Five days since the confrontation with Elspeth. The wedding timeline holds—twelve weeks remaining, though the number feels both too far away and too close.
I've begun my investigation into House Carraig, sending my most trusted men to royal archives and old family records with instructions to be discreet. My mother can't know what I'm looking for.
The engagement situation has become toxic. Elspeth avoids me entirely—takes her meals in her chambers, declines all shared activities, finds excuses to leave any room I enter.
When we're forced together for appearances at formal dinners or receiving guests, the air between us crackles with hostility she's stopped trying to hide.
My mother notices but says nothing. Her silence is somehow worse than confrontation would be. She watches us with calculating eyes, measuring the damage, adjusting her plans accordingly.
Tonight is another formal dinner. Political allies, minor nobility, the usual performance. I sit at the head of the table in my father's old seat, nodding at appropriate intervals while Lord Braemar—one of my mother's oldest allies—drones on about grain exports.
Mairead is serving tonight. My mother's decision, I'm certain. A deliberate reminder of hierarchy, of who belongs where. Mairead moves through the room with careful invisibility, pouring wine and clearing plates without making eye contact with anyone.
I track her movements peripherally, can't help it. Every time she comes near, my awareness sharpens. When she reaches past me to refill my glass, her sleeve brushes my shoulder, and the contact sends electricity down my spine.
"—don't you think, Lord Morvaine?" Lord Braemar is addressing me.
I have no idea what he just said. "Quite right."
He looks pleased. My mother's expression suggests she knows I wasn't listening but won't call it out in front of guests.
Lord Garrett—a heavyset man three seats down, deep in his cups—leans back in his chair as Mairead approaches to clear his plate. His gaze travels over her in a way that makes my jaw tighten.
"Tell me, Morvaine," he says loudly enough to carry down the table. "Where did you find this one? She's prettier than the usual help."
The table goes quiet. Mairead freezes, plate in hand.
"Mrs. Farren is my daughter's tutor," I say carefully. "Not general help."
"Tutor, is she?" Garrett's smile is ugly. "I'd heard rumors about the bastard tutor warming more than just the schoolroom. Seems your household runs quite... informally."
The words hang in the air. Several guests shift uncomfortably. Elspeth is staring at her plate, face flushed. My mother's expression has gone dangerously still.
Something cold settles into my chest—a calm, focused rage that feels oddly familiar. Like putting on clothes I wore in another life.
I set down my wine glass carefully. Stand. Walk around the table with measured steps until I'm standing beside Lord Garrett's chair.
"Excuse us a moment." My voice is pleasant, conversational. I lean down, one hand on the back of his chair, bringing my mouth close to his ear.
The guests can't hear what I say, but I make sure every word lands with perfect clarity.
"If you speak about her again, if you look at her again, if you so much as think her name in that filthy mind of yours—I will personally ensure you regret it."
My voice never rises above a whisper. Never loses its pleasant tone.
"I know things about your business dealings that would interest the tax collectors. I know about the girl you keep in the house on Mercy Street. I know exactly how much you owe to creditors who don't take kindly to delays."
His face goes white.
"But more than that, I want you to understand something about me."
I continue, still smiling pleasantly for the benefit of watching guests,
"I am my mother's son. Which means when I decide someone needs to be removed from my path, I have resources and creativity you can't begin to imagine. And right now, Lord Garrett, you are very close to becoming a problem I need to remove."
I straighten, clap him once on the shoulder like we've just shared a friendly joke. "Enjoy the rest of your meal."
I return to my seat, pick up my wine glass and take a sip.
Lord Garrett stands abruptly, mumbling something about feeling unwell. He leaves without finishing his course. The dinner continues, conversation resuming tentatively.
Mairead has disappeared into the servants' passage. My mother is watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Elspeth won't look at me at all.
After dinner, I'm walking back to my study when I hear voices around the corner. Two servants, speaking in low tones.
"—never seen Lord Morvaine like that." The younger one sounds shaken. "Did you see his face when Lord Garrett said that about Mrs. Farren?"
"I saw." The older servant's voice is grim. "His eyes went dead, completely dead. Like looking at a man who could kill you and forget about it by breakfast."
"What do you think he said to him?"
"Nothing good. Lord Garrett looked like he'd seen death itself."
I round the corner. Both servants see me and immediately go rigid, eyes wide. The younger one actually flinches.
I smile—a slight, pleasant smile. Nod in greeting. "Good evening."
"My lord." Their curtsies are stiff, mechanical. Full of apprehension.
I walk past them down the corridor. Behind me, I hear them release held breath.
This is the second time in a week I've frightened people who work in my household. People who've known me for years. Who used to smile when they greeted me, who used to relax in my presence because I've always been patient, controlled, safe.
Now they look at me like I'm dangerous. Because I am.
I reach my study, close the door, lock it. Move to the window and stare out at the dark gardens.
My hands are steady. That's what disturbs me most. After threatening a lord at my own dinner table, after watching him flee in genuine fear, after hearing servants describe me like something monstrous—my hands are completely steady.
I should feel ashamed, should be horrified by how easily that darkness surfaced. How calm I felt while delivering those threats. How much I wanted to actually hurt Lord Garrett for speaking about Mairead that way.
But all I feel is cold satisfaction that he won't do it again.
This isn't the first time this darkness has appeared. It surfaced with Elspeth five days ago. It's been lurking underneath for years, I realize now. Cultivated by my mother through careful lessons about power and control and what it means to protect what's yours.
I've spent my entire life being controlled. Being patient. Being the dutiful son who performs goodness because that's what's expected. But something about Mairead, the threat to her, cracks that performance wide open and reveals what's underneath.
Something capable of violence I didn't know I possessed.
Or maybe I always knew. Maybe I've just been very, very good at pretending otherwise.
I press my palms against the cool window glass. In the reflection, I can see my own face. It looks calm, composed. Exactly like it always does.
But I remember Lord Garrett's expression when I leaned close. The genuine terror in his eyes. He believed every word I said. Believed I would destroy him without hesitation if he stepped out of line again.
He wasn't wrong to believe it.
I turn away from the window and sink into my chair. The investigator's report about House Carraig should arrive within days. Then I'll know the truth about Mairead's heritage, about what my mother did, about how deep this conspiracy runs.
And when I know the truth, I'll decide what to do with it.
My mother thinks she can control me forever. She thinks she's cultivated a weapon she can point at her enemies while keeping it safely leashed.
She's wrong.
The weapon has decided who it wants to protect. And it's not her.