Denova had lost all sense of time.
The Ravenscroft library was vast enough to feel alive, its towering shelves curving into shadow. Ladders leaned at odd angles, abandoned mid-climb. Lamps burned low, their flames trembling, glass chimneys fogged with heat. The air smelled of dust, old leather, and ink, centuries of memory pressed into paper.
Denova sat on the floor, back against a shelf, skirts pooled around her like she'd collapsed there rather than chosen to sit. Books surrounded her in careless stacks, some open, some marked with scraps of parchment, others flipped facedown in quiet rejection.
Her fingers were smudged black with ink. Her neck ached. Her eyes burned so badly she had to blink every few seconds just to keep the words from blurring together.
Still, she turned another page.
"Just one more," she muttered to herself, voice hoarse. "One more journal. One more ledger. One more… anything."
She stood, climbed a ladder, only to climb back down again because she'd forgotten what she was looking for. At one point, she spent a full minute staring at a shelf before realizing she was holding the same book she'd already read twice.
"Wonderful," she sighed. "I'm officially losing my mind."
She rubbed her face with both hands, leaving faint ink streaks on her cheek, and reached for another volume anyway.
That was when she heard it.
Soft footsteps. Careful. Measured.
"My lady."
Denova startled so hard she nearly dropped the book on her foot. She spun around to find the butler standing a respectful distance away, posture immaculate as always, hands folded calmly in front of him, though his eyes flicked briefly to the state of the room.
Books on the floor. On chairs. On the table. One precariously balanced on the arm of a sofa.
He said nothing about it. Not a word.
"Dinner has been prepared," he said gently. "You may, of course, continue afterward."
Denova blinked at him, her brain taking a moment too long to process the words. Then her stomach made a very unladylike sound.
She froze.
The butler pretended not to hear it.
Her shoulders slumped, and she laughed quietly, embarrassed. "I knew I forgot something."
She followed him to the dining room in a daze, still half-thinking about family records and old names. The table was set simply but beautifully, candles casting warm light over polished silver and porcelain. The smell of food hit her properly this time, and she realized she hadn't eaten since morning.
She sat, picked up her utensils… then paused.
Looking up at the butler, she asked, almost casually, "Won't you eat with me?"
The effect was immediate.
He stiffened, eyes widening, spine straightening as if she'd drawn a sword instead of spoken. "My lady, I could never," he said quickly. "That would be deeply improper."
Denova opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She studied him, the careful pride, the quiet devotion, the way his refusal came not from distance but from respect.
"…All right," she said at last, smiling softly. "Then I'll eat enough for two. I refuse to let your hard work go unappreciated."
Something warm flickered across his face before he bowed. "Thank you, my lady."
True to her word, she did eat more than usual, slowly, thoughtfully, as if the meal itself were another act of research to be taken seriously. When she finished, she thanked him sincerely and rose at once.
Back to the library.
Fatigue settled into her bones like lead, but she pushed through it. Midnight came and went unnoticed. Every book told the same story, Ravenscroft brilliance, Ravenscroft influence, Ravenscroft intellect sharpened to a blade. They were not cruel, not hollow.
They were formidable.
Denova closed the final volume and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
"So you weren't empty, and you're genuinely obsess with books." she whispered to the memory of the woman she'd replaced. "You were… extraordinary."
A knock echoed through the quiet.
"My lady," the butler said, opening the door just enough, "the Duke has arrived."
Her heart stuttered. " Why did he come this late?"
She was on her feet instantly, smoothing her skirts, brushing ink from her hands only succeeding in smearing it further. She gave up and hurried down the corridor.
Elarion Ashenveil stood in the guest room with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at nothing.
He had told himself this was a reminder.
A courtesy.
A simple check.
You should leave, he told himself. Now.
The door opened.
Denova stood there, hair loose from hours of neglect, eyes alight with exhaustion and quiet fire. The sight of her undid him in a way no battlefield ever had.
"Your Grace?" she asked. "Why are you here?"
Color rose to his cheeks before he could stop it. He exhaled. "I was in a meeting and as it ended i happened to past by. I thought of you. I wanted to see if you need any help, and if you've been resting."
"And if I wasn't?"
"I planned to leave," he said quickly. Too quickly.
She smiled, amused, disarming. "You don't have to leave just because I'm awake."
Elarion felt the weight of that sentence settle deep in his chest.
She told him about the library, the work she had finished, the familiarity of responsibility. When she spoke of her past life of helping her father, of finding comfort in order….he just watched her carefully. Just being able to watch her makes me feel like i can just sit here for eternity.
She is stronger than she knows, he thought. And I am not strong enough to deserve her.
"Where will you sleep tonight?" he asked, though he already feared the answer.
"Here," she said simply. Then, almost as an afterthought, "You may stay as well. It's late."
He hesitated. Will I? I can't, being more closer to her will only bring us pain.
Outside, movement flickered, steel catching moonlight.
Knights.
Watching.
Already? I know they will investigate her but it's earlier than i expected His jaw tightened.
Well, i guess it's not that bad for me to stay just to ensure her safety. Yes! I'm only staying to make sure nothing bad happens.
"I'll stay," he said at last. "Just for tonight."
Neither of them slept.
Elarion lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for every sound, every breath. Wanting to be near her. Terrified of what that nearness would cost.
Love her, the curse whispered. And die.
Morning came pale and quiet.
Over breakfast, the butler asked softly, "When will you return, my lady?"
Denova smiled. "Three times a week. I have plans regarding to the new business projects for the people."
His smile was that of a grandfather promised a visit.
As the carriage rolled toward the Duke's manor, Denova and Elarion spoke of trivial things, the condition of the road, the plans waiting for them at the estate. When their gazes met, they lingered a second too long before turning away. The rhythm of the wheels seemed to echo the tension between them, steady and inevitable.
"The road seems rougher than usual," Denova said, glancing at the uneven stones. Elarion's gaze lingered just a moment before he looked away.
The carriage bounced again "Hold on tight," Elarion said, his voice low but firm. "The road's uneven ahead, watch your step and keep your grip." She noticed, as she always did, the careful distance he kept, the way he avoided any look that lingered too long.
Far from Ravenscroft, beneath cold chandeliers and watchful shadows, the Crown Prince received his report.
"The Duke remained at the manor overnight," the knight said carefully. "They slept in separate rooms. No impropriety was observed."
Altheron's fingers curled slowly against the arm of his chair. Separate rooms yet the words did nothing to ease the sharp, unfamiliar ache tightening in his chest. Too close, his mind whispered. Too soon.
"Were there guards?" he asked, his voice calm despite the tension beneath it.
"Yes, Your Highness. They're watching her."
Silence stretched. Then the prince rose. "Continue the surveillance," he said at last, eyes dark with intent. "But this time… I won't rely on reports."
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, fate shifted its weight, quietly, deliberately drawing one step closer to collision.