Denova lingered in the small house by the pond far longer than she intended.
"Would it be all right," she asked the Duke earlier, fingers already stained with ink, "if I stayed here for a while? Just… let me know when dinner is ready?"
Duke Elarion studied her for a moment, the way one does when deciding whether to argue or surrender gracefully. Then he sighed, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
"Take your time," he said. "It seems this place already belongs to you."
And with that blessing, Denova was utterly lost.
Paper, pen, scattered sketches, ideas flowed faster than she could capture them. Lines turned into designs, notes into half-formed plans, and somewhere between one ambitious sleeve concept and a marginal doodle of a suspiciously handsome duke, her eyelids grew heavy.
She didn't notice when her head tilted forward.
She didn't feel herself drift.
She simply… arrived.
She stood in an empty, endless darkness, no floor, no sky, no sound. And then she saw her.
"Denova"
Not her reflection, not quite. The woman looked the same and yet profoundly different, like a memory that refused to fade. She was standing several steps away, lips moving as if speaking urgently but no sound reached Pillyse's ears.
"Wait," Pillyse whispered, though she wasn't sure her voice existed there. "I can't hear you."
The other Denova began to walk toward her.
The air grew colder.
Pillyse wanted to step back, but her body wouldn't respond. Her heart pounded, though fear wasn't quite the right word. She didn't sense malice, only urgency. Sadness. Something deeply buried.
She had never thought Denova was a bad person. If anything, she felt she had inherited a life weighted by loneliness and quiet suffering.
The spirit stopped in front of her.
They stared at each other.
It felt as though Denova was reaching directly into her thoughts, crawling through the deepest parts of her mind where memories and instincts tangled together. Then Denova opened her mouth.
And finally, sound came.
"Be careful."
The world shattered.
Denova gasped awake as a sharp knock echoed outside the door.
She jolted upright, heart racing, ink smudged across her fingers.
"Lady Denova?" came a composed voice. "Dinner will be ready shortly."
She opened the door to find Head Maid Patricia standing there, calm as ever.
"Yes—yes," Denova said quickly, pressing a hand to her chest. "Thank you. I'll come."
As Patricia led her away, Denova tried to steady herself, but the dream clung to her thoughts like a warning she didn't yet understand.
Dinner that evening was noticeably quieter than usual.
The long table was still set beautifully silver gleaming, candles burning low and steady. The soft clink of cutlery echoed louder than it should have, and even the servants moved with extra care, sensing the shift in the air.
Denova ate politely, though her appetite had wandered somewhere far from the dining hall. Her thoughts were still tangled in sketches, half-formed ideas, and the lingering unease from earlier. Duke Elarion, seated across from her, watched her with practiced restraint present, attentive, and yet carefully distant, as though proximity itself required discipline.
Midway through the meal, he cleared his throat.
It was a small sound, but it carried weight.
"The documents from Ravenscroft have arrived," he said calmly. "Your butler has been… exceptionally diligent."
Denova's hand paused.
"You mean, Gorfan Heyer?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," the Duke replied. "I informed him that you would be staying here temporarily. He complied without hesitation."
Pillyse now living as Denova felt a sharp, unexpected pang in her chest.
Gorfan had stayed. Through years of isolation. Through a mistress who rarely appeared, who barely spoke, who let the manor fall silent around her. He had remained loyal to the Ravenscroft name when there had been little else left to serve.
And now here she is attending royal events, designing dresses, drawing attention she isn't sure she deserved.
"I should be there," she murmured, gaze dropping to her plate. "Managing the land. Seeing things with my own eyes."
The Duke set his utensils aside.
"You will, and it's practically my fault." he said gently. "And you won't do it alone."
She looked up, startled, not by the words themselves, but by how easily he said them.
"You mean… you'd help me?"
He nodded. "Of course. I told you I'm always by your side, and i'll always do my best to make you feel comfortable and at ease as possible. Governing always looks terrifying from the outside. Ledgers, disputes, supply lines, politics disguised as courtesy, it's enough to frighten anyone." A pause. "But you're not ignorant, Denova. You observe. You ask questions."
Then, more softly, "Tell me, how was it done in your world?"
She hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around her napkin. Then she exhaled.
"News reports," she said. "Business strategies. Economics." A faint smile touched her lips. "My father was a powerful businessman."
The smile didn't last.
"Brilliant," she added quietly. "Cruel."
The Duke didn't interrupt. He didn't press. He simply listened, his expression unreadable but his attention unwavering. Sometimes silence is the kindest response.
"I learned how systems work," she continued after a moment. "How money moves. How decisions ripple outward. I just never learned how to feel safe while doing it."
He met her gaze then. "You won't have to learn that part alone."
Something in her chest eased at that.
"I'll go to Ravenscroft tomorrow," she said finally, resolve settling into her voice. "I owe them that."
The Duke inclined his head in approval. "I'll make the arrangements."
For the first time that evening, Denova felt certain of something not just her decision, but her direction.
And as the candles burned lower and dinner quietly drew to a close, neither of them noticed how much closer the distance between them had become, not in chairs or steps, but in trust.
The next day, Ravenscroft Manor stood waiting.
It's iron gates loomed beneath a sky stretched thin with cloud, the stone walls bearing the quiet weight of generations who had lived, ruled, and suffered within them. To Denova, it felt less like returning home and more like stepping into a new life.
Gorfan Heyer awaited her at the gates.
He bowed deeply the moment he saw her, spine straight despite his age, hands clasped with practiced precision. His loyalty was not loud, nor dramatic, it was the kind forged through years of service without recognition.
"My lady," he greeted.
His eyes lingered just a second too long on her face, not with suspicion, but with careful curiosity. As though he were searching for something familiar… or perhaps confirming that something had changed.
Still, there was warmth there. Relief, even.
Denova inclined her head. "Gorfan. I'm sorry it took me so long to come."
He shook his head at once. "You are here now. That is what matters."
And perhaps, he thought silently, how she was here mattered even more.
She did not waste time.
Denova spent the day buried in records—ledgers of grain production, tax agreements, labor contracts, repair requests that had gone unanswered for months. She reorganized what had been neglected, cross-checked accounts, and began drafting plans that balanced efficiency with mercy.
She asked questions.
Smart ones.
"What crops failed last winter?"
"Which villages lack healers?"
"How often are the roads inspected?"
Gorfan answered each patiently, his initial surprise slowly giving way to quiet admiration. This was not the withdrawn lady who once shut herself away behind locked doors and unread letters.
This woman listened. This woman thought.
By late afternoon, when Denova finally leaned back from the desk and rubbed her temples, Gorfan spoke again.
"My lady," he said carefully, "would you like me to prepare the library?"
Her head lifted at once. "The library?"
A faint, almost proud smile touched his lips. "Your private collection. In the basement. I cleaned it myself."
Denova blinked. "You… cleaned all of it?"
"Yes," he replied simply. "The key is where you always kept it. The hidden compartment. Third drawer. Left side."
She stared at him for a moment before smiling softly. "Thank you. Truly."
He bowed again. "Dinner will be prepared shortly. Inform me when you return."
And with that, she descended alone.
The staircase spiraled downward, the air cooling with every step. When she unlocked the door and pushed it open, the scent of old paper and polished wood washed over her.
Denova stopped.
The library was vast.
Not merely large—but endless.
Shelves stretched farther than the eye could comfortably follow, ladders tucked between towering rows of books. Candles flickered to life as if sensing her presence, revealing spines marked with subjects both common and forbidden.
History. Theology. Magic theory. Medicine. Foreign languages. Demonology.
Denova let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
"You weren't just a reader," she murmured to the echo of the woman who once owned this body. "You were obsessed."
She wandered for hours, pulling volumes at random. Many were annotated in neat, careful handwriting—Denova's original thoughts preserved like ghosts between the lines.
Then she focused.
Curses.
Devils.
Contracts bound by blood and soul.
She searched meticulously, cross referencing names, symbols, ancient treaties. Lord Velios Morvane appeared nowhere at least not fully. Only fragments.
Warnings without solutions.
Knowledge without mercy.
Still, as the hours passed, a sensation crept up her spine.
The unmistakable feeling of being watched.
Denova paused mid-step, her fingers brushing the spine of a book she hadn't pulled yet. The candles flickered, just once.
She turned.
Nothing.
Yet the silence felt listened to.
Far above the manor, cloaked figures moved along the perimeter walls, their presence hidden but deliberate.
The crown prince's knights watched patiently from the shadows, memorizing her routines, her expressions, her moments of solitude.
Elsewhere, the emperor's men recorded the same details, cross checking, comparing, calculating.
Two forces observing the same woman.
Two sets of questions.
And Denova alone in the depths of her library remained unaware that her quiet search for answers had drawn eyes far more dangerous than any cursed text.
Somewhere unseen, fate paused.
And then, with careful interest, began taking notes.