Maris stopped the moment Ivelle called after her, and although the elderly woman turned back with the same composed expression she had worn since leading her into the room, Ivelle could not forget the look that had briefly passed across her face downstairs. It had happened twice now, quickly enough that someone less observant might have dismissed it entirely, but Ivelle had spent too much of her life watching people’s expressions to ignore something that obvious.
There had been pity in Maris’s eyes.
And Ivelle wanted to know why.
She remained beside the large bed, her fingers resting lightly against the soft cover as she studied the older woman standing near the doorway. For several seconds, neither of them spoke, and the silence only made Ivelle more convinced that there was something Maris was deliberately refusing to say.
"Did you want to tell me something?" Ivelle finally asked.
Maris’s expression did not immediately change, although her hands came together neatly before her. "No, Lady Ivelle."
Ivelle narrowed her eyes slightly.
The answer had come too quickly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"But you were looking at me as though you wanted to say something."
Maris remained quiet.
Ivelle took a few steps toward her, careful not to place too much pressure on her injured leg, although she was beginning to suspect that her curiosity was distracting her enough to make her temporarily forget the physician’s instructions.
"You did," she continued, watching the older woman’s face carefully. "You looked at me strangely downstairs, and then you did it again when I entered this room."
Maris lowered her eyes briefly.
That was enough to make Ivelle’s suspicion grow.
"I knew it," she murmured.
"Lady Ivelle—"
"You can tell me."
Maris looked up again.
Ivelle immediately continued before the woman could dismiss the subject once more. "Really. You can tell me anything. I won’t tell it to anyone."
The words had barely left her mouth before Ivelle realized that she was making promises to a woman she had known for less than an hour while standing inside the mansion of a man she had met that same morning.
Her life had become increasingly ridiculous.
Still, she remained determined.
"I mean it," she said. "If there is something you want to say, you can say it. I won’t tell Lord Zelos."
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement appeared in Maris’s eyes, although it disappeared quickly enough that Ivelle could not be entirely certain she had seen it.
"There is nothing I need to tell you, Lady Ivelle," the older woman replied gently.
Ivelle’s shoulders dropped.
"You’re lying."
Maris’s brows lifted slightly.
Ivelle immediately cleared her throat.
"I mean... I don’t think you’re telling me everything."
"I have told you everything that concerns you."
That answer did absolutely nothing to reassure her.
In fact, it made everything worse.
What exactly did that mean?
Everything that concerns her?
Were there things happening inside this mansion that did not concern her?
Or were there things that concerned her but Maris simply did not want to discuss?
Ivelle’s thoughts immediately began moving in several directions at once, and she pressed her lips together when she realized she was doing exactly what she had promised herself she would stop doing.
She was overthinking again.
Then again, considering the circumstances, perhaps overthinking was the only thing keeping her alive.
She had entered a slave establishment disguised as a guard.
She had nearly been captured.
A terrifyingly calm and mysterious lord had purchased her.
That same lord had taken her to a physician because he somehow knew she was injured.
Now she was standing inside his enormous mansion, surrounded by walls high enough to make escaping seem like a military operation, while his elderly butler kept looking at her with pity and refusing to explain why.
No.
She was not overthinking.
She was thinking exactly the appropriate amount.
Ivelle sighed quietly.
"Fine," she said at last, giving in when it became obvious that Maris had no intention of revealing anything. "If you don’t want to tell me, then I can’t force you."
Maris gave a respectful nod.
"Thank you for understanding."
Ivelle looked at her suspiciously.
She did not understand.
Not even slightly.
But she also knew that continuing to question the woman would probably accomplish nothing except make Maris even more determined to remain silent.
The elderly woman inclined her head politely. "If you will excuse me, Lady Ivelle, I shall leave you to rest."
Ivelle watched as Maris turned toward the door again, and this time she did not stop her. She simply stood where she was until the older woman stepped outside and gently closed the door behind her.
The sound seemed strangely loud inside the enormous room.
And then Ivelle was alone.
Her eyes slowly moved toward the closed door.
For several moments, she remained standing there without moving.
Then she turned around and looked at the room again.
Ivelle slowly walked toward the bed before carefully lowering herself onto the edge, her injured leg stretched slightly before her. The softness beneath her immediately surprised her, and she stared down at the bed as though it had personally offended her.
This was ridiculous.
A few hours ago, she had been living a completely ordinary life.
Well, perhaps not completely ordinary.
Her life had stopped being ordinary the moment Liriel disappeared.
But at least she had understood it.
She had known where she lived, who was around her, where she could go.
Now?
Now she was sitting in the bedroom of an enormous mansion belonging to Lord Zelos Mortum.
Ivelle leaned backward before slowly allowing herself to fall onto the bed, her blonde hair spreading around her as she stared upward at the ceiling.
What was she supposed to do now?
Her thoughts returned immediately to Liriel.
The guilt came with them.
Ivelle closed her eyes.
She had gone into Blackthorn Row for her.
She had been so certain that she would find her friend there that she had barely considered the possibility that Liriel might be somewhere else entirely and now she had found nothing.
Nothing.
That was supposed to be comforting.
It was not.
Because if Liriel was not inside Blackthorn Row, where was she?
Ivelle slowly opened her eyes again.
Somewhere in the capital?
Somewhere outside it?
Perhaps she had escaped before they brought her underground.
Perhaps—
Her thoughts stopped.
No.
She refused to allow herself to imagine anything worse.
Liriel was alive.
She had to be.
Ivelle pushed herself upright and looked toward the tall window near the sitting area.
From where she sat, she could see a portion of the enormous estate beyond the glass. The gardens stretched outward in carefully arranged paths, and beyond them stood the same high walls she had noticed when the carriage first entered.
Her eyes narrowed.
Those walls.
She stood carefully, limping slightly as she crossed toward the window.
The closer she came, the more clearly she could see them.
They were ridiculously high.
Who needed walls that high around a residence?
Ivelle pressed one hand against the glass as she looked downward.
Could she climb them?
Absolutely not.
Could she find a gate?
Perhaps.
Would the gate be guarded?
Almost certainly.
Her eyes slowly widened.
What if she actually wanted to leave?
The thought entered her mind so suddenly that she froze.
She had not agreed to become Zelos’s prisoner.
She had agreed to leave Blackthorn Row with him because the alternative had been considerably worse.
But what happened when her leg healed?
Would he allow her to leave?
She had not asked.
Why had she not asked?
Because she had been too busy trying not to become a slave.
Ivelle pressed her lips together.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
She had exchanged one terrifying situation for another without bothering to discuss the terms.
Her gaze moved once more toward the high walls.
Was this place escapable?
And why did Zelos live on the highest floor?
The thought made her glance toward the ceiling.
His wing.
That was what Maris had called it.
His wing was on this floor.
Which meant Zelos was somewhere nearby.
Ivelle immediately looked toward the door.
Then back toward the window.
Then toward the door again.
She suddenly became aware of how alone she was.
Perhaps she should not have allowed Maris to leave.
At least the old woman talked.
Somewhat.
Zelos barely said enough words to maintain a proper conversation.
Ivelle sighed before turning away from the window.
She had spent enough time staring at walls and imagining escape plans from a place she had not yet confirmed she needed to escape.
Perhaps she should rest.
The physician had instructed her to rest.
She had been through enough in one day to justify resting for an entire month.
Before she could decide whether to return to the bed, however, a knock sounded against the door.
Ivelle immediately straightened.
Her heart jumped.
Who was that?
Her eyes moved toward the door.
For some reason, the first thought that entered her mind was Zelos.
Her heartbeat immediately became uncomfortable.
Why would Zelos knock?
It was his house.
He could probably enter any room he wanted.
That thought made her even more uncomfortable.
"Come in," she called cautiously.
The door opened.
A young girl stepped inside carrying a small tray in both hands.
Ivelle blinked.
The newcomer looked younger than her, perhaps by a few years, and her brown hair had been gathered neatly behind her head. She wore a simple maid’s uniform, and although she attempted to appear composed, there was something naturally bright about her expression.
The girl immediately lowered her head.
"Good afternoon, Lady Ivelle."
Ivelle sighed internally.
Another person calling her Lady Ivelle.
Apparently, she had entered a mansion where nobody intended to listen to her preferences.
"Hello," she replied.
The young maid lifted her head and gave her a small smile.
"My name is Elara," she said. "Maris asked me to attend to you."
Elara.
The name settled gently inside Ivelle’s thoughts.
For some reason, the sight of the younger girl standing there with that polite smile made something tighten inside her chest.
Liriel.
Her mind immediately went to her friend.
She remembered Liriel’s expressions whenever she was amused.
The way she could speak endlessly when she was nervous.
The way she would probably have looked around this enormous room and immediately started asking questions.
Ivelle smiled faintly, but sadness slipped beneath it before she could stop herself.
Elara seemed to notice.
"Are you all right, Lady Ivelle?"
Ivelle quickly shook her head.
"Yes. I was just thinking about someone."
The maid nodded slowly, seemingly understanding that there was more behind the answer but polite enough not to ask.
"I brought you some water," Elara explained as she walked farther into the room and placed the tray on a nearby table. "And Lady Maris instructed me to assist you while you settle in."
Ivelle looked at the tray and noticed a glass of water beside a small bottle of medicine.
Her brows furrowed slightly.
"Assist me with what?"
Elara smiled.
"Your bath, your injury, and anything else you might need."
Ivelle’s eyes widened slightly.
Her bath?
"Oh."
Elara moved toward another door positioned near the wardrobe.
"The bathing room is through here."
Ivelle followed her with her eyes as the maid opened the door, revealing a spacious bathroom that was nearly as impressive as the bedroom itself.
A large bathtub rested near one side of the room, and several shelves held folded towels, soaps, oils, and other things Ivelle had probably never used in her entire life.
Her mouth parted slightly.
This mansion was becoming increasingly unreasonable.
Elara turned toward her.
"Would you like the bath prepared?"
Ivelle hesitated.
She had spent the entire day running around, climbing into places she should not have entered, hiding inside a guard’s uniform, descending underground staircases, getting treated by a physician, and being carried through public streets by a man she had met that morning.
Yes.
A bath sounded wonderful.
"I would," she admitted.
Elara immediately began preparing the water, and Ivelle remained near the entrance while the maid moved around the room with the familiarity of someone who had performed the task many times before.
As the bath filled, Ivelle’s attention moved toward her injured leg.
"Should I remove the bandage?" she asked.
Elara shook her head.
"Not completely. The physician sent instructions. I will make sure it remains dry."
Ivelle looked at her with surprise.
"He sent instructions?"
"Yes, Lady Ivelle."
Of course he had.
Everything inside Zelos’s life apparently operated with terrifying efficiency.
She could not even injure herself without several people becoming involved.
Elara carefully helped her prepare for the bath, making certain the bandaged area of her leg was properly protected from the water, and although Ivelle initially felt awkward allowing someone else to assist her, the younger maid worked with such professional calmness that she eventually stopped protesting.
Once she finally settled into the warm water, Ivelle released a breath she had not realized she had been holding.
Her entire body relaxed.
For the first time since entering Blackthorn Row, she felt something resembling peace.
Unfortunately, peace did not last very long when one possessed Ivelle’s mind.
What was Zelos doing?
Where was he?
Was he expecting her to come and see him after this?
Would he tell her why she was staying in his wing?
Would she have to eat dinner with him?
The thought made her eyes widen.
Dinner.
Alone.
With Zelos.
She immediately sank slightly deeper into the water.
Perhaps she could remain inside the bath forever.
No.
That was ridiculous.
Eventually, Elara helped her finish and made certain the injured portion of her leg remained protected. By the time Ivelle returned to the bedroom, wrapped comfortably and feeling considerably cleaner than she had all day, her attention immediately shifted toward the wardrobe.
The doors stood partially open.
Ivelle walked toward them.
Then stopped.
Three dresses had been arranged neatly inside.
Her eyes widened.
They were beautiful.
One was a soft shade of cream with delicate details around the sleeves, another appeared darker and more elegant, while the third had a simple but expensive appearance that immediately made Ivelle afraid to touch it.
She slowly reached toward one.
"Those are for me?"
Elara nodded from behind her.
"Yes, Lady Ivelle."
Ivelle stared at the dresses.
"When did they get here?"
"They were already here."
That answer made her turn around.
"They were already here?"
Elara seemed to realize that she had said something unusual because she immediately became quiet.
Ivelle stared.
The maid stared back.
Already here?
What did that mean?
Had Zelos prepared dresses for women in his house?
Were they always kept inside this room?
Or had someone known she was coming?
Her mind immediately began racing again.
Perhaps the room had been prepared because Zelos frequently brought people here.
No.
Then why had Maris been surprised when he told her to give Ivelle a room in his wing?
Ivelle’s eyes narrowed.
There was something she was missing.
Something everyone else seemed to know.
Elara shifted slightly.
"Would you like help choosing one?"
Ivelle looked back toward the dresses.
She had questions.
Too many questions.
But she also knew that staring at a wardrobe while imagining conspiracies would not provide answers.
So she eventually selected the simplest of the three dresses, although even that one felt far too beautiful against her skin.
When she finished dressing, Elara helped arrange her blonde hair, and Ivelle found herself staring at her reflection with mild disbelief.
The person looking back at her barely resembled the frightened girl who had entered Blackthorn Row that morning.
The clothes were different.
Her hair was neatly arranged.
The dirt and exhaustion had been washed away.
But her eyes were still the same.
And behind them remained all the same questions.
Elara stepped back after finishing.
"There," she said softly. "You look lovely."
Ivelle looked at herself again.
"Thank you."
The maid smiled.
"I’ll wait outside in case you need anything."
Before Ivelle could say anything else, Elara turned toward the door.
Ivelle watched her walk away.
Then something suddenly occurred to her.
"Wait."
Elara stopped with her hand near the door and turned back toward her.
Ivelle stood near the mirror, watching the younger girl carefully.
"I would like to ask you some questions."
Elara’s expression became slightly uncertain.
"Okay?" Elara answered unsure.
Ivelle nodded.
"You said you were here to attend to me."
"Yes, Lady Ivelle."
"And you said you would help me with anything I needed."
Elara nodded again.
Ivelle took a slow breathas she folded her arms.
"Then do you promise to tell me the truth."
The smile slowly disappeared from Elara’s face.