Julian didn't wake her.
Instead, he sat at his desk across the room, fingers curled around the stem of wine glass, eyes lingering on the sleeping figure draped across his bed like she belonged there. Her curls were spread like wild ink on the silver-grey covers, her mouth parted in soft exhaustion.
He tilted his head, the ghost of an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
The daredevil sent for the butler.
Tomas entered a few minutes later. His eyes widened instantly, breath hitching, sweat breaking across his brow. His gaze flitted from Elowen to Julian and back again, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"My Lord," he stammered, voice cracking. "I…I didn't-she must've"
Julian raised one brow lazily.
Tomas knew this was dangerous.
No one-no soul-had ever dared climb the Lord's bed. Not even as children. He had broken half his cousin's tooth once for so much as laying a hand on the velvet sheets.
Yet now, Julian was… smiling?
The devil himself looked almost entertained.
"She's full of surprises, isn't she?" Julian said quietly, swirling the wine. "Get Miss Grantham something to eat. Vegetables and peas. No seafood."
Tomas blinked. "Understood, my Lord."
He bowed and nearly tripped on his way out.
Elowen stirred sometime after, eyelids fluttering open. She sat slowly, realizing she wasn't in her own room-neither her modest room at home nor the one adjacent to Julian's chambers.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings.
Dark wood panels, cold steel accents, towering shelves of books and ancient relics in glass. Stark. Controlled. Clean to the point of perfection. It was a room that whispered solitude and power in equal breath. Julian's room.
Her stomach dropped.
Her eyes caught a silver tray on the nearby table, with a plate of warm vegetables and peas. The aroma was oddly comforting. On top of the tray lay a small card, the handwriting elegant and unmistakable.
'For the wildflower'
She scoffed aloud, rolling her eyes.
"He acts like a devil and still cares. I'm confused," she muttered, dragging the tray closer.
Her thoughts twisted in loops. One moment, he was snarling orders, the next he was feeding her. Was this some elaborate game? Or was there something deeper behind those brooding eyes?
Later that evening, she checked the time and realized it was past seven.
Her shift was over.
She exited through the eastern wing, passing the grand carriage park, her eyes hopeful. Just maybe…
She walked up to the nearest coachman. "I'd like to be taken back to the city."
The coachman gave her a passive look. "We've received no orders to ride anyone out of the mansion, Miss."
Her stomach sank.
"Great," she muttered under her breath. "Now I have to use the local trader's cart like a blooming farmhand."
With a deep sigh, she turned and walked toward the trading district, finally boarding a rusty cart that smelled of onions and fish scales. Her ride was slow, bumpy, and filled with stares from other passengers.
But finally-finally-home.
As she stepped onto the stoop of the Grantham residence, she found Marianne and Maeryn waiting, wrapped in thick shawls, faces lit up with relief.
"Elowen!" Marianne rushed to her, clutching her arms. "You're alright!"
"We were worried sick," Maeryn added. "You should've sent word!"
"I'm fine," Elowen said, forcing a smile. "Just… late."
"Come inside, you must be freezing."
They ushered her in, and the warm glow of the lanterns bathed her in comfort.
She sank into the nearest chair, pulling off her boots with a sigh.
"So…how was work?" Marianne asked, pouring her tea.
Elowen snorted. "You know how some days you think your job is hard, but it turns out it's just … impossible?"
"Oh dear."
"It's like working with a beast wrapped in velvet, Elowen muttered. "He's sharp- tongued, rude, impossible to read… and he calls me 'wildflower' for saint's sake."
Maeryn giggled. "That's oddly charming."
"I beg to differ."
"But you're strong," Marianne said warmly. "You've always been. You're intelligent, quick, and you don't let people walk over you."
"We raised a lioness," Maeryn added proudly.
They all laughed softly. Then Marianne handed her a folded paper.
"What's this?"
"A flyer," Marianne said, beaming. "Maeryn and I paid the entry fee- thirty shillings… for the upcoming audition at the Rosebury Opera House."
Elowen gasped, hands trembling as she unfolded the flyer. "I… I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll go. You have a gift, Elowen. The voice of a mermaid."
"That's because I am one," she whispered under her breath, hiding a smile. "I've never performed at an opera before…"
"But all of Greystone already whispers of your voice," Maeryn said. "This is your time."
They prepared a small dinner together, humming as they cooked. The kitchen filled with the aroma of thyme and roasted vegetables.
"I won't eat much," Elowen said, settling at the table. "I'm almost full."
"It seems the job fills your stomach now?" Marianne teased.
"They treat your stomach now?" Marianne said, squinting. "Hope they treat you well too."
Elowen paused. "They do, in… complicated ways."
Marianne tilted her head. "And the Lord? What's he like?"
Elowen stood, laughing nervously. "He's a story for another night."
They chuckled and cleared the table.
Later that night, Elowen tossed and turned in bed.
A cold sweat slicked her skin as a nightmare clawed its way through her subconscious.
She was in an unknown mansion, the walls shifting, the halls endless. A tall, shadowy figure chased her relentlessly. She ran for what felt like hours until she fell, breathless. The figure loomed closer- fangs flashing in the moonlight.
She jolted awake.
Sweating. Trembling.
She sat up slowly, clutching the blanket to her chest.
"Who's there?" she whispered into the darkness.
No answer. But she felt it- that eerie weight of eyes watching her.
Unseen. Unreal.
Except… near the Grantham residence, nestled between twisted tree branches and veiled by the shadows, a pair of eyes gleamed. Observant. Amused. Dangerous.
A daredevil lingered in the dark.
Watching his wildflower sleep.
Mystery had never looked so beautiful to him. And he was determined to unravel it- one layer at a time.