Alaric returns to his study after dinner with Lenore. While she seems harmless, he doesn't trust Claude Rowanhart or any nobles who maintain close ties with him. Every generation has nobles like him—some more than others, and that's when the Imperial family starts worrying. That's when the emperor sends him a letter and he prepares himself for another political marriage—a tool to strengthen the Imperial family and weaken their enemies with one strike.
With a long, world-weary sigh, Alaric sits at his desk, hunched over a series of documents he has yet to look over. Time moves around him, but he stays still. He's trapped centuries in the past, holding onto promises made to people long dead.
The painting covered by thick velvet curtains on the other side of the room looms over him. He glances behind the fabric only when he feels particularly self-destructive. When he needs to take a moment to remind himself why he suffers through the endless years. When he's had a bit too much to drink and repeats meaningless apologies to somebody who will never hear them.
Elyria.
He doesn't have the heart to remove her portrait from its place on the wall of his office, placed carefully above the fireplace so he could watch its golden light flicker over her flawless skin on the nights he spent trapped in his office, handling paperwork that never ceased.
Now, he leaves it covered, afraid that light and time will wear away the colors—afraid he'll one day forget what she looked like. It's a fear that grows greater each time he's forced to take a new wife for the sake of the empire.
Corwin enters the study after a polite knock. "The lady has retired to her chambers."
Alaric straightens his posture as Corwin pours him a cup of tea. "What do you think?"
"She's not what I expected from Rowanhart."
Alaric hums his agreement. "That's certainly true. Devlin reported on her background before she arrived."
As the head of Barrowmere's intelligence network, Devlin is good at his job. Frighteningly so. While he uncovered unsavory deeds committed by both Claude, his daughter, and numerous lesser nobles with ties to the house that match the greed and goals of the noble faction, his report on Lenore had been suspiciously clean.
Taking a drink of tea, Alaric catches a glimpse of his reflection in the cup. "I didn't expect Rowanhart to go through with the marriage and send his true daughter, but I'm rather surprised by the substitute he found."
"So, the report—"
"It's true that Lenore is the Duke's niece. However, that's about the only piece of truth that was in Rowanhart's letter about her."
Corwin doesn't ask for details, trusting Alaric to fill him in as needed. However, they both know that the report will spread throughout the manor quickly. It's simply the nature of running an information network—every employee lives a double life.
And in the middle of it all, Lenore and Mary will remain blissfully unaware.
"Don't trouble Lenore with our suspicions towards her uncle," Alaric says, remembering how small and nervous she looked at dinner and how simple her requests were. She reminds him of a bunny, harmless and innocent. "As far as I can tell, she's been used by him."
Taken from her family as a child to be raised as a playmate and companion for Alina, only to be cast aside when she was cut off from the outside world and confined in Rowanhart's estate. Devlin suggests that it was originally a method for controlling Claude's younger brother and Lenore's father, Edric. If that's true, then it would simply be lucky that Claude had control of Lenore when the emperor demanded this marriage.
However, with the weight of centuries resting on his shoulders, Alaric knows better than to assume that the answer is ever simple luck.
But if not luck, then what was Claude's plan from the beginning? Was he truly that concerned that his younger brother might covet his position? And in the middle of his greed, he took a daughter who did nothing wrong.
Corwin bows, one arm crossed over his chest. "Yes, my lord. The lady will be kept unaware."
As Corwin starts to leave, Alaric stops him. "Prepare paper, quills, and ink for her in the morning. She wants to write a letter."
With that, Alaric lets his trusted butler leave for the night. He glances at the drawer in his desk that holds the entirety of Devlin's report. He's accustomed to his brides being unwanted daughters from noble families after Barrowmere became blighted. The emperor demands that a noble family with too many signs of opposition form a union with Barrowmere, and often that family finds a daughter from a vassal or sends off their illegitimate child.
It's an unpleasant duty that both the bride and groom adhere to, so he tries to make their stay at the manor pleasant. There's no need for love, and he's hesitant to stay too close to them, knowing he'll have no choice but to outlive them.
Endless life—so often seen as a blessing—is a curse of the highest order.
-:-
Sleep doesn't come easily to Lenore. She tosses and turns in the darkness, every trace of moonlight blocked by both the veil of blight over the land and the dark, thick curtains draped over the glass doors leading to her balcony. She thought that the anxiety of her situation and the anticipation from the weeks leading up to her journey would leave her exhausted when she finally arrived at Barrowmere Estate. However, the opposite ended up being true, and she's more nervous than ever after meeting the Duke.
No, Alaric, as he told her to call him. Not for a sense of familiarity between them, but convenience.
Which leads her to a new problem. She has no idea how to behave in this household. Life was simpler under her uncle's watch. Be meek. Silent. Obey. After a decade of control, she doesn't remember what it's like to have choices. What if she makes the wrong decision?
Is Barrowmere—a land steeped in decay—a place she can truly live?