Like the previous night, it rained. There was no storm, but the night itself was frightening enough without one. The rain whispered against the glass like restless spirits, and Becca stood by the window, watching the thin trails of water crawl down the pane. Each drop struck the mud below with a sound too sharp to be called freedom, too hollow to be happiness. The air felt heavy thick with something she could not name. Even the fire crackling in the hearth failed to chase the cold away. It was not the cold of weather, but of something older, something that breathed beneath the silence.
A soft knock broke through her thoughts.
"Milady?" came Mina's voice, low and cautious. The door creaked open before Becca could answer.
"To be stubborn is one thing," Mina said as she stepped inside, shutting the window with a firm hand. "But to stand in the cold like this… that's an invitation to death. And you, milady, are far too young to greet death so soon."
Becca turned from the window, her face pale against the amber glow of the fire. "How would you know?" she murmured. "Perhaps death is kinder than the living."
"Kind?" Mina gave a faint, nervous laugh. "Death is many things, milady, but never kind. It's final, silent, and cruel."
"Final sounds rather thrilling," Becca said quietly, her lips curving in a faint, almost bitter smile. "To end everything to finally stop feeling."
"You do not mean that," Mina whispered.
"Don't I?"
"You are too proud to seek an ending," Mina murmured.
Becca smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Then pride is the only thing that's left of me."
Silence stretched between them, the only sound the rain's slow lament and the restless hiss of the fire.
After a moment, Becca said, "I told you before, Mina. You're not bound to me anymore. You could leave,find warmth elsewhere."
"The choices I make are mine, milady," Mina replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
Becca exhaled softly, almost defeated. "Why are you here, truly?"
"You are expected at dinner," Mina said, hesitation threading her tone.
Becca arched a brow. " Perhaps, another special guest has arrived, do you know what it's about?"
"It concerns your betrothal."
Becca's voice was calm, almost too calm. "Ah yes, the alliance. I had begun to wonder which unfortunate creature.."
Mina's lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. " milady. The letter arrived this afternoon from the borderlands."
Becca's gaze sharpened. "The borderlands?"
Mina nodded slowly. "You are to be wed to the Lord of Duskborne."
The fire snapped, casting a brief red light across Becca's face.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, quietly: "The Lord of Duskborne. I see."
Mina lowered her eyes. "Few human families would dare such a bond. The Earl must have his reasons."
"Reasons," Becca murmured. "He's never lacked them. None of them noble."
"Milady… you know what this means."
Becca's eyes flicked toward her. "That my father has traded me to a night creature. Yes, I'm aware."
"They are not like us," Mina said softly. "They live by moon and blood. Their lands are shadowed. To wed one is to step into the dark itself."
Becca's voice turned to glass. "Then it is a fitting match. I was born in the dark."
"Please," Mina whispered. "Do not mock such things. The Lord of Duskborne is said to have killed his parents, he murders in cold blood, he's bound by no law."
Becca's eyes returned to the window, where rain had begun to blur the reflection of her face. "And yet," she said softly, "my father has no trouble, giving I to him."
The room fell silent again, but it was a different kind of silence heavier, as though the name itself had drawn the night closer.
"When?" Becca asked at last.
"Two nights from now," Mina replied. "The Earl is to host a private dinner in his honor."
Becca exhaled, the faintest tremor touching her composure. "Two nights," she repeated. "Two nights to learn what it means to be offered to the dark."
"Milady…"
"Go, Mina," Becca said, her voice quiet but firm. "Leave me to the rain. It listens better than most."
Mina lingered for a moment, then curtsied deeply. "As you wish."
When she was gone, Becca stood alone, staring into the gray murk beyond the glass. The storm had thickened, each drop sharp as a whisper.
"The Lord of Duskborne," she murmured, the words heavy on her tongue.
And beyond the veil of rain, something seemed to stir as though the night itself had turned to listen.
༒☬
The morning after the rain still carried its chill, as though the night had refused to leave entirely. The street of Brimstone Village glistened faintly, puddles resting like dull mirrors that held fragments of the pale sky. Becca walked quietly along the cobblestones, her skirt brushing the damp edges of the path.
The air smelled of earth and woodsmoke of lives that went on, despite whispers. She could feel those whispers too, following her like shadows behind the doors and curtains she passed. "The Earl's illegitimate daughter… the chosen bride of the alliance. The words had spread faster than fire in straw, each retelling coated with wonder and distaste.
Becca kept her eyes forward. She wasn't one to lower her head, even when she wanted to.
The bell above the library door chimed softly as she stepped in. The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of parchment and old wax. Rows of shelves stood like sentinels, holding stories far older than the village itself. Behind the counter sat Mrs. Harrow, her silver hair tied back in a modest bun, her spectacles slipping low on her nose as she looked up.
"Ms. Blackwood," the old woman said, a mild surprise in her voice. "You're early today. Haven't seen you since last month."
"I had reason to come," Becca replied, her tone even but thoughtful. "I wanted something… about them."
Mrs. Harrow blinked. "Them?"
"The night creatures," Becca said simply, resting her fingers on the edge of the counter. "Anything about their kind their nature, their laws."
The librarian's face tightened, and she set her pen down. "Ms. Blackwood, you'd do best not to trouble yourself with such things. Curiosity toward that world has never done anyone good. It's safer to live your life here, among your own."
Becca's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a smile. "I'm afraid that choice was made for me."
The older woman frowned, realization dawning. "So it's true, then. You are to be—"
"..., the bride for the alliance," Becca finished, quietly. "My father didn't say who I'm to marry. Not whether he's witch, vampire, or shapeshifter. I only wish to know what sort of den I'm being thrown into."
Mrs. Harrow hesitated, her eyes softening. For a moment, she looked as if she might refuse. But then she sighed and rose from her chair, muttering something about foolish fathers and broken promises. She disappeared between the tall shelves.
When she returned, she carried an aged book bound in dark leather, its spine cracked from time. No title marked its cover only a faint engraving that looked like a crescent devoured by shadow.
"This isn't one to read lightly," Mrs. Harrow said, placing it on the counter. "It's old. Some say written by one who lived among them once. Take it if you must, but be careful what you seek to understand."
Becca took the book gently, her fingers tracing the cold leather. "I'll be careful," she said, though her eyes betrayed the faint spark of defiance.
The bell chimed again as she left, stepping back into the weak daylight. The world seemed quieter now, as if the village itself held its breath. The book felt heavy in her hands heavier still with the knowledge she hoped it would bring.