Nevan
The witch's words had not left me since the night I first heard them.
I stood at the window of the guest chamber, watching the grey morning settle over the grounds of Briarwood Manor, and let them circle through my mind the way they always did, carving into the walls of my skull like scripture.
She will come to you unbroken. Unclaimed. Born of nothing and raised by no one. She is your last road, Duke. If she cannot save you, nothing can.
I had dismissed it at first. I had dismissed all of it. The prophecies, the rituals, the desperate pilgrimages to women who lived in the cracks of the world and spoke in riddles. Three years of searching. Several fiancées and failures that still sat heavily on my conscience like stones I would carry to my grave.
But then Clyde had come to me with the girl's name, and the details had aligned one by one, falling into place with a precision that surprised me. I knew in that instant that I must have her.
She was orphaned, raised in obscurity, unclaimed by any household or name, but most importantly, she was born on the cusp of the old season, the same night the curse had first appeared.
And when I saw her in that room, looking terrified yet defiant, pulling against those nurses with resolve in her eyes, something inside me shifted. Something I hadn't felt in a very long time.
Hope.
The door opened behind me.
I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Jennifer's footsteps had a particular rhythm that always announces her presence before she arrives. She crossed the room and dropped something on the table. A soft thud, followed by the rustle of paper wrapping.
I turned, and sitting on the table was a bouquet of red roses tied with red silk ribbon.
I exhaled slowly, trying to control the annoyance growing inside me.
"I asked you to get peonies."
"And?"
"Rosamund doesn't like roses."
Her eyes narrowed. "How would you possibly know what she likes? You've known her for less than twelve hours."
"I pay attention." I snapped, looking at the roses. "Take them back. Find peonies. White, if they have them."
She didn't move. Her arms folded across her chest, and her jaw tightened the way it always did before she said something she knew I wouldn't want to hear.
"I'm not your maid, Nevan."
"I didn't say you were."
"Then stop treating me like one." She gestured at the bouquet. "I went out at dawn to find flowers for a girl you barely know, and instead of thanking me, you're sending me back out like an errand boy. If you want peonies for your bride, then get them yourself."
"And have the entire village in chaos? You know how people react when they see me."
"Then send someone else," she shrugged, "or shut up about the flowers already."
I studied her for a moment. The anger in her voice couldn't be because of the flowers, and we both knew it.
"Why have you been like this?" I asked quietly. "Since last night, you've been irritable and childish. It's unlike you."
The moment the word left my mouth, I regretted it instantly. But it was too late.
"Childish?" Her face colored into rage as she stepped toward me. "Me, childish? Are you going to stand there and act like you're not the cause?"
"Jennifer—"
"No. You don't get to do that." She jabbed a finger in my direction. "From the minute you set eyes on that girl, you've treated me like I don't exist. You overruled me in front of Arthur and the nurses. You silenced me not once, but twice and in front of Lord Fletcher. You made me look like a fool in front of the servants, and when I tried to maintain the protocols you put in place, you cut me off like I was some stranger who wandered in off the street."
"You were out of line with her, and you know it."
"I was doing my job." Her voice broke on the last word. "The same job I've done for you through every one of these arrangements. The same job I did when Catherine fell apart. The same job I did when Elowen vanished. When Margaret—" she stopped herself, her chest heaving. "You do this every time, Nevan—every single time. A new fiancée arrives, and suddenly I'm invisible. You pour everything into her, you rearrange your life around her, and when it all falls apart—because it always falls apart—you come back to me, looking for comfort."
"That's not true, Jennifer. I—"
"And I'm just supposed to be there," she cut me off. "Waiting. Like I always am. I have feelings too, Nevan. I'm getting to my wits' end putting up with everything. But for the stupid society and its stupid rules, I would have been the one..." she trailed off, turning away from me.
The unfinished sentence hung in the air between us. I knew what she'd almost said. She knew I knew. And neither of us was willing to say it out loud.
I turned back to the window.
"This time is different," I said quietly.
She let out a bitter laugh. "You said that about Elowen, too."
"Everything the witch described has come to pass—every detail. The timing, the circumstances, the girl herself, it all aligns. This isn't a coincidence, Jennifer. This is what I've been waiting for." I paused. "She could be the one who ends this. I can feel it."
"You can feel it?" she scoffed. "That witch was a fraud, Nevan. A desperate old woman who told you exactly what you wanted to hear because you paid her handsomely to do so. Your desperation is clouding your senses. You can't see things for what they are."
"You're wrong."
"Am I? Because from where I'm standing, all I see is a man chasing the same dead hope for the seventh time and expecting a different outcome."
"Rosamund isn't like the others," I said it before I could stop myself, and the certainty in my own voice surprised me. "She tried to negotiate with me. For a girl who did not grow up in society, she's smart and fearless." I turned from the window. "The others never did that. They were too afraid or too eager. She's neither."
A flicker of unease shifted in Jennifer's expression, buried beneath the anger.
"Be careful, Nevan," she said, her voice dropping. "You're already doing her whims. Three days here, peonies instead of roses…what's next? How far are you willing to bend before she…" she paused.
"Before she what?" I challenged. The anger I thought I'd buried was already clawing its way back to the surface.
Her eyes lit with a glee that turned my stomach. She knew exactly what she was about to say, and she savoured every syllable.
"Before she ends up dead, like the others."
Something inside me shattered.
I closed the distance between us in two strides, my hand finding her throat before my mind could intervene. My fingers pressed against the sides of her neck, pinning her in place. Her breath hitched. The rapid flutter of her pulse drummed against my palm like a trapped bird.
"Listen to me carefully," I growled. "This time, I will not look away from your hand in things. Whatever you did before — whatever part you played — I've let it pass because I needed you. But if anything happens to Rosamund, if she so much as stumbles on a staircase and I discover your fingerprints anywhere near it, there will be no conversation or second chance." I tightened my grip. "Are we clear?"
Her eyes went wide with shock. In all our years together, I had never put my hands on her nor threatened her this way.
The realisation of what I was doing hit me, and guilt washed over me.
Instantly, I released her.
She staggered backwards, her hand flying to her throat. A ragged gasp tore from her chest as she caught herself against the edge of the table and tried to breathe.
I reached for her. "Jennifer, I —"
She slapped my hand away before it made contact.
"Stay away from me." She straightened slowly, her fingers still pressed against the marks already forming on her skin. When she looked up, every trace of vulnerability had been wiped clean, replaced by an unusual coldness.
"You'll come back to me," she said softly. "You always do." A thin smile crossed her lips. "And with the way that girl is already making demands? I give it a month before she dies. If she's lucky."
"Jennifer," I called out in a warning tone.
She let out a brittle, mirthless laugh. "You're a monster, Nevan Wilder. And only I can stomach your demons. I will never forgive you for what you did today."
She turned, walked to the door, and slammed it behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.