The sound of shuffling footsteps and the rasp of heavy boots descending the stone stairs was immediate and terrifying. Darius shoved Elenora behind the iron strongbox, the only solid barrier in the small room.
"Stay down, and stay silent," he commanded, his voice a low, hard growl. His pistol was steady, aimed at the mouth of the brick passage.
Elenora, despite her fear, felt a surge of adrenaline. She watched Darius: his stance was military, his focus absolute. This was the raw, brutal competency she had married.
A shadow fell across the opening, followed by the sight of a heavy, gloved hand clutching a crude bludgeon.
Darius fired without hesitation.
The roar of the pistol in the confined space was deafening, the echo slamming back against the stone walls. A grunt of pain followed, and the shadow—the first attacker—tumbled backward down the steps with a heavy thud.
"One down," Darius hissed, reloading the single-shot pistol with practiced speed. "There are more. They won't come down alone now."
Elenora used the cover of the sound to scan the room. The shelves were narrow, and the only other escape was the ventilation shaft—far too high and too small.
"They won't expose themselves to the passage," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady. "They will try to flank us from above, through the ventilation shaft they tore open!"
Darius glanced up, his storm-gray eyes flashing with grim realization. "They are trying to drive us out of the room. Clever."
* * *
The second attacker, clearly more professional, did not attempt the stairs. Instead, they heard him moving rapidly across the floorboards above the ceiling. A moment later, dust and small bits of mortar began raining down through the broken ventilation shaft.
"Move!" Darius grabbed Elenora's arm, pulling her away from the strongbox. "Behind the central pillar, now!"
They ducked behind a squat, stone support column. Elenora squeezed herself against Darius's back as the attacker above began to fire. Not a pistol, but a small hunting rifle. The bullets punched into the brick walls with sharp cracks, sending shrapnel flying.
"He's trying to collapse the shaft," Darius muttered, pushing his weight against the pillar.
Elenora took a risk and leaned out, peering up the ventilation shaft. She could see the dark outline of a figure bracing the rifle against the opening.
"The lantern!" Elenora pointed to the extinguished oil lamp they had placed near the entrance. "It's a target! Use the oil!"
Darius understood instantly. He snatched the lantern and threw it hard against the opposite wall. The glass shattered, splashing oil across a stack of dusty parchments. He then took out his flint and steel.
"When I ignite this, you crawl back to the strongbox and find anything heavy," Darius commanded. "I need time."
* * *
The small flare from the flint hit the oil-soaked papers. A sudden, bright whoosh of flame erupted, casting chaotic, dancing shadows across the archive. Smoke immediately began swirling toward the ceiling, obscuring the ventilation shaft.
"Now!" Darius yelled.
Elenora scrambled back to the strongbox. She ignored the terror and yanked a heavy, iron-bound ledger from the nearest shelf.
The smoke bought them seconds. The attacker above ceased fire, coughing and scrambling away from the heat and the fumes.
Darius turned back to the stairs just as the third attacker, taking advantage of the smoke, rushed down the passage, carrying a heavy, rusted sword.
"Duck!" Darius tackled Elenora, pulling them both to the floor just as the sword sliced through the air where her head had been moments before.
Darius and the attacker grappled fiercely. Darius lost his pistol in the struggle.
Elenora, seeing her husband-by-contract in mortal danger, didn't hesitate. She swung the heavy ledger with all her might, hitting the attacker hard in the back of the head.
The man collapsed instantly, his sword clattering loudly on the stone floor.
* * *
Darius rolled away from the unconscious man, breathing heavily. He was not injured, but his strict composure had been shattered by the raw violence. He looked at Elenora, who stood rigid, clutching the heavy ledger like a weapon.
"You saved me," he stated, his voice raspy.
"We had a contract, Minister," Elenora retorted, her eyes wide but determined. "And I don't intend for it to end in this dreary pit."
The noise above had stopped. The smoke was clearing, leaving a stinging odor.
Darius retrieved his pistol and pointed it at the fallen men, ensuring they were incapacitated. "They were hired muscle. Their target was clear: silence us before we opened the strongbox."
He knelt beside the strongbox, his hands steady despite the chaos. "They failed, thanks to the Duchess's ingenuity. Now, we claim our prize."
Darius quickly worked the intricate lock, his hands moving with surprising delicacy. With a final, satisfying thunk, the massive lid of the iron box sprang open.
Inside, nestled on old velvet lining, was a single, large, sealed document—the Elmsworth Deed—and beside it, a slim, silver locket.
Darius reached for the deed. But Elenora's gaze was fixed on the locket, small and forgotten. She reached out and grasped the cool metal, recognizing the simple, elegant design.
"This locket..." Elenora whispered, her icy facade finally cracking. "My mother gave me one exactly like it when I was a child. It was always meant to be a symbol of... belonging."
Darius paused, the vital deed forgotten in his hand. He watched the Duchess, his unwilling wife, as the fear faded and was replaced by a strange, poignant grief.