Novels by Riareads

The afternoon sun had dipped low. Casting long golden bars across the study as Coral and I huddled over the guest list, pages of names laid out like little puzzles pieces of a world I was still learning."There are so many," I murmured scanning the inked flourishes and gilded crests. "Do they all matter?""Every single one," Coral replied with a dry smile. "Whether for politics, appearance or gossip, they all serve a purpose. Though some..." She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Are more trouble than they're worth."My eyes stopped on a familiar name.Evelyn Harrow.The name hit like a pebble skipping a memory–sun dappled gardens, sticky fingers from stolen fruits, the echo of laughter through apple trees. Evelyn, we'd played together as children.I pointed at her name, "Is this Evie?"Coral nodded."I remember how she was terrible at braiding hair. I remember the time she started shedding her teeth and she accidentally swallowed one of them." I said laughing.Coral peered at

The drawing room was awash in soft light. The soft scent of pine drifted from a vase near the hearth–seasonal, understated and perfectly placed. Everything in this house seemed curated, as if the air was aware of its pedigree.The seamstress stood by the far settee. A pin cushion cuffed around her waist and a roll of fabric draped over one arm. Beside her, Cerelith lounged dramatically, hair swept into a perfect coil, and expression of pointed boredom on her face as she examined a Swatch of lace held up to her neckline."This is too provincial," Cerelith declared, pushing the sample away with two fingers as if it offended her personally. "It makes me look like a merchant's wife. It looks like something they'd wear–no offence to you sister." She said turning to Coral.The seamstress flushed, "it's imported from Lyon, my lady–"Cerelith sniffed, "Then Lyon has lowered its standards.""Cerelith," Lady Storms' voice cut across the room like the edge of a knife.Cerelith glanced over her s

I sat at the writing desk, sleeves pushed up, fingers stained slightly as I reviewed the household accounts. The morning sun filtered through the windows, gliding the ledger with soft light. Numbers danced before my eyes–servants wages,orders for winter preserves, a delay in firewood delivery. I didn't hear the door open. "You're overcalculating the kitchen inventory," came Darrell's voice, low–cool but not unkind. I startled, nearly blotting the page, "I didn't hear you come in." Darrell crossed the room without hurry, his boots soundless against the rug. He looked, as always, impeccable: coat buttoned, posture crisp, jaw just a little too tense. "You didn't answer my question," His eyes flicked to the ledger. "You're accounting for more sacks of flour than we received. Ask the head chef to confirm the delivery. She tends to over report when she's worried about shortages." "I see," I murmured, reaching for the quill again. "I'll make a note." He lingered beside the desk

The gravel crunched beneath our slippers as we made our way through the winding garden paths. The summer blooms bowed gently in the breeze– lavender, climbing roses and the pale yellow of lady's mantle. It was quieter here. Our maids trailed behind at a respectable distance.Coral walked slower now, one hand resting on her belly, the other linked with mine."My father wanted me to marry the Duke of Greymont," she said. "I don't want to pry," "I want to tell you why I'm here," she said unlinking her arm with mine. "That's the only way all this heaviness on my chest can lift."I didn't answer. I looked at her face waiting.She stopped at a stone bench and sat with a sigh. "I didn't want to get married to him. I had someone I loved, so we eloped in spring. No permission, no ceremony. Just me, him and the chapel by the sea."I sat beside her, "Did he send you back?"Her silence stretched for a long moment before she answered. "No, I left."I looked at her in surprise. She glanced at me

The next morning, the air was colder, as if the tension of yesterday had settled on the stone walls.A knock came at my door– lady Storm, the lady of the house walked in.She entered the room with calm grace that belied her age. Her eyes, though tired, held none of the harshness her son had shown."I hope you slept well," she greeted.I nodded, "I am well rested.""Well, they're some things I have to teach and show you as the new lady of the house.... Come with me,"Her tone was warm but cautious.As we walked through the manor, she gestured towards ledgers and rooms, weaving between duty and kindness. Her steps were deliberate, her explanations clear.Eventually she stopped, her hands gently touched my arm, " About Darell, he'll warm up to you soon enough. You both were thrown in this marriage. But I do apologise for how he's been treating you."Before she could respond, another voice chimed in–a younger brighter one."Good morning ,lovely ladies."It was Coral, looking radiant under

We didn't speak. Not through the arched gallery, not past his family portrait, not even when we passed the old atrium where moonlight flooded the stone at night. I remember laughing there once, as children.But Darrell never looked back. Never slowed. Not even once.I wasn't sure if I was supposed to feel like a wife or a prisoner.Finally, I found my voice."Are you going to walk the whole estate without talking? Or is this one of those military morning routines?"He halted. Just for a second, and I saw his shoulders tense.Then, slowly, he turned his head."I thought you knew what you were getting yourself into," he said. "You want to act like we're married? Fine. Follow me. Learn the place. Memorize the halls. But this.....you pretending we're happily married..."His voice was filled with venom.What did I even do to deserve his hatred? I met his eyes, "What are we, then?""Convenience," he said. "A duty to the kingdom . A favor to your father. A leash on my neck.""You really did