"They've come from the coast," Victor said as he knelt by the nearest crate, pulling a small blade from his boot to pry open the lid. The wood gave way with a sharp crack. He lifted the top, revealing neatly packed bolts of deep blue cloth richer in color than anything Giselle had seen in months. She crouched beside him, fingers brushing against the fabric.
"Where did this come from?" She traced the embroidered edges, silkier than she'd expected.
Victor set the lid aside. "The southern ports. I've had the merchants divert their best shipments here for the past week." He paused, looking at her with an unreadable expression. "I wanted to ensure my wife would have the gowns she deserves."
Giselle felt her breath catch. She levelled her eyes with his their breathing mingled with each other a flash of their last passionate encounter flared to life behind her eyes. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening slightly on the blue silk. "You did all this for me?" The words came out softer than intended, thick with emotion she wasn't quite ready to name.
Victor didn't answer immediately. He simply watched her, his gaze intense and searching. "For you," he murmured finally, his thumb brushing against the fabric still tangled in her grip. "And for us." His voice was low, nearly a whisper.
The space between them seemed to contract, charged with unspoken desires and fragile new connections. Giselle's pulse raced beneath her skin, her awareness of his closeness making her dizzy. What would happened if she tasted his lips once more? perhaps the feel of his calloused hands once more?
Are the items to your liking?" Giselle snapped up like a band Thornwell's interruption felt like a bucket of ice water. She stepped back quickly, smoothing her skirts with unsteady hands. Victor rose more slowly, dusting his hands off before turning to face Thornwell with that unreadable expression he wore so well.
"They are satisfactory," he said, voice cool and distant once more. The mask had slipped back into place so completely it was as if the last moment had never happened. Giselle's chest tightened with a pang of something akin to disappointment.
Thornwell nodded, glancing briefly at Giselle before turning back to Victor. "I've also received word that you are needed at the training yard."
"Excellent." Victor inclined his head slightly, but didn't move. Instead, he looked back at Giselle, his gaze dwelling on her face a moment longer than necessary. "We'll continue this later."
It wasn't a question. Giselle found herself nodding, unable to form words as she watched him turn and stride out of the chamber, his cloak swirling behind him. Thornwell lingered, looking between them with subtle curiosity.
"Your Grace," he said after a moment. "Shall I have the cloth taken to your chambers?"
Giselle nodded automatically, her mind still processing the significance of what had just transpired. Victor had ordered these fabrics specifically for her. Her mind whirled was this happening too fast? What was the next step?
After that day Giselle saw Victor less she spent her time preparing for the banquet as it was rapidly approaching, when she did see him it was different each time. Victor had always been a man of few words, but now they felt measured, deliberate, carrying an undercurrent of something deeper than simple politeness. He sought her out at the supper table, asking her opinion on the wine pairings. He watched her movements as she directed the kitchen staff, noting the color of the candles she chose for the hall. In the morning, before the household woke, she found he had left a single red rose on her writing desk, its thorns carefully trimmed. It sat there, bright against the dark wood, until Clara arrived to help her dress for the day. Giselle placed it in a small silver vase beside her bed. She didn't speak to it to anyone the blooming feeling in her chest Giselle knew what it meant and what it said about Victor.
Each time they met in the corridors or the gardens, he found some reason to touch her adjusting her shawl, straightening a cuff, his fingers brushing against her wrist or the small of her back. Once, he had caught her hand as she passed him in the great hall, turning it palm up to examine the slight callouses forming there.
"You're working too hard," he murmured, his thumb circling the base of her palm.
Giselle had blushed at the intimacy of the gesture, the heat of his hand against hers. "Someone has to ensure the banquet is ready," she replied, though her words faltered slightly.
All these moments kept her awake like a love sick young girl but she had no time to spare because the morning of the banquet arrived. It was a fresh summer evening, the remnants of the cold winter long gone though the air was still biting as expected in the north Giselle stood before her full-length mirror, fingers tracing the embroidered bodice of her deep crimson gown. The silk clung to her curves, the sleeves flowing like water as she moved. Clara had spent hours lacing her stays and adjusting the fine fabric, ensuring every detail was perfect for the banquet. A small diamond necklace glinted at her throat, a gift from her parents that she had worn only once before. The sleeves of her gown were adorned with delicate lace, the same intricate pattern etched into the edges of her collar. The gown fit her body perfectly, accentuating every curve. Her hair had been swept up in an elegant chignon, a few loose curls framing her face.
"When will our guests arrive?" Giselle had scarcely finished speaking when a sharp knock came at the door. Clara hurried to open it, revealing Thornwell standing in the threshold, his usual impassive expression giving nothing away. He bowed slightly.
"The guests are approaching the keep now, Your Grace. The Duke bids me inform you that he will meet them in the great hall while you make your entrance."
Giselle's stomach fluttered with something like nerves, though whether it was anticipation or dread she couldn't quite determine. She nodded once. "Tell him I'll be down shortly." As Thornwell withdrew, Giselle took a steadying breath. Tonight would define something. Whether it would be their marriage or her place here remained to be seen.
*******
The great hall was alive with light and sound when Giselle descended the steps, her crimson gown whispering against the stone floor. She paused at the top, surveying the scene below. The long tables were laid with white linen, silver platters glinting between gilded goblets. Tapers flickered in sconces along the walls, casting golden light across the gathered nobles and their entourages. At the center of it all stood Victor, his presence commanding even among the lords and ladies preening for attention. His dark doublet was embroidered with silver thread, the sleeves cuffed with lace that somehow didn't look delicate on him. Giselle's eyes widened at the vision he was every bit the man who had risen from nothing to rule this land. Yet tonight, she saw beyond the legend to the man himself. His golden hair caught the candlelight, his storm-grey eyes scanning the room until they found her. When he saw her, something in his posture shifted, a subtle tension giving way to... something else. Approval? Pride? Desire? The look in his eyes made her breath catch.
He moved toward her, ascending the steps with purpose, his gaze never leaving hers. When he reached her, he paused, studying her from head to toe, taking in every detail of her gown. His gaze lingered on the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her bodice, the delicate embroidery at her wrists. She looked at him, before he turned to announce her to the group Giselle felt every eye in the room shift to them as Victor raised his chin slightly, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the guests.
"My lords and ladies," he began, the words deep and resonant, "I present to you my wife, Lady Giselle of Vamerios."
The crowd rippled with polite applause, but Giselle barely heard it. She was too aware of Victor standing beside her, his hand now hovering at the small of her back a mere breath away from actually touching her. His presence emanated intense, overwhelmingly. She caught the faint musk of leather and bergamot, sensed the steady rise and fall of his chest.
She smiled greatly as he guided her to their table at the dais. The lords and ladies bowed or curtsied as they passed, their murmurs carrying notes of curiosity and speculation. Giselle took her seat with a grace she had practiced diligently, smoothing her skirts as Victor settled beside her. The first course was served a delicate soup of leeks and cream garnished with fresh herbs. Conversation swelled around the hall, the air thick with perfumed scents and the clink of silverware. But all Giselle could focus on was the man beside her. Victor ate with his usual controlled precision, speaking occasionally to the guests seated nearby. The local musicians from the village kept the atmospheres alive with lute and pipe as the meal progressed. The next course featured venison roasted to golden perfection, served with honeyed parsnips and wild mushrooms. Each bite was exquisite, though Giselle found herself more distracted by the proximity of her husband's arm than the food. When the servers cleared the platters, Victor leaned slightly toward her, his breath stirring the curls by her ear.
"You've outshone every lady here tonight," he murmured, his words meant only for her. Giselle's face warmed. "You're too kind," she replied, keeping her voice low. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "No. You're too beautiful."
Her eyes flicked to his her heart swelling she cracked a smile, "Indeed! a true vision of beauty!"
The pairs eyes snapped ahead it was a man approaching the high table, his face lined with age, his dark eyes sharp and assessing. He wore a rich blue doublet trimmed in silver, the colors of House western vale one of the most powerful families in the region. Behind him trailed two attendants and a woman with golden hair pinned up elaborately, her gown cut daringly low for a woman of her station. Victor's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly as the man bowed deeply before them.
"My lord Duke, my lady Duchess," the man said, his voice smooth as honeyed wine. "I present my daughter, Lady Elena Loris." He gestured to the golden-haired woman who curtsied with practiced grace.
Giselle rose to her feet bowing at the pair, "Welcome, please my name is Giselle." The man also bowed, "Marion, my lady."
The Duke rose as well, though his movement was slower, more deliberate. His face remained impassive as he looked at the newcomers, but Giselle caught the subtle tightening of his jaw.
"Lord Marion," he said, inclining his head in acknowledgment. "Lady Elena." The golden-haired woman raised her eyes and smiled sweetly at first, then with something sharper beneath. "Duke Victor," she murmured, curtsying with perfect balance.
Giselle watched the interaction carefully. The Duke hadn't moved to greet the woman more formally, nor had he gestured for them to sit. Lord Marion appeared unfazed by this cool welcome.
"I hear Lady Giselle hails from the southern houses? How are you faring here in the north?" Giselle straightened, meeting Elena's gaze with polite curiosity. "I have found the north... invigorating," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Though the winters are colder than I expected."
Elena's lips curved, though her eyes remained sharp. "And you, Duke Victor? Do you find your new bride as refreshing as the southern climes?" The question hung between them, too personal for a first meeting.
Victor's fingers flexed slightly at his side, but his voice remained even. "Lady Giselle has adapted admirably to Greyhaven." He glanced at Giselle, something unreadable passing in his expression before he turned back to the guests.
"My, my, Marion, are you this sly?" a woman with greying hair interjected, her voice sharp and amused as she stepped between Elena and Victor. "To bring your daughter all this way to Greyhaven without prior arrangement one might call that bold, my lord."
Marion laughed, though the sound lacked true warmth. "Boldness has always been my family's strength, Lady Isolde. I thought it past time my daughter met the Duke properly."
Giselle watched the exchange with growing tension. Lady Isolde's interruption had been strategic, and she recognized the faint hostility beneath the elderly woman's smile. She turned to the pair bowing, "Isolde of the Sunken Keep."
Lady Isolde's presence defused the moment, but Giselle's mind worked quickly. The Loris family was not just any house they were old rivals to the Duchey of Greyhaven. Their lands bordered Victor's to the west, and they had contested Greyhaven holdings for generations. The arrival of Lord Marion and his daughter Elena was not coincidence. They came seeking something.
"Indeed, Lady Isolde," Elena said smoothly, her golden eyes flicking between Victor and Giselle. "I have long admired Greyhaven from afar." Victor's expression remained carefully neutral. "And now you grace it with your presence. I trust your journey was comfortable?" Lady Isolde asked behind her goblet.
Elena's lips curved into a knowing smile. "The road was long, but the welcome more than makes up for it." She allowed her attention to linger on Victor before finally turning to Giselle, her gaze sharp. "Though I must admit, I hadn't expected such a radiant Duchess. Southern beauty does seem to flourish in our climate."
Lord Marion chuckled. "My daughter has a way with compliments, my lady." He placed a hand on Elena's shoulder, though his attention was fixed on Victor. "Though I suspect the Duke's choice in a bride is not solely based on appearance." His tone was light, but the edge of his words was clear this was not idle conversation.
Isolde snickered "Oh, you are a diplomatic one, Lady Giselle. Tell me, did the Duke find you in the southern markets, or did he have to journey far for such a refined wife?"
Victor's hand found the small of Giselle's back again, the pressure of his fingers firm and possessive as he answered. "Some things are worth the journey, Lady Isolde."
Elena's eyes glinted as she watched the gesture, her expression thoughtful. "Though I did hear a horrid rumor."
Giselle stilled she glanced at the pale woman, Isolde seemed to also tighten up, "Oh, it was most ghastly I know it's nonsense but they are saying that our great Duke didn't even show to the wedding! How ridiculous!"
Giselle's gaze snapped to Victor, then back to Elena, who stood with practiced innocence. The other nobles had fallen silent, their attention now focused on the Duke. Lord Marion's expression had turned carefully neutral, while Lady Isolde watched with keen interest. Elena's golden eyes sparkled with something that might have been amusement or satisfaction at the unease she'd caused. The great hall seemed suddenly still, the music dying away as even the musicians sensed the shift in atmosphere. Victor's hand remained pressed against Giselle's back, his fingers tensing slightly before relaxing again. His voice, when he spoke, was measured and cold as winter stone.
"Rumors have always been a plague in these parts, Lady Elena." He shifted his stance, drawing himself to his full height, the candlelight catching the silver embroidery on his doublet. "Some are more dangerous than others." Elena tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to—"
"Didn't you?" Victor interrupted, speaking more quietly, though it somehow carried more weight. Giselle felt her heart quicken as he looked at his new bride. "Giselle and I married in the presence of witnesses and priests. Her hand was duly claimed. Her vows spoken before God and man." His storm-grey eyes held hers for a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to Elena. "And yet here you are, questioning the truth of it, spreading lies as though they were fact." He turned his attention back to Lord Marion. "Tell me, Marion, do you share your daughter's... enthusiasm for courtly gossip?"
Lord Marion's face hardened imperceptibly. "Elena is merely making conversation, Victor." He emphasized the name deliberately, the lack of title a subtle barb. "Though I must say, if there were truth to such a claim—" He let the sentence hang, watching for the Duke's reaction.
Victor's jaw tightened. "If such a claim were true," he said slowly, "it would imply I have dishonored my wife."
Giselle's eyes fell, she her jaw tightening but that is what he did. Lady Isolde chimed in, "The rumors are complete hearsay, I witnessed the ceremony myself." Giselle's eye widened a fraction why would she lie for a total stranger?
Lady Isolde's sudden interjection startled Giselle and Elena alike. The older woman leaned on her cane, fixing Elena with a sharp look. "A lovely ceremony, quite touching. Though I do wonder at your sudden interest in our Duke's nuptials, Lady Elena. Has Greyhaven's lands grown so interesting to House Loris of late?"
Elena's smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure. "Naturally, I take interest in the most significant alliances formed in the region." She spread her hands in a gesture of innocence. "Surely such an... important union between the southern houses and the northern dukes is worthy of discussion?"
Lady Isolde smiled, "Yes, discussion that is all it will ever be for a woman such as yourself."
Elena's face flushed with anger, but she managed to keep her voice controlled. "And what manner of woman would that be, Lady Isolde?" she asked, her words dripping with false sweetness.
Before Isolde could respond, Lord Marion stepped forward, his hand on Elena's arm. "Enough, daughter," he said, his tone carrying an edge of warning. "We came here as guests, not to stir up old grievances." He turned to Victor with a slight bow. "Duke Victor, please accept my apologies for any discomfort we may have caused. My daughter's enthusiasm sometimes outpaces her sense."
Victor's face remained cold and impassive as he inclined his head in acknowledgment. Giselle bowed as the three of them scurried off though a small reprieve a sour taste lingered in Giselle's mouth. Giselle watched as the Loris family retreated toward the lower tables, their laughter still carrying just loud enough to be irritating. The music resumed, tentative at first, then growing in volume as the musicians sensed the tension easing or at least, pretending to ease. Her fingers found the stem of her wine goblet, tracing the smooth curve.
Victor's hand closed around hers, stilling the motion. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder, but his thumb moved across her knuckles in a slow, deliberate rhythm. A silent reassurance. Or perhaps a warning.
"Play your part," he murmured, so quiet the words almost blended with the music. "They're watching."
Giselle fought the urge to roll her eyes any feelings of warmth she had for him cooled at the mention of their wedding, "This is your fault." She said through a smile.
The wine tasted faintly of oak and iron as she forced another swallow. The lie about their marriage sat between them, sharp-edged and heavy.
"I know," Victor said.
She hadn't expected him to admit it so plainly. His fingers flexed around hers, then released, letting her pull her hand free if she wished. She didn't. The banquet hall seemed suddenly colder, the firelight flickering across the table settings in erratic patterns.
"I didn't come to the ceremony," he continued, his voice quiet. "But I will not let them make you bear that shame."
Giselle turned toward him. His profile was sharp in the firelight, the line of his jaw taut beneath the candlelight his eyes bore only the tenderest gaze. She looked away gulping down more wine, "Let's just survive this night in one piece."
The evening stretched on, Victor's hand occasionally resting against the small of her back as nobles milled around their table. Giselle made small talk with Isolde, navigated the expectations of her role, and kept Elena's knowing smirk in her periphery. The young noblewoman's gaze flicked between her and Victor too often.
Lady Isolde stood gently by Giselle, "If you would like to visit the keep you would be most welcome." Giselle's eyes lingered over the older woman's rings before she met her eyes.
She turned to Lady Isolde, grateful for the distraction. "You're very kind, my lady." "And... bold," Giselle added with a knowing smile.
Lady Isolde chuckled, the sound dry and rasping. "Boldness and survival have always gone hand in hand, dear girl." She lowered her words. "Though some call it meddling."
"Meddling saved me from worse conversation," Giselle murmured, glancing toward Elena Loris, who was watching them with a calculating stare.
Lady Isolde followed her gaze. "Ah, yes. The vulture waits for her chance to swoop." She sipped her wine thoughtfully. "Tell me, Lady Giselle how did you come to be standing at this man's side?"
Her eyes searched the hall Victor stood in the corner with some of the men he looked thoroughly engrossed in the conversation. A biting annoyance filled her chest she bit the inner part of her cheek the soiled memory of their wedding coming up like yesterday's meal. Giselle drew a slow breath, her fingers tightening around her goblet. "The same way most noblewomen do by the grace of my father and the will of the Duke." Her words were even, carefully neutral.
Lady Isolde hummed, unimpressed. "You speak as though you had no choice."
Giselle's eyes flicked to Elena Loris again, noting how the young woman still watched her, how her fingers played idly with the stem of her goblet. "We rarely do," she said softly.
Lady Isolde's gaze followed Giselle's. "Ah. And now you must contend with more than one enemy." Giselle shifted in her seat leaning in to whisper, "You didn't have to lie on my behalf."
Lady Isolde's cane tapped against the flagstones in a slow, measured rhythm as she leaned closer. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened when she smiled. "I lied because I could," she said simply. "And because I dislike watching vultures pick at fresh meat."
Giselle turned the goblet between her fingers, the candlelight flickering across the dark liquid inside. The wine's scent oaky, faintly metallic clung to her senses, but her attention remained fixed on Isolde's rings. The older woman's hands were small, veined with age, yet steady.
"Would you really care if I came to visit?" She asked with curiosity.
Lady Isolde's laugh was a quiet, rasping sound, like dry leaves scraping together. "Care? No. Interest? Most certainly." She studied Giselle with dark, sharp eyes. "You intrigue me, my dear. A woman who married a man who wouldn't attend her wedding yet stays by his side. Who doesn't grovel for scraps of affection. I wonder... what else you refuse to do?"
Giselle's fingers tightened around her goblet. The wine had warmed her, but a different heat kindled in her chest something close to anger. "I refuse to be made a fool of," she said softly.
Isolde's smile widened, revealing a flash of yellowed teeth. "Oh, you won't be a fool in public, will you?" she murmured. "But the question is what happens behind closed doors?"
Giselle's jaw clenched. She hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal. "That's hardly your concern."
"No," Isolde agreed easily. "But I am concerned about what happens when you tire of playing the dutiful wife to a man who cares more for his power than for you." She took a slow sip of wine. "He's watching you now, you know. That one." She tilted her head toward Victor, who stood across the hall, speaking with a cluster of men but his eyes were fixed on Giselle.
Her face flushed when she caught his gaze turning away her brows furrowed, "You do you realize you are speaking ill of my husband right in front of me." Her cheeks burned with frustration was she defending him or judging him. Giselle couldn't decide which.
Victor's attention lingered on her for another heartbeat before he turned back to the men. She watched the movement the way his shoulders squared, how he tilted his head slightly to listen to the man beside him, though his focus remained scattered. The lie about their wedding sat between them like a wound neither would acknowledge.
"His previous wife....." Lady Isolde began, then stopped abruptly, her fingers tightening around her cane. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. She studied Giselle's face for a long moment before continuing. "Let's just say she knew how to play the game. And how to get what she wanted."
Giselle's stomach twisted. She set her goblet down with deliberate care, her hands steady despite the tremor in her fingers. "She had fire. More than you, perhaps. Or less."
Her eyes snapped up in frustration, "Please, have some respect. You speak of things that are also none of your concern." Giselle's fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeve, the heat of the hall pressing in around her.
Lady Isolde's gaze didn't waver, though something in her expression shifted approval, perhaps, or amusement. "Spoken like a woman who still believes her husband's past doesn't touch her," she murmured. "Forgive me if I find that charmingly naïve."
The music swelled again, a lute and harp weaving through the murmur of conversations. Across the hall, Victor was speaking with Lord Darion, his hand moving through the air in measured gestures.
The music swelled again, a lute and harp weaving through the murmur of conversations. Across the hall, Victor was speaking with Lord Darion, his hand moving through the air in measured gestures. Giselle felt her head spin she was growing increasingly agitated the air felt thick and suffocating, the wine's sweetness turning bitter on her tongue. She pushed back from the table, her chair scraping against the stone floor. Lady Isolde didn't move, didn't try to stop her, simply watched with that sharp, knowing expression as Giselle turned and walked away, her skirts swirling around her ankles. The great hall blurred around her as she moved, the heat from the hearth doing nothing to warm the chill that had settled in her bones. She felt rather than saw Elena Loris's gaze tracking her movement, like a hawk spotting wounded prey. The guards opened the door to the hall Giselle stepped through the arched doorway, the cold stone beneath her feet a jarring contrast to the stifling heat of the banquet hall. The corridor stretched before her, flickering torchlight casting long, shifting shadows along the walls. She walked without direction at first, her mind a tumult of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
As she moved deeper into the keep, she heard the echo of distant footsteps and hushed conversations from behind doors she passed. A servant hurried by, head bowed, offering a fleeting curtsy before continuing on her way. No one stopped her, no one questioned her presence.
She made her way out into the garden the fresh air cooling her face, the night crisp and still. The stars above were clear and unblinking, and she could hear the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. Moonlight turned the stone path silver. She sat on the low stone wall that separated the garden from the courtyard, resting her hands on her lap and staring up at the sky.
She wanted to hide, get away from the cunning nobles but they infested the manor like insects, she sighed when she remembered the small den Clara took her to. Without looking back she made the trek there.