Chapter 5

After that, my mother's illness worsened by the day. She was gone not long after.

Then my father married Simone. And that memory faded to the back of my mind.

I never imagined that starving boy from all those years ago was Alistair.

My hand began to tremble uncontrollably. The wine cup slipped from my fingers. It struck the floor with a sharp crash and shattered into pieces.

Alistair was utterly unfazed and simply looked at me with something in his eyes that I could not quite read. A trace of nostalgia, a hint of gratitude, and a touch of softness.

He stood and walked to the center of the hall. He turned to his guards at the door and to Sheila, who had just hurried in, and made his announcement in a voice that rang through the silence.

"Let my decree be known. From this day forward, Charlotte Quinn is my bride, my duchess. In three days, we wed."

The hall fell utterly still. Sheila's jaw dropped. The two guards stared, their faces frozen in disbelief. As for me, I was completely stunned. My mind went blank.

Duchess? I could scarcely grasp it. I had thought, at most, he might make me a concubine. Or perhaps keep me hidden away as some nameless mistress.

It had never crossed my mind that he would actually grant me the position of duchess. How was such a thing possible?

I stared at his tall silhouette in utter bewilderment, and then it struck me that what I had caught was far more than I had bargained for, a man who might pull me from this mire or drag me into something deeper still.

*****

Duchess. In three days, a wedding.

Alistair's words still echoed through the hall. Each one landed like a stone, sending shockwaves through my chest. I thought I must have misheard. I thought it was nothing but a fever dream.

Sheila pinched herself so hard that she winced, testing whether any of this was real. The way she looked at me shifted in an instant. All the contempt and calculation from before vanished. In its place was pure reverence and terror.

She dropped to her knees toward me, far faster than Kevin had earlier. "Forgive me, Your Grace! I should never have offended you! Have mercy, Your Grace! Spare me!" she pleaded.

All the other girls and maids in the Pleasure House sank to their knees, and I was the only one still standing. Well, I was barely holding on, swaying where I stood. My legs felt like water. Sheer stubbornness was the only thing keeping me upright.

I looked at Alistair and met his eyes. He turned to face me once more. His expression was calm, as if he had merely remarked upon the weather. But I knew this was the kind of news that would shock everyone in Venton.

I was a courtesan, a girl cast aside by her own family, and now, I was to become the duchess of the most powerful duke in the realm. How absurd. And yet, what glory.

Alistair was the one who bestowed all this upon me. He lifted me straight from the gutter and set me atop the world. Why? Why me? Because of a bun from three years ago? I did not believe it for a moment.

With a man like him, there was always a deeper meaning behind his every action. He would never wager his marriage and his reputation on a single act of kindness. A bun was not enough. He must have some other design.

He needed me as his duchess.

The realization came to me in a flash. I still had no inkling of his true motives. But to him, I was merely a useful piece on the board. That was enough for me.

As long as I was useful, he would not discard me. As long as I was useful, I could wield his power to settle my own debts.

At that moment, my mind grew sharp and clear.

I helped Sheila rise. I could feel her hands tremble. "Get up, Sheila," I said. My voice was soft, but it carried a force. "Let the past remain in the past. I will not pursue it further."

Sheila lifted her tear-streaked face, overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you, Your Grace."

I did not spare her another glance. I walked to Alistair and gave him a respectful bow. "Your Grace, is this decision not somewhat sudden?" I asked.

I was testing him. I was also giving him an opportunity to withdraw. If this was nothing more than impulse, I needed to know now, so I could plan my next move.

Alistair gave a faint smirk. "I am not one for rash choices. If I say you are my duchess, then you are. There is nothing more to discuss. In three days, our marriage will be proclaimed throughout the land. As for your background..."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep over everyone present. His stare was ice that chilled every soul to the marrow. "Anyone who dares utter a single word of it. Death."

He spoke the last word with casual indifference. Yet a wave of cold swept through the room.

This was Alistair. His will was law. He cared nothing for society's opinions or anyone else's judgment. When he wanted something done, no one stood in his way.

I could finally breathe with ease. With his promise, my place as duchess was beyond challenge.

Alistair's guards swiftly handled the remaining details. My indenture was burned on the spot. No one even suggested I should pack my own meager belongings. Sheila carefully gathered my things herself and presented them with the utmost deference.

I shed the dress and changed into a simple, understated gown. Before leaving, I cast one last glance back at that place, which had been the start of my personal hell. But it was also where I rose from the ashes.

There, I learned to smile, to endure in silence, and to hide behind a mask. Now, I was finally leaving it all behind. From this moment on, I would leave everything behind, and I would not look back.

I followed Alistair into his carriage. The interior was spacious and lined with dark velvet, and a fur throw lay across the seat. The air inside smelled of leather and something cool and clean that I had come to associate with him.

Only the two of us occupied the carriage. The silence was heavy. I had no idea what to say. He seemed equally disinclined to speak.

He sprawled across the cushions, eyes shut, as though merely resting. I stole a glance at him when I thought he was not looking.

Up close, his features were sharp and impossibly fine. His nose was high-bridged, his lips were thin and defined, and his long lashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyes. Without that dangerous edge, he looked almost tired, nearly vulnerable.

All those years he had spent holding Northgate must have taken their toll.