The grand oak doors of Duke Greysen's mansion swung open, revealing Beatrice to the waiting butler. A nervous flutter stirred in her stomach. This visit to Porthaven, this meeting with the Duke, was all her father's doing. Fifteen years ago, Lord Thaddeus of Redharth and the Duke had struck a bargain: a marriage between their children. Now, Beatrice was here to break that pact.
The butler, a man whose face seemed etched with years of unspoken secrets, guided her through echoing halls to a vast room, its size almost overwhelming. Duke Greysen sat by a roaring fireplace, his silhouette stark against the dancing flames. He looked up as she entered, a knowing smile playing on his lips, but his eyes held a flicker of something else – hope, perhaps?
"Beatrice of Redharth," he greeted, his voice a low rumble. "I've been expecting you."
Beatrice curtsied, her voice barely a whisper. "Your Grace."
He gestured to a plush chair. "Please, sit. Your father has kept me well-informed of your… intentions."
Beatrice swallowed, gathering her courage. "My lord, I've come to formally decline the betrothal to your son, Liam."
The Duke leaned back, his gaze steady, but a hint of disappointment clouded his usual composure. "And why is that, my dear? Liam is a fine young man, a worthy husband."
Beatrice swallowed, "With all due respect, your Grace," she said, finding her voice, "Liam and I… we are not suited. Our lives, our desires, they are vastly different. I cannot, in good conscience, marry a man I do not love."
A long silence hung in the air, broken only by the crackling fire. Then, the Duke sighed, a low, almost weary sound. "I understand your feelings, Beatrice. However, I must say that I had hoped… I had hoped you might reconsider. Liam is a good man, and this union would bring our families much benefit."
Beatrice's heart sank slightly. She had expected a more decisive end to this. "My lord, I have given this much thought. My happiness cannot be sacrificed for the sake of a family alliance."
The Duke studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned forward, his voice softening. "Very well, Beatrice. I respect your decision, though I confess I am disappointed. Perhaps… perhaps in time, you will see the wisdom in our original agreement." He paused, a subtle hint of hope lingering in his tone. "But for now, consider the betrothal… broken. However, I would be pleased if you would reconsider in the future." He offered a small, almost wistful smile.
Duke Greysen, his mind still preoccupied with Beatrice's refusal of the betrothal, decided to introduce the young woman to his eldest daughter, Arabella, He headed towards Arabella's chambers, a faint hope stirring within him that a meeting between the two might change Beatrice's mind.
The butler, his usual impassivity momentarily fractured, hesitated before opening the door. A gasp escaped his lips. Inside, Arabella stood before a man, holding a shimmering dress that had an opening at the back revealing her bruises, a young man standing close infront her. The young man's presence, however, was far from ordinary. An aura of immense power, a palpable wave of magical energy, emanated from him, shocking the Duke.
"Arabella! What are you doing with that man! Who in the seven hell is that" the Duke exclaimed, his voice sharp with surprise and a hint of anger.
Arabella turned, her face a mixture of guilt and defiance. "Father, this is Jack," she said, gesturing to the young man. "He's… he's going to help me." while holding her elegant dress
"Help you with what? and why are you naked!" the Duke demanded, his eyes narrowing. The young man's mana still thrummed in the air, a force that felt both alien and strangely compelling.
"Father, it's my curse… I let him see my bruises because of it—because maybe he could help me." Arabella explained, her voice trembling slightly. "the curse that always bring catastrophe on my birthday, in three months. He told me… he's going to protect me."
The Duke stared at Arabella, then at Jack, his anger battling with a dawning sense of understanding. He saw the genuine fear in his daughter's eyes, and the unwavering resolve in Jack's. The power emanating from Jack was undeniable, a force that could possibly counteract the curse. With a sigh, he conceded. "Very well," he said, his voice still laced with disapproval. "But I expect explanations."
He invited Jack and Arabella to join him and Beatrice in his study. The atmosphere was thick with tension as they entered. Beatrice, who had been patiently waiting, gasped when she saw Jack. Her eyes narrowed.
"Jack?" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? And with her?" Her gaze flicked between Jack and Arabella, suspicion and a hint of something else – perhaps jealousy?
Beatrice's eyes widened in shock as she saw Jack standing beside Arabella. Jack? Here? With Arabella? The surprise was a physical jolt, a sudden, icy grip on her heart. What in the seven hells is going on? Her voice, sharp with disbelief, cut through the tense silence. "Jack?" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? And with her?" Her gaze darted between Jack and Arabella, a mixture of surprise, suspicion, and a prickling jealousy she couldn't quite explain, coloring her features.
Duke Greysen, observing the scene with a raised eyebrow, intervened. "You two know each other?"
Beatrice, momentarily flustered, stammered a response. "Yes, Your Grace. He… he was with me. He was my… my… knight, yes, my knight!" A knight? That sounds so… formal, so inadequate. The explanation felt pathetic, even to her own ears. The carefully constructed composure she'd maintained since arriving at the Duke's mansion threatened to crumble. Why is he here? Why with Arabella? A wave of resentment washed over her.
The Duke's gaze shifted to Jack. "I see. But I found this young man in my daughter's chambers, offering his assistance."
Beatrice's eyes narrowed, her attention fixed on Jack. Assistance? What kind of assistance? Her suspicion hardened into something akin to possessiveness. He's mine. Or at least, he was. Her inner voice was a harsh whisper of accusations and hurt. The resentment intensified, fueling her sharp tone. "Offering his assistance?" she repeated, her voice laced with skepticism and barely suppressed anger.
Jack, caught in the crossfire, attempted to explain. "Ah… it's just that Arabella needs my help with a… a curse."
Beatrice scoffed. A curse? That's his explanation? Her inner voice seethed. He's going to protect her from a curse? After everything we went through together? The anger boiled over, overriding her caution. "A curse? We don't have time for this! We're leaving for Redharth immediately, and you're coming with me!" She addressed Jack with a sharp, almost angry tone, her words punctuated by a sassy glare. "You're coming with me!" He's coming with me. He belongs with me.
Arabella, however, reacted instantly. She squeezed Jack's hand, her eyes flashing with a fierce protectiveness. Beatrice watched, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. She's… possessive. Just like me. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. The Duke sighed, the weight of the unexpected complexities of the situation settling upon him.
The tension in the room was a palpable thing, thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, Jack spoke, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the storm. "Uhmm, excuse me, Your Grace, my lord, whatever you prefer to be called, could I speak with Beatrice for a moment?"
The Duke, weary from the unexpected turn of events, simply nodded his assent. Jack, without hesitation, gently took Beatrice's hand and led her out of the room, leaving the Duke and Arabella alone in the tense silence.
Once outside, away from the watchful eyes of the Duke and the intense gaze of Arabella, Jack explained himself. "So, I've been in a bit of a predicament," he began, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. "That woman, Arabella… she practically ambushed me, dragged me into her room, and then, bam! She needs my help with her curse. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just say now, 'Oh, sorry, I changed my mind. I can't help you. right?"
Beatrice listened, her anger slowly dissipating, replaced by a dawning understanding. She sighed, a soft, almost apologetic sound. "I figured as much," she admitted, her earlier sassiness replaced by a gentler tone. The anger had faded, leaving behind a vulnerability she hadn't anticipated. "But we're leaving," she stated, her voice firm but softer now. "I'm not leaving without you!"
The declaration hung in the air between them, a simple statement with a profound implication. A blush crept onto Beatrice's cheeks, a stark contrast to her earlier fiery demeanor. The sassy, confident Beatrice had vanished, replaced by a woman whose feelings were suddenly laid bare, a vulnerability that made her seem almost shy.
Before the unspoken words hanging between them could fully take root, Jack, ever the unpredictable one, burst out laughing. "I see you're not leaving without me," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Then, leaning closer, he whispered, "Do you really like me that much?"
His words, playful yet laced with a hint of genuine question, were met with a swift and decisive response. Beatrice, her earlier shyness instantly replaced by a surge of indignation, delivered a well-aimed punch to his stomach. Jack crumpled to the ground, groaning softly, his playful demeanor instantly replaced by a look of surprised pain.
After a moment, Beatrice and Jack returned to the Duke's room. Beatrice, her cheeks still flushed from the earlier altercation with Jack, approached the Duke. Her earlier anger had subsided, replaced by a quiet resolve. She offered a formal farewell, her tone polite but distant.
"Your Grace," she began, her voice measured and controlled. "Thank you for your… hospitality. We must depart now." She avoided looking at Arabella, her gaze fixed on the Duke. "I apologize if my earlier… declaration caused any offense. I hope you will understand." She curtsied, a brief, formal gesture that conveyed both respect and a desire for distance. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes, a quiet acknowledgment of the unresolved tensions that still hung in the air. "Farewell, Your Grace."
As Beatrice and Jack prepared to leave, Jack paused, turning to Arabella. His expression was serious, a stark contrast to his earlier playful demeanor. "Arabella," he said, his voice low and measured, "I need to speak with you privately." The request was direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation. He held her gaze, his eyes conveying a sense of purpose that silenced any immediate objection. The air thrummed with anticipation as the scene closed, leaving the nature of their private conversation hanging heavy with untold implications.
Arabella and Jack returned to her chambers, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Once inside, Jack, his expression serious, finally revealed his own secret.
"Arabella," he began, his voice low and hesitant, "I need to tell you something. I'm… I'm not from this world."
Arabella stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Jack continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I came to Porthaven with Beatrice because… because she knows a way for me to return to my own world. She promised to help me go home."
Silence hung in the air, broken only by Arabella's ragged breathing. Then, slowly, understanding dawned on her face. "That's… that's why your mana is so… immense, because you're not from here" she murmured, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place.
Jack nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. "I'm sorry for lying," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "I really want to help you, Arabella. I want to help you live… but… but I also want to go home. Beatrice… she's the only one who might know how."
Arabella's eyes filled with tears, a mixture of sadness and understanding. Reaching out, she took his hand, her touch gentle yet firm. "Am I not enough to convince you to stay?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Jack hesitated, his heart aching. "I don't know, Arabella," he admitted honestly. "It's only been a month. I honestly don't know if I like it here."
Arabella's grip on his hand tightened. "Why not give it a try?" she urged softly.
"What do you mean?" Jack asked, confused.
Arabella's eyes flicked downward, settling on the slender straps of her dress. Her fingers found them gently, almost shyly, tracing the silk as if unsure whether to let go. A faint blush colored her cheeks, blooming slowly as her breath caught in her throat. Then, with a quiet, deliberate slowness, she began to slide the straps down her shoulders. The fabric slipped like a secret, soft and slow, baring skin to the cool night air. But it wasn't the chill that made her shiver—it was the weight of his gaze she felt even before it found her, the unspoken question hanging between them. And in her eyes, burning beneath that lowered gaze, was a silent plea: see me… want me.