CHAPTER 76: THE GARDEN OF TEMPTATION

André and Vivienne walked slowly through the wide terrace of the château. The spring breeze drifted lazily, tugging at Vivienne’s messy hair and carrying the faint perfume of blossoms blooming somewhere in the night. The sky above was turning darker, a soft violet melting into the navy blue of early night.

To anyone watching, they must have looked like a perfect couple, strolling side by side under the evening sky, his hand resting lightly over hers. But Vivienne was bored out of her mind.

Her lips curved into a polite little smile, the kind expected of a sweet lady on the arm of a duke, but inside her head she was cussing him, the château, and the entire universe.

What in the name of the devil am I doing here, walking like a peasant’s mule that lost its path? God, someone take me out of my misery. He’s smiling like a lovesick idiot again. What’s this fool’s problem?

André turned to her with that same smile, slow and soft, as though she were the only star in the heavens. "Vivienne, do you love flowers?"

Vivienne tilted her head prettily and answered sweetly, "Yes, my lord."

Inside, however, her thoughts were venom. Yes, flowers. Lovely little things. Almost as lovely as shoving thorns straight into your royal backside, you pompous prick. Do you want me to faint here with boredom?

André’s eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight scattered across the terrace. "I have not been to this part of the château in a long while. But I remember that there are gardens hidden after those hedge mazes. I do not think I recall the paths anymore. Should we go? I believe it may be fun."

Vivienne smiled sweetly, but in her mind she was already sharpening a dagger. Oh yes, what a wonderful idea, my lord. Let’s wander inside a bloody hedge labyrinth at night. A duke with an estate bigger than an entire city, and you don’t even know your own gardens. Marvelous. Let me weep for you. Let me die of pity right here on your perfect stones. Who the fuck builds a maze inside their own house? Why suffer yourself on purpose? Nobles are absolutely mad.

André pointed toward one of the tall hedge walls where a path opened like a dark throat. "Let us take this one. This part is quieter, but still lit by torches. I like the peace of it."

Vivienne’s eyes flickered toward the shadows curling within the hedge. Her smile stayed plastered on her lips. Quieter? Alone? In a bloody maze? This cannot be good. Perfect. Just perfect. Here lies Vivienne, strangled by roses, buried under a hedge because she followed a lunatic duke into his maze.

Still, she walked beside him.

The path narrowed as they entered. The air changed, too, cooler, heavier, carrying the green damp scent of the hedges. Their steps echoed faintly on the gravel, and for once the endless sound of château life—the servants’ voices, the clatter of dishes, the whispers—fell away. Here, there was only silence.

Too much silence.

Vivienne’s skin prickled. Why is it so quiet? Even the birds have shut their bloody beaks. Maybe they know something I don’t. Maybe the birds are smarter than me. I should have stayed in my room and shoved a pillow over my head. But no, I followed this idiot into the land of silence and doom.

André slowed, looking left and right, frowning faintly. "This does not feel right. I thought this would lead directly to the gardens, but I cannot seem to recall the turns."

Vivienne’s polite mask never broke, but inside her skull she was hissing. You don’t recall the turns? Oh splendid. The great duke, lord of a thousand lands, master of estates, can’t find his way out of his own front yard. This is the man who rules? God help Ravelle. God help me.

He stopped and rubbed his chin, studying the tall hedge walls around them. The torches flickered weakly, their light lost among the leaves. "Perhaps we should come back in the morning. Let us return."

They turned, walking back, but the path twisted in ways that felt unfamiliar.

Vivienne’s heart sank.

André’s calm voice came again. "I... I am sorry. It seems I may have taken the wrong way. It has been many years. I truly have not come here in so long."

Vivienne wanted to shriek, to strangle him on the spot, to pluck every rose from this cursed garden and stab him through with their thorns. You have got to be shitting me. We are lost. Lost. In your own bloody maze. What kind of grown man loses himself in his garden? This stupid, stupid, stupid noble prick. I swear if I die here, I will haunt your balls for eternity.

But on her lips was only a gentle laugh, soft and airy. "It is quite all right, my lord. It is only a little walk."

Yes. A little walk to hell, courtesy of your idiocy. Bravo.

He walked slower, his shoulders stiff. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t just stopping to think of directions. His entire body had gone rigid, his eyes fixed ahead.

She followed his gaze.

A door stood there. A beautiful white door, framed by ivy, shining faintly in the torchlight as though the moon itself had laid a hand upon it.

Vivienne smiled sweetly, her voice low. "My lord, I think we may have found your garden."

In her head, however, she was snarling. Yes, yes, look at that. A pretty little door for your pretty little flowers. Sing them a song, water them with your tears, and let’s get the fuck out of here before I lose my patience and strangle you with a daisy chain.

She tilted her head, pretending soft curiosity. "Are you well, my lord?"

André did not answer right away. His eyes lingered on the door, his expression strangely faraway. His lips parted slowly. "It is only... I have not stepped in this part of the château in twelve years. I had forgotten it existed."

Vivienne blinked. Her mind went blank for once. Twelve years? Who the hell avoids a whole garden for twelve bloody years? What’s this fool talking about? Something is not right. Something is definitely not right. Do not drag me into your noble madness, please, I beg you.

But André moved forward, opening the door.

Vivienne followed, though every nerve in her body screamed at her to turn back.

The garden unfolded before them, bathed in the pale silver light of the moon. Moonflowers stretched as far as her eyes could see, their delicate white petals glowing like fallen stars. The air was thick with their sweet, heavy perfume, a scent that wrapped around her throat like silk.

André’s lips curved into a smile, soft, almost innocent. "It still looks the same. Just as I remember. Nothing has changed."

He stepped forward, his fingers brushing lightly over the petals. For a moment he looked younger, lighter, as though he were that boy again, the one who once smiled without shadows in his eyes.

But then, just as suddenly, his smile faded. His hand dropped back to his side. His voice came low, cold, with something sharp beneath it. Fear, or pain.

"Let us go now."

Vivienne froze, her heart stumbling in her chest.

She looked at him, but his face had shut down, the softness gone, replaced by something unreadable, almost frightening.