The eve of the binding ceremony was unnervingly quiet.
The usual hum of the estate, the distant clatter from the kitchens, the muffled footsteps of servants in the corridors, had been replaced by a profound stillness. It was as if the entire house was holding its breath.
I spent the day in my room, not because I was ordered to, but because the thought of walking through those silent halls and seeing the knowing looks on the servants' faces was more than I could stomach.
Eliot came and went, bringing me food I didn't eat and updates I didn't ask for. He didn't try to make small talk. He didn't offer any last-minute advice. He just moved around the room with a quiet efficiency, straightening things that were already straight, his presence a silent acknowledgment of the weight of the day.
"The Duke asked me to give you this," he said late in the afternoon, placing a small, leather-bound box on the table beside my chair.
