Chapter 4
A fine drizzle began to fall from the gray, overcast sky.
Annoyed at being summoned without warning, the coachman barely bothered to greet Ellie as he lazily opened the carriage door. With her head lowered, she was about to climb inside when she paused and looked back at the estate.
The Crowud Manor stood as magnificent and imposing as ever.
Yet within those splendid walls, she had never once belonged. She had existed there like mold clinging to a damp stone wall—unwanted, unnoticed, and forever out of place.
The coachman gave an impatient cough, making it abundantly clear that she should stop dawdling and get in. Ellie quickly climbed aboard.
As the estate gradually disappeared into the distance, she carefully withdrew a small folded note from inside her dress and read it once more.
Please visit the monastery on the coming Festival of Oris. Simple clothing would be best. We’ll need many hands to prepare for the autumn harvest. Fortunately, it seems we’ll also be receiving assistance from Serafiano Monastery, the one you mentioned. I look forward to seeing you then.
—Bron
The wording had been deliberately vague in case someone else intercepted the letter, but Ellie understood its true meaning perfectly.
Everything has been arranged for you to take refuge at Serafiano Monastery. Come dressed inconspicuously.
She folded the note with care and tucked it back against her chest.
The very night her father informed her of the marriage, Eliana had written to Bron, an apprentice monk at Helio Monastery, begging him to help her escape the Crowud family.
Bron often shared stories with Ellie during her visits to the monastery—her volunteer work there being almost the only time she was ever allowed outside the estate.
Once, he had spoken about a place called Serafiano Monastery.
“Serafiano Monastery doesn’t turn anyone away. Its doors are open to anyone in need. Many people live there helping with the monastery’s work without ever becoming monks.”
A monastery that welcomed anyone.
Seeing Ellie’s eyes light up in a way that was unlike her, Bron had smiled warmly.
“If you ever need help… just tell me.”
Since that day, the possibility that she might truly escape the Crowud household had made her heart race for weeks.
For the first time in her life, she’d dared to hope.
Hope that she could leave behind the mansion filled with nothing but painful memories and begin a new life somewhere else.
She had planned to formally ask her father for permission the following spring, when the flowers bloomed.
Instead, like a bolt from the blue, she’d been ordered to marry a duke she’d never even met—a man surrounded by horrifying rumors.
Calling it a political marriage almost felt too generous.
There wouldn’t even be a wedding.
Their union would be finalized with nothing more than a single archaic marriage contract.
Ellie knew exactly what role awaited her once the deal was complete.
To bear an heir for the ducal family.
After that…
She would spend the rest of her life growing old alone, just as she always had.
Or perhaps, if she proved useless, she would simply be cast aside—or traded away in yet another bargain.
It hadn’t taken Eliana long to decide to write to Bron.
I don’t want to escape one hell only to be thrown into another.
Inside the gently swaying carriage, she unconsciously clenched her hands into tight fists.
Her palms grew damp with nervous sweat as she silently steeled herself.
“We’ve arrived. You may get off.”
The coachman’s curt voice broke her thoughts as the carriage stopped before Helio Monastery.
As always, he said he’d wait near the front gate before wandering off somewhere.
It puzzled Ellie how such an irresponsible man had managed to remain in the Crowud family’s service for so long.
Still…
This time, she was grateful for it.
After meeting Bron inside the monastery, everything moved with astonishing speed.
The moment he saw her, he handed her a document.
It was a letter of recommendation addressed to the abbot of Serafiano Monastery.
“Take this with you. It’ll help.”
He spoke rapidly, nothing like his usual calm, easygoing self.
“In a little while, everyone will gather in the dining hall for supper. Slip out through the back gate while they’re distracted, then follow the path to the left. A carriage will be waiting there.”
“It’ll take you to Alderon.”
“Thank you, Bron.”
Emotion welled in her throat.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you…”
“Don’t worry.”
He flashed her a broad grin.
“We’ll see each other again soon.”
“You can repay me then.”
He waved his hand, urging her to hurry.
Following his instructions, Ellie blended naturally into the crowd heading toward the dining hall before quietly slipping away toward the rear exit.
Just as Bron had said, an old, weathered carriage waited at the end of the path.
She cautiously approached and greeted the bearded coachman.
Without saying a word, he merely jerked his head toward the carriage, signaling for her to climb in.
Looking up at the darkening sky, Eliana had a feeling the rain would soon become much heavier.
Then she boarded the carriage bound for Alderon.
As Eliana reflected on everything that had happened over the past few days, it still felt surreal that she was now sitting on the bed in a shabby inn in this unfamiliar town.
It had taken less than a single day to escape the iron confines of Crowud Manor and arrive in Alderon.
She could hardly believe it.
Having experienced something she’d never even imagined possible left her dazed…
Yet strangely restless as well.
One anxious thought gave birth to another until—
She heard voices outside the window.
Someone was whispering.
Although the window was open, the sound was unnervingly close.
Ellie rose from the bed and cautiously approached it.
Just as she leaned forward to peek outside—
A large hand shot out from the darkness.
“Ah!”
She cried out in terror, stumbling backward before crashing onto the wooden floor.
Another hand gripped the windowsill.
Then a large man dressed entirely in black and wearing a mask climbed into the room through the window.
“What the…”
His chilling voice echoed through the room.
“Why is she still awake?”
Ellie’s entire body froze.
She couldn’t even breathe.
A second figure, much slimmer than the first, slipped gracefully through the window.
He wore a mask as well.
“Hah.”
He clicked his tongue.
“How the hell did Pito screw this up?”
Pito.
That was the name of the man she’d been speaking with downstairs only moments ago.
Her mind reeled in confusion.
She had no idea what was happening.
But one thing was painfully clear.
Run.
Despite the terror turning her limbs to stone, she forced herself upright and lunged toward the door.
She never had the chance.
The larger man moved first.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back while his other hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
Ellie thrashed desperately, screaming with everything she had.
But her cries were completely smothered beneath his thick hand.
Meanwhile, the slimmer man—the one who had cursed at Pito—walked over, producing a small glass vial.
“There, there.”
He smiled beneath his mask.
“No need to struggle, miss. Let’s make this easy.”
In one swift motion, he pulled away the larger man’s hand and poured the liquid into her mouth.
Ellie desperately tried not to swallow.
But before she could spit it out, the hand covered her mouth once more.
Within seconds…
The strength drained from her body.
Her eyelids grew unbearably heavy.
For the briefest moment, the man’s eyes…
His voice…
They both felt strangely familiar.
Then her vision blurred.
Everything faded into darkness.
Tristan Carlyle silently surveyed the drawing room with an expression devoid of emotion.
At first glance, the spacious room appeared tastefully understated.
Yet everything—from the coffee table to the small wall-mounted candle holders—was of the finest craftsmanship.
The room was filled with extravagantly expensive luxuries recognizable only to those with discerning eyes.
The contradiction irritated him.
Just then, the master of the estate entered.
“Duke Carlyle.”
Marquis Crowud inclined his head politely, his slightly hoarse voice carrying through the room.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“Not at all.”
Tristan answered with impeccable courtesy.
“I should be the one apologizing for paying a visit at such an unreasonable hour.”
Neither noble looked particularly apologetic.
The marquis glanced toward the clock.
It was nearly midnight.
When Gilbert had rushed into his study earlier, visibly anxious, the marquis had assumed he’d come bearing news of Eliana.
Instead, the butler had spoken an entirely unexpected name.
“I had expected you to arrive the day after tomorrow…”
He looked carefully at the young duke seated before him.
Jet-black hair, as dark as a winter midnight.
Eyes the color of dried beast’s blood.
The resemblance was uncanny.
If someone had claimed the late Duke Carlyle himself had returned from the dead, the marquis might almost have believed it.
True, it had been over thirty years since he’d last seen the previous duke.
And even then, the man’s face had been hidden beneath a helmet.
The only feature he truly remembered was those terrifying crimson eyes.
Yet…
The aura surrounding Tristan Carlyle was almost identical.
“I had intended to arrive then.”
Tristan paused, his gaze settling briefly on the now-cold cup of tea before him.
“But…”
His crimson eyes slowly lifted.
“It seems the young lady who is to become my wife has no intention of remaining where she’s supposed to.”
