CHAPTER 35: SHADOW AND FIRE

Candles glowed softly in the chandeliers, their light warming the frescoed ceilings and curved archways, while shadows wavered along the walls with each flicker. The faint scent of melting wax mingled with the rich aroma of roasted herbs and spiced meats, lingering in the warm air of the dining hall.

Anneliese sat at the table, barely touching her food. The clinking of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversation barely registered as her mind reeled through fragments of the day. Names, faces, events—all blurred together in a haze she could neither sort nor fully comprehend. The echo of the blade slicing through flesh, the dull thud of a head hitting the floor, the slow drip of blood—it all lingered in her mind. She couldn’t grasp any of it. Who could she trust? And why did it feel as though everyone at the table was utterly unfazed by what she could barely process?

In a matter of weeks, her life had turned completely upside down. She still had no idea where her family was, how she had ended up as the sole possessor of the most powerful book, or what the dark witches were planning—and why entire towns were vanishing into thin air.

On top of everything, there was the Lord beside her, with his calm, inscrutable ways that both unnerved and intrigued her. He was like the tides, the moment she thinks she knows his rhythm, it shifts again.

Her gaze kept drifting to Vincenzo, searching for answers she doubted she would ever receive. He sat there, composed and unreadable, as if nothing in the world could disturb him. Every movement, every slight tilt of his head, seemed measured and deliberate—a constant reminder of the vast gulf between what he understood and what she could even begin to comprehend.

Though Vincenzo did not look her way, he sensed it all—the lingering glances, the untouched plate, the restless twitch of her fingers, the subtle catch of her breath.

"Roslin," Cassia’s voice cut through the silence. "The seamstress will come tomorrow at noon for your birthday gown’s design and measurements."

Roslin’s eyes lit with eager excitement. "Ask him to bring the finest fabrics and designs, Mumma!" Determined to impress a high-standing suitor, she added, "I want to look the best and shine at the upcoming birthday ball."

Cassia’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. "You shall, my dear," she said, though her gaze slid—brief and sharp—toward Anneliese.

Anneliese’s eyes strayed once more to Vincenzo. This time, he caught her looking—head tilting, brow lifting, a glint of mischief tugging at the edges of his mouth. Heat pricked her cheeks, but she held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than she dared before dropping her eyes, tracing the rim of her plate with the tip of her fork, feigning interest in the silverware as if it suddenly demanded all her attention—though her focus lingered, catching the subtle shift as Vincenzo’s attention slid toward the door.

She followed his gaze from the corner of her eye to where the head butler, Lucas, had just stepped inside, his footsteps barely audible on the marble. He bowed with quiet precision before leaning in to murmur something in the Lord’s ear then handed over a parchment. Vincenzo’s expression didn’t change, yet the air around him seemed to grow heavier.

The rest of the meal passed in strained quiet, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the low murmur of Cassia’s conversation with Roslin. Anneliese found herself counting the seconds until she could slip away.

Upon reaching her chamber, she sank into a hot bath, letting the warmth chase the strain from her body and mind. After changing into a silk, topaz-green nightgown, she retrieved the book on the basics of witchcraft—partly out of habit, partly to distract herself. She settled on the carpet in front of the fireplace, beginning to read. Just as she was about to finish the second page, a knock came at the door.

"Please, come in," she said politely.

The head butler opened the door but did not enter. "Milady," he bowed slightly. "Milord requests your presence in the work chamber."

Anneliese nodded and wrapped a soft beige shawl around her shoulders before following the head butler out of her chamber, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet lining the hallway. The corridor was dimly lit by sconces holding flickering candles, whose light cast long, dancing shadows along the walls.

The head butler led her through a set of heavy oak double doors, their iron hinges groaning softly as they opened onto the work chamber.

Inside, the room was bathed in warm lamplight pooling over a wide table, scattered with parchments, scrolls, and old books. Vincenzo sat behind the table, his posture relaxed yet commanding, eyes lifting to meet hers as she entered. He noticed the slight dampness of her hair—hinting at her recent bath—the way she clutched the book lightly to her chest, and her bare feet that hardly made a sound on the polished floor. There was something both vulnerable and resolute in her presence—a fragile strength. He gestured for Anneliese to sit on the couch near the hearth.

Across from him, Adomas was settled into one of the two chairs, scanning a parchment. He folded it before setting it down on the table and asked, "So, will you be visiting Haselburg tomorrow to look into it?"

Vincenzo’s eyes flicked toward Anneliese, catching the mix of confusion and something deeper flickering across her face before he replied, "We both will be."

Adomas glanced at her once, then met Vincenzo’s gaze. "How did you find out it was Ashenveil who helped the dark witches open a portal in Versimoil’s territory?"

"An outcasted dark witch gave me his name before I killed her," Vincenzo responded coolly.

With a low, impressed hum, Adomas said, "They won’t have time or nerve to think about anything else now that you’ve handed them a bunch of routines and that execution."

Before Vincenzo could respond, a knock came at the door. Without looking up, he said, "Come in, Lucas."

The butler entered, carrying a tray, and placed two glasses of crimson liquid on the table before moving to the couch.

Anneliese, eyes now fixed at the book on her lap, sensed his approach and looked up just as the butler placed a porcelain plate of pastries on the table before her. Before the butler could fully turn away, Anneliese whispered softly, "Thank you."

Vincenzo rose smoothly from his chair and moved toward the massive window. He leaned back against the cold glass, the dark forest beyond stretching endlessly outside. His front faced the study chamber, giving him a clear view of Anneliese, who seemed lost in her own world—holding a plate of pastries in one hand and a spoon in the other.

When he sent the butler to fetch her, he had ordered blood and pastries too, noticing how little she had eaten during dinner.

In one hand, he held a glass filled with thick crimson liquid, swirling it slowly. His other hand rested casually in the pocket of his black trousers. He wore a simple black shirt, the sleeves rolled up just below the elbows and unbuttoned at the collar.

Adomas finished the last of his drink, pushed his chair back with a soft scrape, and gave Vincenzo a quick nod. "Good night."

Turning to Anneliese with a playful grin, he added, "Don’t burn the place down, Miss Levine." Then, with a soft shuffle, he slipped out, leaving shadow and fire alone in the flickering quiet of the chamber.