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[Rough Draft] Chapter 58: The Mistress of Twilight
Marchioness Serilda pressed down a frustrated sigh as she watched Percy step down from their carriage, heading towards the front door of Hawthorne Manor, without so much as a backward glance in her direction. By the time her fiancé, Eustice Winifred, stepped forward to offer her a hand down and escort her up the steps, only Russell remained in the foyer to greet them.
The faithful steward of Hawthorne Manor looked troubled as he waited patiently while Eustice removed Serilda’s cloak.
“Russell,” Serilda murmured, drawing the man’s gaze from the cloak offered to him by her fiancé. “I think it would be best if you sent a late lunch up to the Earl’s study.”
“Yes, my Lady.” Russell smiled politely as Serilda added her fur scarf and gloves to the robe, then stepped back to put them away and carry out her instructions.
As Serilda headed for the stairs to hunt down her moody cousin, Eustice cleared his throat—remind her of his presence. “Ah—should I—”
Serilda turned with a practiced smile to beam down at him. “Thank you for escorting me home, Eustice. Please feel free to make use of one of our carriages on your way back to Winifred Manor.”
Eustice’s smile dimmed slightly, but he nodded and stepped forward to kiss her hand and offer her a polite bow. “You must be tired. I will call again later when—”
Serilda, already halfway up the stairs, did not bother to listen to the rest of his whispered reply.
Would he resent her for such a rude send-off? Serilda doubted it. She had already given Eustice every reassurance and far more pleasure than a mere fiancé should expect of his superior.
‘Ah, but he will be a Marquess himself one day—if Percy has his way.’
The Marchioness smirked as she turned at the top of the steps to follow the pacing footsteps coming from Percy’s bedroom.
Serilda didn’t bother knocking, and Percy—who was halfway through changing his shirt—flicked an annoyed glance at her reflection in the mirror.
“What?” The Earl’s abrupt demand only made Serilda’s lips twist further.
“Are you sulking?” She asked tiredly as she moved up beside him to search the open wardrobe beside the mirror for an acceptable shirt. “Is that what this is?”
“Sulking?” The sneer in his voice sent a cold shiver through, but Serilda’s hand remained steady as her fingers fluttered over the simple array of cotton and silk shirts.
“Because the Duchess left without speaking to you,” she replied in an absent tone. Percy’s annoyed breath grazed her ear and cheek as he reached past her for a light gray shirt that he jerked off a whalebone hanger.
The Marchioness turned and admired the view that awaited her before the Earl buttoned up the front of his new shirt.
“My crows—lost track of her again,” Percy muttered as he flicked his wrists angrily, his winter-grey eyes narrowing on the buttons along his cuff as his fingers moved rigidly to put them in place. “Ever since that damn scoundrel moved into Bastiallano’s castle—I keep losing sight of her.”
“Water witches can be difficult to track,” Serilda murmured as she stepped closer and placed her hands over his fumbling fingers. His frustrated sigh stirred her bangs as she took over and meticulously secured each button. “And Prince Llyr is a pure-blood of notable lineage—” Her efforts to finish buttoning the other side were shaken off as Percy turned and strode out into the hallway.
‘Why must you behave in this way? We should be focusing on the election for a new Prime Minister, not fussing over some immortal witch who refuses to fall in love with you.’
Serilda sighed and moved to the jewelry box on his dresser, where Percy kept an assortment of cufflinks. “You forgot—” the Marchioness stilled at the sight of the glittering rose diamond necklace wrapped in a handkerchief, tucked into the bottom drawer.
“My cufflinks,” Percy muttered, coming back into the room. “The black pearls, Seri.”
“An excellent choice,” Serilda replied hastily as she opened the top drawer, pulled the two black cuffs free, and shut both drawers before turning to face him. “May I?”
Percy raised his restless gaze from the swaying shadows of the tree cast on the floor towards her and smiled apologetically. “Forgive me, Seri. I did not mean—”
“You are not yourself, Percy,” Serilda replied sympathetically as she stepped forward to slip each cuff link into place. “Prince Llyr cannot stay forever. Already he has received three official letters requesting his return to Strugna.”
“Heh. The sooner, the better,” the Earl muttered as he checked her work, then smiled as he patted her cheek with an affectionate smile. “Thank you.”
Serilda raised her hand towards his, but Percy pulled away just as swiftly and moved to the wardrobe to retrieve a light brown jacket.
“I think I shall pay the Duchess a visit,” he stated firmly.
“Percy….”
“At the very least, I should warn her about the changes to come.”
“Percy….Stop!”
The Earl paused in the doorway and turned slowly to face her with a puzzled frown. “What? What is it now? You’ve been pushing me up until now to make my feelings for Maura clear.”
“Maura?” Serilda sighed as she slowly sank down on the bed. “It’s Kirsi now, Percy.”
He snorted and shrugged. “Does it really matter? She only chose that name because of the Dowager—”
“You know that it’s more than that.” She tilted her head and held out a hand, beckoning him to her side. Her chest clenched tightly when he looked away stubbornly, staring into the mirror as he played with his hair.
‘When he was younger, he would always listen to me. If he were Henri, Nicholas, or Eustice—’ The Marchioness’s expression soured at the thought of her fiancé. Eustice was too—agreeable. ‘What is it about a kind and gentle man that makes me so restless and bored.’
“The Kirsi you’re referring to and the Maura I know are two very different people,” Percy said softly as he pressed a hand against the door frame and studied her quietly. “You look tired, Serilda. Why don’t you spend the afternoon with your fiancé and go riding or boating?”
“Lord Winifred already went home.”
“Lord?” Percy’s brows shifted together with a look of worry. “Has he—done something to displease you.”
Serilda laughed as she lowered her gaze and played with the black beads of her necklace. “Lord Eustice is practically perfect in every way. How could he displease me?”
‘He just isn’t you.’
“He makes you happy then?” Percy pressed, taking a step back inside the bedroom.
Serilda’s gaze slowly moved towards the tips of his boots, and then up the black trousers he still wore to where his shirt was tucked untidily into his pants. ‘Ah, what an interesting imperfection. Only one person could make the Earl this distracted and disorderly.’ Her gaze rose further still, past the buttons of the Earl’s shirt, his collar, naked without its neck scarf, his shadowed jaw with its stubborn stubble that made her fingers twitch, his frowning lips with their slightly crooked left corner, his perfect nose, and his eyes—
‘Ahh, yes. Those masterful eyes. As strong as steel, as cold as winter, and as distant as the night ocean.’
What was it about his eyes that made Serilda forget everything? The numb grief of losing her father. The burning madness from the loss of her baby. The twisted need to destroy everyone who had misled, betrayed, and used her before casting her aside.
‘If only—he would look at me—the way he looks at you, Maura.’
“Seri?”
His puzzled tone snapped the Marchioness thoughts back to the present. He moved towards her, worried now, but not for the right reason.
“Is something bothering you?”
“Of course, something is bothering me,” Serilda replied flippantly as she narrowed her eyes.
Percy frowned at her tone as he finally sat down on the bed beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you made your decision yet?”
The Earl blinked, frowned, then turned his gaze turned away from her towards the shadows that swayed across the carpet floor.
“The Coven’s are growing impatient. The Pope has already left the Holy City. You got rid of the Prime Minister so we could take control of the government—”
“And we will,” he replied tersely, those cold winter-grey eyes flicking over her with weary irritation. “We need to let the election run its course, at least from an outside perspective.”
“I’m not worried about you reclaiming your father’s seat,” Serilda retorted with a dismissive sniff. “I’m worried about the promise you made to Kirsi at the Royal Hunt.”
She could feel him shifting away from her. No, she was pushing him away. Every time she brought up a topic involving the Duchess of Winter, he became this way. ‘Ha! What a self-serving title. If only I had convinced Nicholas to choose something else.’
“Are you really going to give it all up—for someone who won’t even keep her promise to let you court her?”
His jaw clenched, and then he rose stiffly from the bed. “There has been little time too—”
“Will you really do it?” Serilda cut in harshly. “Give up the throne? Give up your ambition—your revenge—”
“Who said anything about giving up my revenge?”
The Marchioness blinked as he turned back to face her. Her heart skipped a beat as he took a step closer, swallowing her in his cruel gaze as a cold smile spread across his beautiful gaze.
“Lafeara has no further use for the Dowager,” Percy stated coolly as he reached out to untangle a strand of hair from her earing. “She may have gone quiet of late—but Octavia still holds too much sway among the nobles to remain uninvolved during this election.”
“So then?” Serilda whispered breathlessly.
“I will get rid of her before a new Prime Minister is chosen and the Pope sets foot in the capital.”
“And then—”
Percy’s lips twitched as he released her hair and dropped his hand with a questioning frown.
“Your—Mother?” Serilda arched a brow as she took a step closer, her arms tightening around her waist as she maintained her challenging glare. “Will you break your promise to me, Percy Hawthorne?”
Uncertainty and something that suspiciously resembled guilt flickered behind his eyes for a moment as he met her gaze without blinking.
“If you give up the throne—must I give up my revenge? Will the covens give up their revenge against the Pope and his dogs?” Serilda’s hand snaked around his neck as her heels left the floor. She carefully closed the distance between them, her lips dancing inches away from his. “What kind of Witch King breaks his promise after unifying all the Coven’s under his command.”
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her touch coursing with anger and turmoil. She watched his lips part as the Earl drew in a sharp breath and clenched his fists silently.
“Is that all your ambition is worth? Taking back the seat of Prime Minister, killing off an old woman, while bowing your head before a mortal prince?”
His hands pressed firmly against her shoulders and then pushed her firmly back. The faint smile of acceptance that flashed across his lips made the knot in Serilda’s stomach unclench with relief.
‘No. Even Maura can’t make him forget how the Countess, Dowager, and King Henri betrayed and murdered his father. Or the way the Pope and his dogs burned Mercy at the stake.’
“I’m here,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around him. His warmth and sturdy frame gave her comfort and certainty that Eustice never could. “All will be well. You will become King of Lafeara as you are meant to be, and I will support you every step of the way.”
‘Even if that means removing your reluctant Queen.’
“Seri,” he whispered softly as his arms moved uncertainly around her. “About—my mother.”
‘Ahh. How cruel you are.’ Serilda closed her eyes as her fingers tightened around the fabric of his jacket. “You still feel that she was manipulated?”
“I-I do not know.”
How strange to see the boy that grew up hating his mother suddenly hesitate because of a dream.
“It’s alright,” Serilda murmured soothingly as she buried her nose against his chest. The scent of him, free from cologne or other fragrances, helped calm the madness clawing at the back of her mind. “As long as your promise to stay by my side—I can let your mother live—if that is what you want.”
“Seri.” His arms tightened around her, and she gave herself up to the joy that swelled up within her cold, empty stomach. “I don’t deserve you.”
Serilda turned her face away from his gaze as she wiped a tear against his shoulder.
“Percy—”
‘Don’t say that. Not now. Not ever. Let me believe—even if only for a moment—that we were meant for each other.’
“—stay and have lunch with me.”
His hand that ran gently up and down her back stilled. When he sighed, Serilda blinked her eyes dry and composed herself before his arms pulled away and he stepped back.
“I need Duchess Kirsi on my side for this election,” Percy explained with an apologetic smile. “I’ll be back before dinner. Tell Russell to serve whatever dish you wish.”
The Earl kissed her forehead and left her to chase another woman like the oblivious fool that he was.
‘For someone who tries so hard to make me happy—how can you be so cruel.’ Serilda sighed as she down on the empty bed and slowly leaned back to lay against the cold sheets. She stretched with a soft groan, then rolled over to stare at the open bedroom door.
With a flick of her wrist, the door shut quietly into place. Only then did Serilda pull the Winter Rose from the sleeve of her gown and dangled it above her moss agate green eyes. The light of the window glistened against the peerless jewel until its sway came to a slow but steady stop.
‘Percy is right. The Duchy of Bastiallano is not a force easily ignored. Fortunately, the Dowager gave that power and authority to another Duchess. But—if little Miss Maura gets in the way of my revenge a second time—if she thwarts the will of the Covens—doesn’t that make her our enemy?’
“If you refuse to claim it, Kirsi, then you cannot object when others take what you so carelessly scorn.”
The Winter Rose glittered beneath Serilda’s cloak as she left Hawthorne Manor in one of Percy’s carriages. A single touch of her father’s signet ring and whispered command brought two Twilight sisters to her carriage.
“Mistress,” the witches whispered respectfully as they bowed their heads towards her.
“Find a suitable excuse to break off my engagement with Lord Eustice Winifred.”
Serilda observed the silent glance they gave each other before the senior in rank replied, “What of the Witch King’s wishes—”
“Are you questioning my position as Head of the Twilight Coven?”
Serilda’s finger brushed lightly over the signet ring. Both witches flinched as the ancient oaths that bound them to her prickled against the back of their eyes in warning.
“If you cannot find something, then leave a trail of your own,” Serilda continued calmly as she removed her fingers from the ring. “But whatever excuse you find, it must remain a secret until after Percy has claimed the seat of Prime Minister.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Serilda nodded but raised a finger as the witches moved to leave. “How—fairs our tender sparrow at the orphanage?”
“Well, Mistress. The Mortal has already grown very attached to him.”
The Head of the Twilight Coven smiled brightly as she brushed her fingers over the jewel beneath her cloak. “Good. Tell him to be patient. We must pluck the petals with care least the gardener observe our intentions.”