Elsie stood frozen, her eyes wide, locked on Alistair's chilling stare. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding like a trapped bird. Betray Julia? The thought was a sharp, physical pain. Or face Alistair's anger? The choice was terrible, a cliff she was forced to stand on.
Her small hand trembled, clenching into a tight fist at her side. She remembered Miss Harrow's kindness, the warmth in her eyes. But then she remembered Lord Blackwood's cold fury, how he'd looked at Mr. Corwin. She remembered what Miss Thorne had hinted at. His power was everything here. Her own place, her safety, it all depended on this moment.
"Yes, my lord," she whispered, the words barely a breath, a faint, scared squeak. "I… I get it. I'll do what you ask." The lie felt like ash on her tongue, heavy and awful.
Alistair watched her, a slow, scary smile forming on his lips. It wasn't a real smile; his eyes stayed cold, thinking. "Good." He turned back to the fire, its flames dancing, reflecting in his sharp blue eyes, like he'd won. "Now, go. And don't forget your job, Elsie. To Miss Harrow. And to me."
Elsie curtsied quickly, a stiff, unsure movement, then hurried out of the room, her heart beating like crazy. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving Alistair alone in the quiet. The flickering firelight made long, winning shadows that danced on the rich tapestries.
Alistair poured more brandy, the crystal making a soft sound. He swirled the amber liquid, the smell filling the air. He wasn't drunk, no. Just… satisfied. For now. The anger had gone down, replaced by a cold, firm calm. He'd planted the seed. Now, he'd just wait for it to grow.
Julia's defiance. That surprised him. A spark he hadn't really expected. But a challenge he liked. She had spirit, fire. Marian had it once, before this house, before Corwin. Julia's spirit, though, was wild, and that made her dangerous. And appealing.
He lifted the glass to his lips, watching the fire. Corwin. That little rat. He thought he could sneak back into his life, poison his home, take what was *his*. Alistair's hand tightened on the glass. He'd make sure Corwin wished he'd never stepped foot in Blackwood Hall again. He'd make sure Julia saw him for the slimy worm he was.
Elsie. A small, unimportant creature. Easily scared, easily swayed by promises of safety. She'd be his eyes, his ears. He needed to know every whisper, every secret shared. He needed to control the story. For Julia's sake, of course. To save her from herself, from the bad path Marian took. He was her protector. Her guardian. And she'd see that. She *would*.
He drained the glass, the warmth spreading through him, a cold satisfaction settling deep inside him. The game had truly begun. And Alistair always played to win.
The next morning, Julia woke slowly, like she was coming out of a deep sleep. No screams. No chilling whispers. No phantom scratches. For the first time since she got to Blackwood Hall, she hadn't had nightmares. A small, delicate feeling of relief spread through her chest.
Her head still hurt, a dull throb behind her eyes, but it wasn't anything like the awful pain of last night. The migraine had gone, leaving just a little tenderness. She pushed herself up, wincing a bit, then swung her legs over the side of the bed.
A soft knock. "Miss Harrow? Are you awake?" It was Elsie's quiet voice.
"Come in, Elsie," Julia called out, her voice still a little rough.
Elsie came in, her small face pale, her eyes still a bit wide and shadowed, like she hadn't quite woken up from a bad dream. She carried a pitcher of warm water and fresh linens. "Good morning, Miss Harrow," she mumbled, her voice shaking a little. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, thank you, Elsie," Julia said, a real smile touching her lips. She noticed how stiff Elsie's shoulders were, how she wouldn't quite meet Julia's eyes. "Are you okay, dear? After… last night?"
Elsie flinched, a tiny shudder. "Yes, miss. I… I was just worried about you." She looked away. "Lord Blackwood… he just wanted to ask about your health. He was worried, he said." Her voice sounded flat, like she was reading from a script.
Julia frowned, a little uneasy feeling poking at her. But she pushed it down. Elsie was scared, of course. "Thank you, Elsie. You're a sweetheart." She got out of bed. "Could you help me get ready? I should go down for breakfast." She just wanted to avoid another fight with Alistair, no more accusations or quiet threats. Just some normal, if that was even possible in this house.
Elsie moved fast and quietly, picking a simple, nice dress of forest green, the fabric soft against Julia's skin. Her fingers, usually quick, seemed a little stiff as she buttoned it up. Julia watched her, that nagging feeling staying. Something had happened with Alistair. Elsie was different. More closed off.
As Elsie finished with her hair, pulled back in a neat bun, a louder knock sounded on the door. Not Finch's light tap. Not Agnes's hard rap. This one was confident. Knowing.
"Julia? Are you decent?" Silas's voice, low and warm, came through the wood. A smile, small but real, touched Julia's lips.
"Yes, Silas," she called back, a lightness in her voice she hadn't felt in days.
The door swung open. Silas stood there, perfectly dressed, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips. His amber eyes, bright and alive, swept over her, a flicker of admiration in their depths. "Ah, Miss Harrow. You look surprisingly well for someone who was at death's door last night."
Julia felt a blush creep up her neck. Elsie, behind her, stiffened almost without anyone noticing. "You're overstating it, Silas."
"Maybe." He stepped into the room, his gaze staying on her. "But I have to say, it's nice to see you on your feet. I was genuinely worried." His eyes met hers, a silent understanding passing between them.
"Breakfast is being served downstairs, Miss Harrow," Elsie broke in, her voice quiet, almost shy, drawing their attention.
"Great," Julia said, turning to Elsie. "Thank you, Elsie." She glanced at Silas. "Ready?"
"After you," Silas said, stepping aside, giving a small, fake bow, his hand gesturing towards the door with a showy flourish. Julia found herself smiling, a real smile. The tension from last night still hung around, like a heavy coat, but Silas's presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight cutting through the heavy gloom of Blackwood Hall. He opened the bedroom door wide for her, an old-fashioned, charming gesture that made her feel, for a quick moment, like a lady, not a captive.
As Julia and Silas walked down the grand staircase, a hushed quiet seemed to fall over the house. Every shiny surface reflected them, their figures small against the huge hall. Julia felt a tingle on her skin, like she was being watched.
The dining room doors were open, showing the long, polished mahogany table. Alistair was already sitting at the head, perfectly dressed, his back straight. His sharp blue eyes, cold as ice, were fixed on Silas as he came in, then flickered to Julia with a possessive heat. He was glaring daggers.
Mr. Finch stood silently to Alistair's right, a grim, unmoving shadow. Agnes Thorne stood to his left, her severe face just as unreadable, though Julia felt the weight of her judging stare. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a strong hum of dislike.
Silas, though, seemed completely fine. A faint, almost invisible smirk played on his lips as he met Alistair's icy gaze. He seemed to enjoy the quiet challenge, the unspoken war fought across the shiny floor.
Julia, however, felt a wave of really uncomfortable feelings. Alistair's stare was like a physical weight, pressing down on her, choking her. She felt like something under a microscope, every move watched, every breath noticed. It was unsettling.
As they got to the table, Silas, always the charming troublemaker, pulled out the chair next to Alistair for Julia, a gesture that was both polite and subtly defiant. "Your seat, Miss Harrow," he mumbled, his voice just loud enough for her and Alistair to hear.
Julia felt her cheeks get warm. "Thank you, Silas," she said softly, avoiding Alistair's burning eyes. She slid into the seat, feeling the cold tension coming from Alistair.
Silas then went to the chair across from Julia, across the table from Alistair, settling in with a completely calm air. He met Alistair's glare with a casual, almost daring half-smile.
Finch, still as a statue, finally gave a small nod to the waiting maids. They moved silently, like ghosts, bringing in plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and tea. The soft clinking of dishes was the only sound in the huge room, made louder by the heavy quiet.
Alistair didn't speak. He just ate, his movements precise, almost like a machine. The silence was heavy, stifling, broken only by the scrape of forks and knives. Julia felt his eyes constantly on her, a physical weight, a burning pressure on her skin, even when she refused to look up. It was a possessive stare, a constant reminder of him, his claim over her.
The silence was suffocating, going on forever. Julia felt the crushing weight of it, the quiet accusations, the simmering dislike. She needed air. She needed to get out.
She finally broke the quiet. "I think," Julia said, her voice cutting through the tension like a fragile knife, "after breakfast, I'd like to take a walk. To clear my head."