~Duke Claude LaVelle

  He'd never meant to spy on his daughter. He'd only meant to ensure she was doing well at the Academy—the odds were stacked against her, after all.

  However, he had discovered that Florence had met with a young scholar more than once—a slight fellow with long, silvery hair. Florence had to know this was improper! Not only that, but he'd gotten word she'd met with Lord Trevor Rowanward more than once. With Elaine's engagement on the line, meeting with her intended's brother could complicate things, especially if Florence soured the relationship.

  Duke LaVelle called his youngest daughter to his study. As always, when he had to face her, his stomach twisted into knots. Guilt, most likely, he'd come to realize. But he had to be above it. She'd either forgive him, in time, or come to terms with it in her own way.

  His position did not allow him to yield to error.

  Duke LaVelle's graying brow furrowed slightly; his knuckles whitened as he clutched the edge of his open desk drawer.

  "Father."

  Oh. She'd arrived. He came to his senses and shut the drawer, locking the troubling thing inside away for another time. Right now, he had something else to address.

  "Florence, my dear," he said, coming out from behind the desk. He always felt stiff and awkward when he faced her. When she was a young girl, and she had run up to him, arms outstretched, he'd had no qualms about scooping her up in his embrace—it had felt natural. He hadn't had to think about it. She'd nuzzled into his chest and told him about her simple, childish day.

  Suddenly, the Duke froze, standing between his desk and the settee. His heart ached, and tears, of all things, pricked at his eyes. He was a man, for Saint's sake!

  "Ahem, Florence," Duke LaVelle said, his voice a bit harsher. He sat down across from her and poured the tea, blinking hard. "I've heard word of something troublesome."

  She raised a brow. "Oh?" she asked. For some reason, this annoyed him. "What could it be?"

  She took a sip of her tea, the picture of a model lady. On the surface, Florence was every bit the kind of daughter he should be proud of. He imagined Elaine sitting next to her, and, aside from her outrageous hair, could honestly not distinguish much between the two of them regarding their behaviour and etiquette.

  So why did Florence bother him, and Elaine did not? Duke LaVelle ground his teeth together, forcing a smile. "Ahem, yes. I've heard word of you meeting a young gentleman at the Academy. A fellow scholar with long silver hair. Would you care to explain, Florence?"

  Her teacup paused a few inches from her mouth, then resumed its journey. She took a sip, set down her cup, and seemed deep in thought for a few moments.

  "I'm not sure I can tell you," she finally said.

  What! The Duke was taken aback. He'd expected her to spill everything immediately, just like Elaine would. Elaine was no match for any kind of questioning—she succumbed to the slightest bit of intimidation.

  "You can't tell me, or you won't tell me?" he asked, hardening his voice. This wouldn't do. If Florence wasn't afraid of him, he'd have to find a different tactic for keeping her in line.

  "I honestly don't think I can, Father. It has to do with the King's assignment for me."

  What?! The Duke's eyebrows shot up into the wispy hairs that swooped over his forehead.

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  "Well, what about Lord Trevor, then? He has no part of that. What business do you have meeting with him without a chaperone?"

  He'd forgotten entirely about his own tea.

  "Are you spying on me, father?"

  "No, but even if I were, I have every right to. You can't be meeting with strange men, Florence. Not when your sister's engagement is at risk."

  "But—"

  "If you must meet with the silver-haired fellow, fine. But please have your maid accompany you. As for any other young men, you are to cease meeting with them for the time being. We must focus on Elaine's engagement. Do you understand?"

  The Duke looked directly at his youngest daughter, whose cheeks were slightly flushed—not with embarrassment, he realized, but with anger. Again, he was surprised. Whoever she had been as a young child was long gone. The young woman sitting before him was still closer to a stranger than kin, but he was beginning to get the feeling she was much more similar to Miles in temperament than to her own sister, and perhaps that had been the Duke's issue.

  He'd assumed that Florence would be a copy of Elaine simply because she was the next daughter in line, but in reality, Florence was disproving each assumption at every opportunity.

  Suddenly, the Duke chuckled. Not in amusement, but in irony. What would be next? Would Florence take up the sword? Saints!

  "Father?" Florence asked. "I said that I will do my best to comply with your wishes."

  "I suppose that's all I can ask of you," he admitted. "You are of age, after all."

  Florence smiled flatly, which the Duke found amusing. She wasn't afraid to openly express her displeasure about his orders. The girl had pluck!

  ?????

  ~Florence

  So Father hasn't yet learned about what happened at the Masquerade. I thought he was certainly going to punish me for that when I'd been summoned. Has Miles not told him? Or, does he know and was seeing if I would confess?

  I push those thoughts down as I head back to the annex. What happened at the Masquerade would be impossible to explain to him. If Miles had noticed I was gone for such a long time, what excuse could I give him? Everyone had seen me go out on a balcony, followed by the Prince. Everyone probably assumed what that would mean.

  When I had returned to the ballroom hours later, alone, people stared at me, whispering behind their fans. But that was nothing new. Wherever I go, people whisper, whether it's about my supposed "evil curse," my hair, my disastrous debut, or whatever other awful assumption they've made.

  I found Miles in the chaperone's lounge and told him I was ready to go home. He looked a bit perplexed, but didn't question me—after all, he was there for me, not the other way around.

  Prince Andrelandros, Lord Trevor, and Cleric Felix had all sworn never to speak about that night to anyone. Even though they all ought to be honorable and chivalrous men—men who should keep their word above all else—I can't help but be nervous that one of them will slip up, intentionally or not.

  Since that night, my dreams have been filled with a…presence. It feels dark, but not scary. More like the quiet dark in the night, when I'm warm and cozy in bed and about to drift off. It feels…almost like an ache, a longing, but whether it's coming from me or the presence, I cannot tell.

  I think it is Raius.

  My stomach twists into knots whenever I think of him, of him calling me his "bondmate." I don't like the idea that I'm already tied to him when I had no say in the matter. Yet, it is Aurora's wish that I look out for him, and I owe that much to her. So, whenever Raius and I finally do cross paths, I won't outright reject him. I can't.

  I know he had planned to go north, but there is not much there other than wilderness. I have no intention of traveling there to search for him, so if he wants to meet me, he will have to come to me.

  In the meantime, I've been heading to the practice area, despite the cold, to take out my frustration, one punch, one stab at a time. I hate feeling like I am at the mercy of others. I hate it!

  Then, there is my birthday looming in the near future. I'll be twenty and old enough to legally marry. Father hasn't mentioned anything about suitors for me, only Elaine, so I am not too worried about being married off.

  But it is a possibility.

  A possibility I do not intend to be present for. However, I do not yet have enough money for my plans.

  The future weighs on me as much as my dreams do.

  How I long for a peaceful rest without worry!

  ?????

  xo??kb