The posh-looking carriage with golden insignias rattled against the cobblestone road, wheels clattering as it sped beneath the last glow of sunset. It had been years since he last set foot on the estates of men drunk on power. The jolt of a wheel sinking into a pothole broke his thoughts, the rough sound snapping him back to reality. With a sigh, he pulled open the window and stared at the dirt-stained road.
Valoria—once a kingdom of peace—had rotted into something else entirely. Political strife gnawed at its bones, and even the lowest beggar now tried to claw his way above those who once feasted on him. The hunger for power was spreading like plague.
Dorian Ashthorn's expression hardened, shadows deepening across his sharp face. He closed the window with quiet disdain and leaned back. A book lay open in his hands, but the words blurred. Ever since the carriage rolled into this town—mere miles from the capital—unease had crept into him like a cold draft.
He had been summoned, ordered to serve one of the most influential councilmen of Valoria. A familiar weight. Chains, though gilded. Darkness had already swallowed the sky, and still they were far from Ravenrose estate. Dorian reached for his pocket watch, turning it in his gloved hand as though it could reveal more than just time.
Anyone would think he struggled to read the clockface, but in truth, he was retracing his hours. What had he done today? He read, mostly. A dry amusement tugged at his lips. A hollow smile, gone as quickly as it appeared. An hour more, perhaps, until he arrived at the mansion. An hour before he put on the mask again. His role there was not important—or so he told himself.
When the carriage finally rolled onto a smoother path, he looked up. The heavy black-iron gates groaned open, allowing passage. His sharp eyes flicked across the gardens where roses sprawled like blood, and in the center, a fountain caught his gaze—the naked marble figure of a woman pouring water, pale and haunting in the moonlight. Lovely, he thought absently. Lovely, but hollow.
The carriage stopped. Silence settled.
Inside, Dorian Ashthorn sat unmoving, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap, his gaze locked on the silhouette of Ravenrose Mansion. It loomed like an old beast—ornate, storied, yet drenched in whispers of dust and gore.
It had been years since he last swore an oath. Years since he bowed his head to a master. Years since he hid himself behind the mask of a servant. Yet tonight, the mask was returning. Tonight, he was no longer only Dorian Ashthorn.
He stepped down from the carriage with measured grace. His boots struck the stones, firm and sure. He tucked his hat beneath his arm, adjusted his coat with one hand, and straightened. Black hair, combed to order. Crimson eyes faintly catching the light. A gentleman's posture, but not quite human warmth.
The wind stirred, carrying the faint perfume of roses. On his shoulder perched a raven, silent as if it had always belonged there. Dorian moved forward, each stride deliberate. His eyes worked quickly—scanning, measuring, calculating. Every entrance, every shadowed corner, every weakness of the mansion etched itself into his memory.
The grand doors opened. A slender man stood waiting, posture casual but eyes sharp. His hair, red as embers, stirred gently in the breeze.
"Lord Ravenrose," Dorian greeted, his voice low, touched with the faintest familiarity.
The man's lips curved into a polite smile. "Welcome to my estate, Dorian Ashthorn," he said, tone light, as though they were not two men steeped in power and secrets.
Dorian's grin was subtle, his gaze sliding past to drink in the vast interior beyond. "The pleasure is mine, Lord Ravenrose."
Their hands clasped briefly before Lord Ravenrose turned, leading him inside.
"My wife has been waiting. Without a butler, the servants scatter like frightened sheep. She has been most displeased with your delay," the lord remarked as they walked deeper into the mansion.
"A strong impression on my very first day," Dorian replied smoothly, eyes still roaming. The air here was different, heavier, charged with something that set his instincts alive.
Lord Ravenrose chuckled, beckoning him toward the sweeping staircase.
But then—a shrill sound shattered the stillness. A screech from above.
Dorian's eyes narrowed, and he caught the faint stiffness in the lord's shoulders. Trouble. This house was not quiet. Not peaceful. And the rumors… perhaps true after all. A smile, faint but real, curved his lips.
"My lady! It is time for bed!" A woman's voice cried out in exasperation.
Dorian lifted his gaze. At the top of the stairs stood a girl. Dark hair tumbled around her face, half-pinned in haste, her nightdress loose around her slender frame. Mischief burned in her eyes.
"Vivien phina!" Lord Ravenrose's voice cracked with anger. Weariness, too.
"Father!" She laughed, dodging the maid who lunged at her. But her foot slipped—
"Oops," Dorian muttered flatly, not moving.
The girl's eyes went wide as she tumbled down the staircase, arms flailing. She landed face-first at the bottom with a muffled groan.
"Ouch…" she whispered, struggling to rise.
Lord Ravenrose exhaled heavily, pressing fingers to his temple. "She falls often," he muttered, glancing at Dorian's baffled face.
Vivien scowled, blinking past her daze. Who was her father speaking to? Her eyes darted upward—only to freeze.
The stranger stood there, dressed in black, posture perfect, gaze unyielding. He looked like the men her father entertained—aristocrats, cold and dangerous. His face was shadowed, and then—lightning split the sky.
Vivien flinched, her lips trembling. "Gh–ghost…" she whispered.
She tried to rise, but her father's boot pressed her back down.
"You're going nowhere, Vivien phina," Lord Ravenrose growled. He gestured to the maid. "Take her to her room."
The servant bowed quickly, helping the girl to her feet.
Vivien struggled, whispering, "Father, who is he?" Her eyes never left the man in black. "Reine… my scarf…"
"In your room, my lady," the servant replied.
Vivien froze, her cheeks burning. His eyes—those faintly glowing eyes—were on her. Not her face, but the thin fabric of her nightdress. Blood rushed to her cheeks. Embarrassment. Shame. And yet… she felt her heart skip. He was handsome. Terribly so. Too much so.
Then the next flash of lightning revealed the raven on his shoulder.
Vivien screamed, stumbling back, teeth chattering. The fear shook her bones. Why could no one else see it? Was she cursed? She crawled clumsily across the floor, words tumbling out incoherently.
"They'll get flat, my lady," Dorian said at last, voice smooth, a smirk tugging at his lips.
She blinked, stunned. Did he mean… her—
"Kidding." He smiled then, showing teeth too white, too sharp in the brief light.
Vivien phina's soul nearly fled her body. With a final shriek, she bolted up the stairs. "I'M GOING TO BED!"
Lord Ravenrose sighed deeply, shame in his eyes. "Forgive her. Her manners are… lacking. Her mother never cared to raise her properly. I was lenient, and now she's spoiled beyond repair."
Dorian's hand brushed his hat as he set it neatly upon his head. His lips curved faintly. "Do not trouble yourself, Lord Ravenrose. She will become a proper lady soon enough. Leave everything… to your new butler."