The iron gates groaned as they swung open, allowing passage to an ornate carriage adorned with gilded embellishments and noble insignias. The horses snorted, their breath misting in the cold air as they came to a halt before the grand entrance of Duskborne Manor.
Vaelith stood motionless upon the topmost step of the marble staircase, his presence looming like a specter against the darkened sky.
The girl stepped down from the carriage with an air of measured grace, though her posture carried an unmistakable tension. She was young—delicate features framed by cascading waves of pale gold, carefully styled but with just enough softness to suggest a rebellion against the rigid rules of nobility. Her gown was exquisite, a muted gold and deep burgundy masterpiece that clung to the expectations of high society.
Her rich brown eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered there—defiance, perhaps, or curiosity. But Vaelith did not react. He did not move, nor did he speak. He simply watched.
She ascended the stairs with measured steps, and when she finally stood before him, she lifted her chin ever so slightly. "You are late," he said at last, his voice smooth and precise, devoid of warmth yet cutting through the silence like the edge of a blade.
"The roads were muddy," she replied, her voice even, though she hesitated just a second too long before adding, "My lord." Vaelith took a slow step forward, the sound of his boots against the marble unnervingly quiet. "Excuses hold no weight in my household," he murmured. "You will learn that soon enough." Vaelith studied her for a breath longer, then turned sharply, his coat trailing behind him as he strode into the villa. "Come," he ordered. "Your lessons begin now." Without another word, she followed him.