
Unless he wanted her alive.
Ivelle’s eyes widened.
Oh, gods.
She immediately turned her attention toward the window again.
Perhaps the walls were simply for protection.
Yes.
Protection.
Rich people probably liked tall walls.
That was perfectly normal.
Probably.
The great gates began opening.
Ivelle watched as the heavy iron barriers slowly separated, revealing the estate hidden beyond them, and despite herself, her mouth parted slightly when the carriage finally passed through.
The mansion standing within the walls was even larger than she had imagined.
For several moments, Ivelle simply stared.
The house rose high above the carefully maintained grounds, its dark exterior giving it an imposing presence beneath the afternoon sky. It was three stories tall, perhaps even more imposing because of the steep, pointed sections of its roof that stretched upward like sharp fingers reaching toward the clouds. Several towers rose from different parts of the building, each ending in the same pointed shape, while tall windows reflected the fading light.
It was beautiful.
That was the first thought that entered her mind, the second was that it looked terrifying.
The mansion possessed the kind of beauty that made a person want to stand outside and admire it rather than enter.
Ivelle pressed herself slightly closer to the carriage window.
The gardens surrounding the building were equally impressive, with neatly arranged pathways winding through trees and flowering plants, while fountains stood at different points across the enormous grounds. Everything appeared perfectly maintained, almost too perfectly maintained, and the silence surrounding the estate was strangely different from the noise she had grown accustomed to in the capital.
There were no merchants shouting.
No children running through the streets.
No carriages passing closely beside one another.
There was only the sound of the carriage wheels moving across the long stone path.
Ivelle slowly turned her head toward Zelos.
He had not reacted to any of it.
Of course he had not.
This was his home.
He probably saw enormous, terrifying mansions every day.
Her gaze remained on him for another moment.
Zelos noticed.
"What?"
Ivelle immediately looked away.
"Nothing."
His dark eyes remained on her.
She could feel them.
That made her increasingly uncomfortable.
After several seconds, she cleared her throat and looked toward the window again.
"Your house is very large," she finally said.
Zelos did not respond immediately.
Then he simply said, "Yes."
Ivelle stared at the side of his face.
That was it?
Yes?
She had expected something else.
Perhaps, Thank you.
Perhaps, It has been in my family for generations.
Perhaps even, You have not seen the entire estate yet.
But no.
Yes.
Ivelle pressed her lips together.
There was absolutely no point speaking to this man sometimes.
The carriage continued toward the front of the mansion before eventually coming to a complete stop.
Ivelle immediately felt nervous again.
She had reached his residence.
His actual residence.
The place where she would apparently be staying.
The realization suddenly became far more frightening than it had sounded inside the carriage.
What exactly had she agreed to?
The door opened, and Zelos stepped down first before turning toward her.
Ivelle remained seated.
His gaze rested on her.
She stared back.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Zelos lifted one brow slightly.
Ivelle frowned.
"What?"
"Are you coming?"
She looked toward the open carriage door.
Then back at him.
"Yes."
"Then come."
The answer irritated her.
Of course she was coming.
Where else was she supposed to go?
She carefully moved toward the edge of the carriage and prepared to step down, but the moment her injured leg touched the ground, she immediately remembered that the physician had instructed her not to put unnecessary pressure on it.
Ivelle’s face tightened.
Wonderful.
She slowly attempted to shift her weight.
The pain was not unbearable, but it was enough to make her movement awkward.
Before she could properly figure out how to descend without embarrassing herself, Zelos extended one hand toward her.
Ivelle stared at it.
Then she looked at him.
His expression remained completely straight.
He was not going to explain.
Of course he was not.
Ivelle slowly placed her hand in his.
The moment his fingers closed around hers, she felt an odd warmth against her palm, and she immediately looked away before her mind could begin creating unnecessary questions about why she had noticed that.
He helped her down.
Once her feet touched the ground properly, Ivelle released his hand.
Or, at least, she attempted to.
Zelos released her first.
She immediately placed her hands behind her back.
Why had that been awkward?
It had not been awkward.
She was simply being helped down from a carriage.
People helped other people all the time.
There was absolutely nothing strange about it.
Ivelle followed Zelos toward the entrance of the mansion, although her eyes continued moving across everything around her as though she expected the building itself to suddenly reveal some terrible secret.
The front doors were enormous.
Of course they were.
Everything belonging to Zelos Mortum appeared to be enormous.
The walls.
The gates.
The mansion.
Even his silence somehow felt enormous.
Before they could reach the doors, however, they suddenly opened.
An elderly woman emerged from inside.
Ivelle slowed.
The woman moved with surprising speed despite her age, her long dark dress brushing against the polished floor as she stepped toward them. Her hair was silver and neatly gathered behind her head, and although fine lines marked her face, there was nothing weak about the way she carried herself.
She immediately bowed toward Zelos.
"My lord," she greeted respectfully, though there was warmth beneath her formal tone. "You have returned."
Zelos gave a slight nod.
"Maris."
Ivelle’s eyes shifted toward the woman.
So that was her name.
Maris.
The elderly woman straightened again, and her eyes naturally moved toward Ivelle.
Ivelle immediately became uncomfortable.
She had never liked being stared at.
Especially by strangers.
Especially by strangers standing inside enormous mansions belonging to cold, mysterious men who had purchased her from a slave establishment only hours earlier.
The woman studied her quietly.
Ivelle attempted to smile.
Perhaps smiling would make her look less suspicious.
Maris’s expression changed slightly.
It happened so quickly that Ivelle almost believed she had imagined it, but she saw it.
A brief flicker of something passed across the old woman’s face.
Pity.
Ivelle’s smile slowly disappeared.
Why was she looking at her like that?
Her thoughts immediately began moving.
Did she know something?
Did Zelos often bring strange women into the mansion?
Had Maris seen what happened to the other women?
Were there other women?
That terrible question returned again.
Ivelle’s stomach tightened.
Perhaps Maris pitied her because she knew exactly what Zelos intended to do with her.
Oh, gods.
Ivelle quickly looked toward Zelos.
He remained completely calm.
Of course.
A man planning something terrible would probably remain calm.
No.
Stop.
She was doing it again.
She turned her attention back toward Maris, trying desperately to appear normal.
The elderly woman’s expression had already returned to its composed state.
"Welcome," Maris said gently, directing her words toward Ivelle.
Ivelle blinked.
"Thank you."
Maris gave her a small nod.
"My name is Maris," she continued. "I oversee the household and attend to the affairs of this residence."
Ivelle immediately understood.
The butler.
Or, rather, the woman responsible for everything that seemed to happen inside this enormous house.
She nodded politely.
"I am Ivelle."
Before Maris could respond, Zelos spoke.
"Give her a room in my wing."
The words were spoken casually.
Perhaps too casually.
Maris froze.
Ivelle noticed immediately.
The old woman’s eyes widened slightly before she quickly lowered them, and for the first time since Ivelle had seen her, Maris appeared genuinely surprised.
Ivelle slowly turned toward Zelos.
His wing?
She had a room in his wing?
What did that mean?
Was she supposed to sleep close to him?
Why?
Was that normal?
Perhaps it was because her leg was injured.
No.
That did not make sense.
There were probably hundreds of rooms inside this mansion.
Why did she have to stay in his wing?
Her eyes moved toward Maris.
The woman’s surprise was not helping.
It was making everything worse.
Maris recovered quickly.
"Of course, my lord," she replied, bowing her head. "I will prepare it immediately."
"It is already prepared," Zelos said.
Ivelle stared at him.
Prepared?
How had it already been prepared?
He had only brought her here.
Unless he had somehow sent someone ahead.
Or—
No.
She was not going to think about that.
Zelos turned away from them.
"I have matters to attend to."
Ivelle blinked.
That was it?
He was leaving?
She watched as he began walking away without another word.
"My lord," Maris said respectfully.
Zelos stopped.
Ivelle looked toward him.
Surely he would explain something, perhaps tell her why she was here.
Perhaps explain what would happen next.
Perhaps tell her whether she was actually free to leave.
Instead, he slightly turned his head.
"What?"
Ivelle opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
What exactly was she supposed to ask?
Excuse me, my lord, are you secretly a murderer?
No.
That would not work.
Are there other women hidden inside your mansion?
Definitely not.
Why am I staying in your wing?
That question suddenly sounded far too strange to ask.
So Ivelle simply shook her head.
"Nothing."
Zelos looked at her for another moment.
Then he continued walking.
Ivelle watched him disappear farther into the mansion.
For several seconds, she simply stood there.
Then she slowly turned toward Maris.
"What the hell?"
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Maris’s eyes widened slightly.
Ivelle immediately cleared her throat.
"I mean..."
She pressed her lips together.
There was no way to correct that.
Maris looked strangely amused.
"Lady Ivelle," the elderly woman began.
Ivelle immediately shook her head.
"You can just call me Ivelle."
Maris regarded her for a moment.
Then she gave a small nod.
"Very well, Lady Ivelle."
Ivelle stared at her.
"You still called me Lady Ivelle."
"Yes."
"I said you could call me Ivelle."
Maris’s lips twitched slightly.
"I heard you."
Ivelle frowned.
That woman was doing it on purpose and she was certain of it.
Before she could argue again, Maris turned toward the grand staircase rising through the center of the mansion.
"If you will follow me, Lady Ivelle, I shall take you to your room."
Ivelle sighed quietly.
There was apparently no winning.
She began following the older woman.
The inside of the mansion was even more impressive than the outside.
Ivelle’s attention immediately wandered everywhere as they moved through the enormous entrance hall, and although she tried not to stare too openly, it was impossible not to notice the polished floors beneath her feet, the tall paintings hanging against the walls, and the elaborate chandeliers suspended from the ceiling.
Everything looked expensive.
Very expensive.
She suddenly became painfully aware of her plain dress.
Ivelle lowered her eyes briefly.
Then she remembered that Zelos had already pointed out that she was poor.
That had been embarrassing enough.
She did not need to remind herself.
Maris led her toward the staircase.
Ivelle looked upward.
The stairs seemed to stretch endlessly.
She looked down at her injured leg.
Then upward again.
Wonderful.
Maris noticed.
"Would you prefer assistance?"
Ivelle immediately shook her head.
"No."
The old woman gave her a knowing look.
Ivelle narrowed her eyes slightly.
"I can walk."
"I did not say otherwise."
Ivelle pressed her lips together.
That was exactly the kind of answer Zelos would give.
Had they all attended some kind of school where they learned how to irritate people with calm responses?
She began climbing.
The first floor passed slowly.
Her leg hurt.
She pretended it did not.
The second floor was worse.
Ivelle began wondering whether she should have accepted the assistance.
No.
She had dignity.
At least, she hoped she still did.
Maris continued walking beside her, seemingly aware of Ivelle’s struggle but politely refusing to mention it.
By the time they reached the third floor, Ivelle was beginning to understand why wealthy people had servants.
Stairs were terrible.
Especially when one was injured.
They finally reached the highest level of the mansion.
The atmosphere there felt different.
It was quieter.
The corridors were less crowded, and the decorations, though elegant, appeared more personal than those on the lower floors.
Ivelle looked around carefully.
This must be his wing.
Her heartbeat immediately became uncomfortable again.
Zelos’s wing.
Why was she here?
Maris led her through the corridor until they reached a large door near the far end.
She stopped.
"This will be your room," Maris explained.
Ivelle stared at the door.
Then she looked at Maris.
"This entire room?"
Maris blinked.
"Yes."
Ivelle slowly reached toward the handle.
She opened it.
The moment she stepped inside, she stopped.
Her eyes widened.
The room was beautiful.
Sunlight entered through tall windows, illuminating furniture far more elegant than anything she had ever owned. A large bed stood against one side of the room, covered in soft-looking sheets, while a fireplace rested along the opposite wall. There was a comfortable sitting area near the windows, shelves lined with books, and a large wardrobe positioned near another door.
Ivelle slowly walked farther inside.
She turned once.
Then twice.
Her gaze moved everywhere.
There was more space inside this room than there had been inside the entire place she had shared before coming to the capital.
Her mouth slowly parted.
"This is..."
She stopped.
What word could possibly describe it?
Maris waited patiently.
Ivelle finally turned toward her.
"This is really my room?"
"Yes, Lady Ivelle."
There it was again.
Lady Ivelle.
Ivelle decided to ignore it this time.
She moved toward the bed and cautiously touched the fabric.
Soft.
Of course it was soft.
Everything inside this mansion probably cost more money than she would earn in several years.
Her eyes widened again.
Was she actually supposed to sleep here?
She looked toward Maris.
The older woman watched her quietly, and for some reason, that same strange expression Ivelle had noticed downstairs seemed to flicker across her face again.
Pity.
There it was.
Ivelle’s curiosity immediately returned.
Why did Maris pity her?
What did she know?
Before Ivelle could ask, however, the elderly woman bowed her head slightly.
"I will leave you to settle in, Lady Ivelle. If you require anything, there is a bell beside the bed. Someone will attend to you."
She turned toward the door.
Ivelle watched her take one step.
Then another.
Something inside her immediately protested.
No.
Absolutely not.
She could not be left alone in this enormous mansion with a hundred questions and absolutely no answers.
"Wait."
Maris stopped.
The old woman slowly turned around.
Ivelle stood beside the bed, staring at her as a dozen questions rushed through her mind at once.
And suddenly, she realized that perhaps the first thing she needed to know was exactly what kind of place Lord Zelos Mortum had brought her into.