A Summon Arrives In the Study

Quiet damage spread from the tavern, slow and unseen. Not loud. Not obvious. Just there. My father sat rigid that morning, spoon still above his bowl. His eyes stayed locked on steam rising off the cup like it might vanish first. No parcels came by courier later - no trinkets, no notes. Weather shifted without warning; frost gathered on windowpanes. That chill had a face. It answered to Christian.

Time moved slow. Quiet filled the rooms, thick and heavy. That stand I took didn’t open any doors - just shifted how things squeezed. Pressure built inside my chest. Maybe I pushed us deeper instead.

Fourth morning brought a letter. This one skipped Dad entirely. Landed right in front of me.

A heavy sheet lay before me, costly stuff, stamped with a bold emblem - just one jagged wing, unfamiliar. Three words only, scrawled fast, letters leaning like they owned the place: Go to your father’s study. Right now.

A mark was missing. That did not matter. Up my back ran a tremor - no fright in it, only the cold pull of something long expected. His eyes had found it. Now his steps reached me.

Feet dragged forward, heavy yet hollow. Miles unfolded beneath each step down the hall. A stop came before the black wood door, fingers floating near cold metal. Here it began. Light claimed what shadows hid.

The door creaked as I twisted the knob, stepping inside.

Apart from the smell of old books, that room held quiet things - creaky chairs, yellowed pages. Yet there he stood, tall and out of place, staring at a chipped figurine like it meant something. The walls seemed to lean inward, unsure what to do with his presence.

Duke Noah Wingknight.

Back facing me, yet the space bent around him, thinning out like cold syrup. That outfit - charcoal coat hugging wide shoulders - wasn’t quite as rigid as before, just a little softer in cut. Air felt thinner, colder, near where he stood. Pants fit close, exact, not loose an inch. Ends of his black hair held traces of water, still darkened by moisture, smelling faintly of rain or travel. Presence alone made everything smaller.

Still facing away, he said something. The sound of his words hummed softly through the silent space.

Leaning into the wood, I let the door shut without a sound. What you’re saying makes no sense to me, Your Grace

Only then did he look around. Good grief, being near made him worse somehow. Sun through the glass lit every edge of his cheekbones, showed thin traces of beard growth by his chin. Not only sharp but aware - those pale eyes held mine. Truth slipped out long before words reached sound.

"Save your act," he said, voice flat like someone killing time, though his gaze stayed sharp, calculating. One slow move forward made the walls feel closer than before. "Girls like you do not show up in places like this just to talk numbers. Either you want trouble. Or..." A pause came as he shifted his head slightly, like an animal catching wind of something odd. "...you know things that would get most people killed."

He placed the porcelain dog back on the mantel with deliberate care. “Alistair Foy’s embezzlement scheme was exceptionally well-hidden. My own agents only uncovered the shell company, ‘Sundial,’ yesterday. And yet you…” He turned his full gaze on me, and it was like being pinned by twin suns. “…you spoke of it with the casual certainty of someone reading from a script. You even cited dates.”

A step closer, then another. The sharp cold of his presence reached me - like winter pine, like earth after rain, something raw beneath it. My chest tightened, pulse rushing loud under skin.

“So,” he murmured, his voice dropping. It wasn’t a loud sound, but it filled every corner of the shadowed study. “Care to explain how a minor noble’s daughter, betrothed to a man like Christian Zephry, knew about a ledger even my spies couldn’t find?”

A silence stretched tight between us, heavy with what wasn’t said. Right then, everything balanced on a single point. At that height, one move backward meant slipping into old deceptions - then being cast aside, handed back to Christian without care. A jump forward felt like falling, yet it was the only path left.

I lifted my chin, meeting that terrifying, beautiful gaze. “What if I told you it wasn’t the first thing I knew? What if I told you I know things about trade routes, and council votes, and… the late Princess Amelie’s favorite song?”

A flash - so fast it almost wasn’t there - passed through his gaze. Not just surprise, but a spark catching flame. What had been distant curiosity now burned keen and bright. That the king's youngest sister had died in silence, her sorrow kept close, was known to few. Even fewer knew the tune she hummed most before sleep.

Closing the space, he stopped just short of touching me. Not a hand reached out, still his nearness pressed like pressure against my skin. To meet his eyes, I lifted my chin. At that range, tiny sparks of gold showed in his brown irises, a thin tired crease marked the spot above the nose. Young he looked, yet every burden of the realm rested there, held steady by someone barely grown.

He leaned close, eyes narrow. "Working for someone else?" The words slipped out quiet, like breath on glass.

“No.”

“A seer?”

“No.”

A whisper came out of him - what are you? His stare locked onto mine so deep I could not catch a breath

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I’m a problem. And I’m the only one who knows the solution.”

A quiet stretched between us. Sparks seemed to jump through the space. Behind his stare, thoughts shifted - risk on one side, chance on the other. Heat came off his body like sunlight on stone. My mouth caught his attention, just briefly, before he locked onto my eyes again.

A problem, he said again, voice barely above a whisper. Not quite a grin, but something close, flickered across his lips. Solving puzzles like this one - that’s what draws me in, Miss Rimestone. Then he moved away, distance rushing in where warmth had been just seconds before. Over by the window, he stood still, watching clouds press down on the city. Christian Zephry feeds off others. That promise between you two? It’s paper tied to money, no more. Deep down, you’ve already named it for what it is

That moment needed no answer. My voice came out steady - yes

“And you know what he plans for you.”

Fear gripped me deep inside. That was when I said those words

He turned from the window, his silhouette dark against the light. “Then here is my offer. You have two options. Become my problem, in which case I hand you to my brother the King as a suspected witch or a foreign agent, and you can enjoy the hospitality of the royal dungeons.” He paused, letting the horror of that sink in. “Or.”

Back he came, not rushing now. Maybe you work for me instead. That talent you have? It stays mine alone. I’ll keep Christian off your trail. Off the others too. Say yes, I make up a romance story to cover it. A scandalous, public diversion that will make it impossible for him to claim you without facing me.” He stopped before me, his expression unreadable. “No contract. No promises of safety. Just a mutually assured destruction. You cross me, and your secret becomes the kingdom’s entertainment. You fail me, and I leave you to your fate.”

Blood pounded behind my ribs. This agreement came at a price only shadows would accept. Not just any demon - this one wore a crown of knives.

“And what do you call this… project?” I asked, my voice trembling.

A hint of a smile appeared on his face, just then. Not kind. But electric.

“I call it salvation,” he said. “For both of us. Do we have an understanding?”