August sat alone in the study chamber, the flicker of candlelight dancing across the polished mahogany desk. Papers sprawled in a careless yet meticulous chaos around him—political correspondences, reports of trade disputes, and beneath it all, a folded letter embossed with the symbol of an eagle.
His fingers traced the emblem repeatedly, trying to recall the name Giles had whispered, the one tied to this clandestine mission. His mind spun, half-focused on governance, half-buried in secrets only he carried.
Somewhere in the manor, chaos had begun.
Everin paced the corridors of Blackwood Manor with frantic steps. His chest heaved, fear clawing at him. He had discovered August's chamber empty and alarm rang in every corner of his mind.
"Where are you, August?" he muttered under his breath, faster than his own heart. He asked the passing servants, his voice edged with urgency.
A startled maid emerged from the shadows, bowing so low it seemed her forehead might touch the floor. "Lord Everin… Lord August is in the study chamber."
Everin froze mid-step. "What? In the study?" His voice was sharp, incredulous. "He's sick! He couldn't stand for a minute, He will collapsed!"
The maid lowered her gaze demurely. "Lord August is… fully well, my lord."
Everin's eyes widened. "What did you say?"
Unable to understand the word, Well!
"Lord August is well," the maid repeated softly.
No further questions dared escape him. Without a word, Everin bolted, his mind a storm of disbelief and dread. No. No. Last night he was almost gone… it's impossible. Nothing must happen to him.
He reached the study in what felt like moments, and without knocking, he entered. His breathing was ragged, uneven.
"August," he called, voice thick with both relief and worry.
August stiffened, his composure immediately on guard. His fingers clenched the edges of the desk. "Who—"
Everin closed the distance between them in three long strides. August froze, fury sharpening under his calm façade.
"You dare enter my study chamber without knocking?" August's voice rose, rigid with controlled anger.
Everin halted mid-step, eyes cast downward. "I… I'm sorry, August. I was worried—"
"Worried my foot" August cut him off, taking a deliberate step back, the chair creaking beneath his movement. His smoke-grey eyes were merciless.
Everin's throat tightened. "You… last night… you were poisoned. And now—now you're… well?"
"How… how did you get better?" Everin blinked, startled.
August spat, eyes narrowing. "None of your business."
Everin's chest heaved, the room spinning around him. "I… I'm sorry, August. Please… forgive me. I didn't mean any harm. Just… let me hug you… for a moment."
August stepped back, his hands raised like a barrier. "Stay away from me."
Tears welled in Everin's ocean-blue eyes, glimmering like storm-tossed seas. "Please, August," he pleaded, voice breaking.
"It's better for you to stay away from me," August said coldly, voice barely above a whisper, "or else."
Everin fell to his knees, body shaking, sobbing like a child. "I'm… I'm sorry! Please!"
August clenched his jaw, rigid, unyielding. "Get out of here."
Everin crawled to his feet, then instinctively toward August, hands trembling. August recoiled, taking another step back. "I said stay away from me!"
The study door swung open. August's eyes snapped toward it—smoke-grey and piercing. Elias entered, composed as always, a plate of breakfast balanced expertly in his hands.
Everin didn't even glance at him. His world had shrunk to the furious, unyielding presence of August.
Elias, however, ignored the boy entirely. He moved to place the breakfast on the desk. August's narrow gaze followed him, muttering under his breath, "First one wasn't enough… now the second came too. Hmph."
"Madam Katherine asked me to fetch this," Elias said, voice calm and deliberate.
August's teeth clenched. "I don't need anything."
"Well," Elias replied evenly, "it's her order."
Everin wiped his tears and stood, voice wavering. "Since he doesn't want to eat, why are you forcing him?"
August's lip curled in disgust at the boy's defensiveness. "I need no one's help. Get the hell out of here!"
Everin stumbled backward, eyes blazing, but the tears returned, spilling again. "It's all your fault, you giant!"
Elias blinked. "Stop messing with me—and get out."
Everin's body shook, his voice breaking. The weight of failure pressed on him as he fled, tearing down the corridor to summon his aunt, Lady Katherine.
Elias let out a sharp, disapproving tch. "How pathetic," he muttered.
"You too," August snapped, smoke-grey eyes flashing. "Get out. No one is allowed here without my permission."
Elias raised an eyebrow, amused despite the warning. "You've got quite the guts."
"Get out," August barked again, voice dangerously low. "Take your plate with you."
Elias's mouth twitched, amused and mildly offended. "It's Lady Katherine's order. I can't ignore it."
August's jaw clenched further, veins standing out at his temple. "I said—GET. OUT."
Elias stepped closer, unwavering. "I won't leave until you finish the breakfast. She said—under her watch—you don't skip meals. She mean it. And as long as she's here, I'm not letting you."
August slammed his hand onto the desk, the papers rattling violently. "I said—GET. OUT!"
Elias' eyes softened fractionally, his voice firm but quiet. "Then eat. For her sake."
Then Elias turn away as he sank into the chaise, the leather creaking softly beneath his weight. His eyes, calm and unyielding, fixed on August like a predator assessing its prey.
"I'll keep an eye on you like this," he said smoothly.
"I am telling you one last time," August snapped, voice sharp and clipped, "get the hell out."
Elias yawned, slow and deliberate, the movement almost teasing. "Boring. No. As long as you don't eat, I must stay here."
August's jaw clenched. His chest felt tight, his patience stretched to the breaking point. He had been sick. Exhausted. And now—he was trapped under this infuriating calm that refused to leave.
"I don't need your help. Get out."
Elias did not budge. Not an inch. Not a flicker. Not a single acknowledgment of the command.
August's eyes narrowed. His hands clenched at the edge of the desk. Then he looked up—and froze.
Elias lounged there, casually sprawled on the chaise—the very chaise where, months ago, he had pinned August down. The memory struck like a blade.
August's breath hitched.
August's breath hitched.
His cheeks burned. Smoke-grey eyes darted sideways. Under his breath, almost inaudible even to himself, he muttered, "This bastard… what should I do about him?"
The blush crept deeper, warming the skin beneath his ears, down his neck. He could feel the tension of that day—the weight of Elias, the daring closeness—and now, the same chaise held him captive again, this time by circumstance.
August turned his head sharply, unwilling to meet the smirking green eyes, unwilling to admit how flustered he truly was.
Outside the manor, the hallway was quiet. Lirael's steps echoed softly against polished marble, measured and deliberate. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, his expression serene as ever.
Giles appeared, emerging from the shadows, eyes alight with curiosity. "Lirael… is it true? Is August… fully well?"
Lirael's lips curved in a rare, subtle smile, the kind that never reached his eyes entirely but carried weight nonetheless. "Yes," he said, voice soft, deliberate. "It is the truth. August is… well."
Giles blinked, relief washing over his features. "Truly? After everything…"
A pause fell between them, the hallway stretching long and silent. Outside, the world moved with quiet menace, and yet within these walls, a fragile calm settled—one that promised only for a moment.
Meanwhile, Everin stumbled into the drawing room, his footsteps uneven, breath jagged. Lady Katherine sat poised in her high-backed chair, delicate porcelain teacup in hand, the steam curling in lazy spirals around her sharp gaze.
Everin fell to his knees without hesitation, head bowing low. Tears streaked his cheeks, his shoulders shaking like a storm-tossed sail.
"Aunt Katherine…" he choked, voice cracking, "August… he's still mad at me!"
Katherine sighed, the exhale soft but heavy, carrying a lifetime of patience. She set the cup down with a faint clink. "What happened this time?"
Everin's sobs doubled. "I—I didn't mean to upset him! But he… he—he won't forgive me!"
Katherine pressed a hand to her forehead, eyes closing for a moment as if she were bracing herself. "Everin, it is okay. Truly. You are a grown man… when will you learn to be a man?"
Everin's crying escalated, fresh tears cutting trails through the ones before. "I—I can't! He's so… so cold to me!"
Katherine shook her head slowly, lips pursed. "Oh heavens, look at you. A man, reduced to puddles before my eyes." Her tone was reproachful, yet beneath it lingered something softer—concern, love, resignation.
Everin's voice trembled with desperation. "Aunt… what should I do? He… he is not… nice to me!"
Katherine leaned back in her chair, studying the boy—this young man who had somehow carried both brilliance and arrogance in equal measure. "Look at August," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "So young… yet so mature. He wastes no time. He would even skip his meals if left to himself."
Everin's cries faltered, eyes widening.
"But now," Katherine continued, a faint, almost mischievous smile tugging at her lips, "I am here. He will not skip a single meal while I am present."
Everin trembled, wiping at his wet cheeks. "Aunt… but he… he won't forgive me! What should I do?"
Katherine's voice softened, careful and measured. "Patience, Everin. He needs time. He is not cruel—he simply… needs space. He will listen. He will come around."
Everin's shoulders sagged, but fresh tears continued to spill. "I… I don't know if I can wait…"
Katherine reached forward, placing a gentle hand atop his. "You can. You must. He is not unkind. But he is August.
Everin buried his face in his hands again, weeping, the weight of worry crushing him, yet comforted slightly by the firm, unwavering presence of his aunt.
Back to The study chamber, the air was heavy with the scent of parchment and polished wood. August sat rigid in his mahogany chair, fingers curling around the edges, eyes narrowed. His head throbbed faintly from the annoyance, yet his composure was nearly immaculate—controlled, restrained, taut as drawn steel.
A sudden sound made him flinch. A shadow crossed the doorway, eager, breathless, electric with excitement.
"Young Master!" Giles's voice burst into the room, bright and frantic. "You… you are all right!"
August pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw tightening until the faintest vein flickered at his temple. "I am fine. Now Stop asking the same question," he said, voice clipped, brittle as ice.
Giles stiffened, taken aback by the sharpness, yet his eyes sparkled with relief and fervor.
August's gaze flicked to the plate of untouched breakfast. He pointed with a precision that cut through the tension.
"Take that away," he commanded.
Giles moved forward instinctively, but Elias's voice stopped him mid-step. "Don't. It's an order from Lady Katherine."
August's teeth clenched. He slammed a hand on the desk, the wood shivering under his authority. "You—"
Elias leaned lazily in the chaise across the room, arms crossed, gaze casual, yet unyielding. "It's not my fault," he drawled, voice smooth, almost teasing, "Lady Katherine ordered it. I merely obey."
August's patience snapped. He rose, body taut with restrained fire. "Giles! Get my carriage ready. I am going outside. I cannot breathe in here!"
Giles froze, the words sinking in. His excitement faltered, replaced by a flicker of fear.
"You can't go outside," Elias said, his tone calm but unshakable. "It's too dangerous. Assassins… they are still lurking. Everywhere."
August turned sharply toward him, a short, sharp exhale escaping his lips—hmph—thick with irritation and defiance. His smoke-grey eyes flashed, glinting like tempered steel. "You didn't get to decide what I am doing—or not."
Elias tilted his head, studying him like a predator gauging a clever prey. "Danger does not care for your pride," he said softly, almost lazily, yet the weight behind it was inescapable.
August gritted his teeth, fists curling at his sides. The room seemed suddenly smaller, the air tighter. He had survived the poison. He had survived the fever. And yet now… now he was caged by concern, by orders, by protective hands that refused to let him breathe.
He spun on his heel, shoulders rigid, exhaling with a sharp, deliberate sound. "Enough. Do whatever you want."