Elena wasn't expecting visitors.
The morning was quiet, and the hearth still hadn't been lit. She stood by the window again, brushing her hair with her fingers, when the sound of boots echoed through the hall outside her chamber. Not the heavy steps of guards. These were softer. Lighter.
Then came a knock—gentle, but confident.
Elena straightened. "Come in."
The door opened without hesitation.
A woman stepped inside, draped in a flowing crimson cloak that contrasted sharply with the bleak gray of the keep. Her boots were polished, her gloves embroidered, and her presence… commanding.
She looked younger than Elena had expected—perhaps mid-twenties, with ash-blonde hair tied neatly back and piercing green eyes that seemed to see too much at once.
"You're not what I imagined," she said with a slight smirk, her gaze sweeping Elena from head to toe.
Elena said nothing. She'd already learned it was safer to listen first in this place.
"I'm Cassandra Valerius," the woman said. "Lucien's sister."
Elena blinked. That explained the confidence.
Cassandra walked in like she owned the room—which, in a way, she probably did.
"I heard a strange woman had been brought in from the forest, unconscious and armed with a sword that should've been lost. Naturally, I had to come see for myself."
"So you came to… judge me?" Elena asked quietly.
Cassandra arched a brow. "I came to see you. Judging is my brother's hobby, not mine. He thinks if he stares hard enough, people will fall into line."
Elena allowed a small smile. "He does have that kind of presence."
Cassandra's expression shifted just a fraction—surprised, maybe, or curious. "You're the first person I've heard say that without flinching."
"I've already died once," Elena said automatically.
Then instantly regretted it.
Cassandra paused, eyes narrowing slightly—but instead of asking, she tilted her head and let the silence pass.
Elena forced herself to recover. "You're different from what I imagined too."
"Oh?"
"I thought Lucien's sister would be colder."
Cassandra chuckled. "Oh, I am. Just not on first meetings." She stepped closer, stopping just short of the table where the sword lay. "That blade," she said softly, "belonged to our older brother, Adrien. He died ten years ago in the northern war. Lucien never speaks of him."
Elena followed her gaze. "He told me it was your brother's. He didn't say his name."
"He rarely does. And yet… here you are, carrying the blade as if it were yours. Do you know what that makes you in this household?"
"A problem?" Elena guessed.
Cassandra smiled again. "A question."
She walked around the room once more, eyes scanning the corners, the ceiling, the closed shutters. "The last time Lucien let someone live under his roof, it ended with betrayal and blood. He's not the type to tolerate mystery for long."
"I don't mean to cause trouble."
"No one ever does," Cassandra said. Then, softer: "But trouble doesn't care."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the keep pressing in from all sides.
Then Cassandra turned toward the door. "I'll be watching you, Elena Vale. Not because I mistrust you—but because I trust Lucien even less when he acts out of character."
Elena tilted her head. "Bringing me here was… out of character?"
Cassandra looked over her shoulder, something unreadable in her eyes. "Lucien doesn't bring strange women into his keep. And he definitely doesn't defend them from the High Council."
She opened the door, pausing once more. "Welcome to Elentaire. Survive long enough, and you might even grow to like it here."
And just like that, she vanished down the hall, crimson cloak trailing behind her like spilled wine on stone.