The silence of the room was finally punctured by the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots in the corridor. It wasn't the frantic pace of a man on a hunt; it was the slow, deliberate tread of someone carrying the weight of the world, or perhaps just the weight of his own secrets.
The door handle turned with a soft, agonizing click.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my breathing to remain shallow and even. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge, the scent of expensive tobacco and the crisp, biting air of the woods clinging to his wool coat. For a long moment, he didn't move. He just sat there, a dark silhouette in the periphery of my vision.
"I know you're not sleeping, Raven," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to pull at the very air in the room.
My heart skipped. I didn't open my eyes. I couldn't risk him seeing the residual terror or the flicker of knowledge in them. "I have a headache, Cyprian," I murmured, my voice thick with a genuine, soul-deep exhaustion. "The garden... the sun was too much."
I felt his hand reach out. I braced myself for a grip, for him to haul me upright and demand to know why my shoes were missing or why Adrian had lied for me. Instead, his fingers were impossibly light as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from my forehead. His touch was cold, but his thumb lingered against my temple with a tenderness that made my skin crawl.
"My mother has a vivid imagination," he said quietly. It wasn't an apology; it was a warning. "She claimed to see a ghost in my quarters. I had to remind her that ghosts don't leave footprints."
I forced myself to turn toward him, blinking my eyes open. In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, his face looked like it had been carved from grey stone. The vulnerability I'd seen in the guest house was gone, replaced by the mask of the Don.
"Did you find your ghost?" I asked, the lie tasting like copper in my mouth.
"I found nothing but shadows," he replied, his gaze boring into mine, searching for a crack. "But shadows can be dangerous, Raven. They hide things that are better left in the dark. For everyone's sake."
He shifted, his hand moving from my face to rest over the swell of my stomach. The baby kicked, a sharp, sudden movement, and I saw Cyprian's jaw tighten. For a second, the mask slipped. There was a hunger in his eyes, a desperate need for the one thing he couldn't force: a future that wasn't built on a foundation of corpses.
"I've made arrangements," he said, his voice returning to that chilling, even keel. "No more wandering the woods. No more 'distractions' from Claire or anyone else. You'll take your meals here. Adrian will be... occupied elsewhere for the foreseeable future."
The walls of the cage weren't just closing in; they were being reinforced with iron bars.
"You're locking me in," I whispered.
Cyprian leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could feel the heat of his breath. "I'm keeping you safe. From the world, and from the things you think you want to know."
He stood up, the authority returning to his posture as he straightened his coat. He walked toward the door, but stopped with his hand on the light switch.
"Sleep, Raven. Tomorrow, we begin the preparations for the gala. You'll need your strength. It's time the world saw exactly who you belong to."
The light flickered off, and the lock clicked from the outside.
I sat up in the dark, the silk of my robe feeling like a shroud. He hadn't found the ring, Claire must have made it, but he knew. He knew I was looking, and I knew he was breaking. The gala wasn't just a party; it was a stage. And if I was going to destroy him, I'd have to do it while the whole world was watching.
I reached under the pillow, my fingers brushing against a small, jagged piece of stone I'd palmed from the garden path. It wasn't a weapon, not yet. But it was a start.