THE OATH

The echo of the door slamming shut behind Evelyn was louder than expected, loud enough to jolt her from the trance-like daze that had held her since the ball. Outside, the rain had begun again, heavier than before, lashing at the windows like fists made of water.

She leaned against the cold stone wall, heart racing, skin flushed, and lips still tingling from an almost-kiss that should’ve never happened.

Elias Blackthorn was dangerous. Not just because he was feared across the realm or because his very presence stirred old magic back to life—but because with a single glance, he made her forget who she was and why she had come.

“He’s the enemy,” she reminded herself, clutching the emerald pendant that lay cold against her chest. Her mother’s last gift. Her last warning.

“The Blackthorns will offer you the world with one hand and destroy it with the other. Trust none of them. Especially not him.”

But what if he wasn’t like the others?

What if Elias was just as much a prisoner of his bloodline as she was of hers?

She shook the thought away and forced her legs to move. The corridor she stood in twisted like a serpent, lit only by flickering sconces that made shadows dance across the walls. The estate felt alive—as if it was watching her, breathing with her. It didn’t help that the deeper she walked, the more the air thickened, like it was made of silk and smoke.

Just as she reached the end of the hall, a voice rang out behind her.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Evelyn turned sharply, her eyes locking with a girl—no, a woman—draped in red silk, her dark curls wild, her eyes lined with kohl that made her gaze look even sharper than the blade she held loosely at her side.

“Who are you?” Evelyn asked.

The woman stepped closer, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

“I’m someone who’s seen what loving a Blackthorn does to people. It’s not romantic, girl—it’s ruin.”

Evelyn’s throat tightened. “I don’t love him.”

“Yet,” the woman replied, a smirk tugging at her lips. “But you will. And when you do, it’ll be the death of you.”

Before Evelyn could speak, the woman vanished into the corridor’s shadows—no footsteps, no sound. As if she’d never been there.

She was beginning to understand what people meant when they called Blackthorn Hall cursed.

By the time Evelyn returned to her chambers, soaked to the skin from the walk through a leaking corridor, the storm outside had turned vicious. Thunder cracked like the heavens were splitting apart.

But even that couldn't distract her from the dream she had when she finally drifted into sleep.

In it, Elias stood before her, shirt soaked in blood—his, not hers—and his eyes pleading, lips parting to whisper something. But no sound came. Only fire. It consumed the room around them. Burned books. Curtains. Walls.

Then—just before she woke—he reached for her and whispered:

“They'll come for you. When they do, run.”

The next morning, Evelyn woke with the taste of ash in her mouth.

Outside, the storm had calmed, but the tension hadn’t. The entire manor buzzed with strange energy, like the air before a battle.

Breakfast was a tense affair. Long tables stretched across the room, filled with nobles and servants alike, but no one sat near her. No one met her gaze. Only Elias, seated across the hall at the head of the table, looked her way—and when he did, his stare was unreadable. Sharp. Calculating.

Afterwards, a courier delivered a note to her chamber.

It wasn’t signed.

It wasn’t sealed.

But the handwriting was unmistakable.

> “Meet me in the library at midnight. Come alone. No excuses. —E”

She burned the note after reading it.

That night, Evelyn stood outside the vast mahogany doors of the library, her heart hammering in her chest. The halls were empty, lit only by moonlight. It felt like even the house was holding its breath.

She stepped inside.

The library was a cathedral of knowledge. Towering shelves, ancient tomes, and chandeliers that glowed without flame.

And there he was.

Elias.

Leaning against the hearth, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a glass of dark wine.

“You came,” he said, his voice like velvet dragged through gravel.

“You summoned me,” Evelyn replied, standing tall.

He smiled faintly, and it struck her again how devastatingly beautiful he was. Not the kind of beauty that shone like gold—but like obsidian. Dark. Sharp. Deadly.

“I had to see you,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not who you claim to be,” he answered simply.

The words struck like a blow.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He stepped forward, closing the space between them. “You carry ancient magic, Evelyn. The kind that hasn’t walked this land in centuries. Your blood sings in this place.”

She backed away slightly. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“But I do,” he whispered. “I know your family was hunted. I know your mother was betrayed. And I know what they did to your father before they buried him alive.”

Her breath caught. “How do you—”

“I have your father’s ring,” Elias said, pulling a worn silver band from his pocket. “He gave it to me… the day I saved his life.”

The air left Evelyn’s lungs. Her knees nearly gave out.

"My father’s dead.”

“No,” Elias whispered. “He’s alive. And he’s the reason you’re here.”

Silence reigned.

And then…

Boom.

A deafening sound tore through the manor. The chandeliers shook. Books tumbled from shelves. Screams echoed down the corridor.

Elias grabbed her wrist. “They’ve come.”

“Who?!”

“The ones who want your power. The ones who’ll burn this place to the ground just to taste a drop of your blood.”

Before Evelyn could react, the door flew open.

A hooded figure stepped inside, eyes glowing red.

“Give her to us, Elias. You can’t protect her forever.”

Elias’s jaw tightened. “Then I won’t protect her…”

He stepped in front of Evelyn.

“…I’ll fight for her.”